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insist on their terms and not think of accepting ours. We must therefore shake that confidence. How shake it? By a display of superior power, and an inflexible determination to carry on the struggle to the bitter end. That will make them count the cost and consider. But what if we show signs of a flagging spirit, of a shaky determination? What if we act as if we had lot our assurance of our ability to achieve success in the game of war? They will take new hope and courage. And is not an offer of a compromise, that is, an offer to abandon some essential point determined in the election of 1860, an indication of a flagging and uncertain spirit? The matter resolves itself into this: The rebels will not think of accepting a compromise, until their prospects are so obscured and their power so reduced, that they would be obliged to submit without it. Thus it will be no more difficult to beat them into submission, than it will be to beat them into a compromise; and that accomplished, the compromise will be superfluous. But the offer of a compromise before that point is reached, will be not only superfluous but dangerous; for be giving evidence of a flagging of our own spirits, it will bring new courage and hope to the rebels, and thus prolong the struggle and postpone the moment when a settlement can be effected. (Applause.)
But this is not all. I contend that a compromise in our case, even if it could be effected, would be utterly inadmissible as a measure of peace. (Great applause.)
The word compromise has acquired a certain traditional prestige in our political history, so that many people pronounce it with a singular superstitional awe, and think nothing is done well that is not done by compromise. It is said that the Constitution is founded on compromise—and so it is. But there is one thing in the Constitution, which is not founded upon compromise, which does not admit of any compromise, which is, in the very nature of things, absolute and imperative. It is the principle, that, when the will of the majority upon a question constitutionally subject to be decided by the majority, is once expressed and proclaimed in a constitutional form, the minority is absolutely and unconditionally bound to submit. (Applause.) There is no cavilling about this principle. It is the very foundation of all republican government; without it the whole republican edifice would at once tumble down as a chaotic, shapeless mass. It is the balance-wheel of the whole machinery. The observance of this principle is the fundamental obligation of the citizen. Every measure of policy may be subject to compromise, but this fundamental obligation is not. It can be bound to no conditions, for if it were, it would cease to be absolute.
Apply this to our case. A constitutional election was held in 1860. All constitutional requirements were strictly fulfilled. Abraham Lincoln received a constitutional majority of the votes; he was made President in a strictly constitutional manner. And because the majority which elected him entertained certain opinions of public policy obnoxious to a minority, that minority rose in rebellion against the Government. You now propose to buy that rebellious minority back by relinquishing some of the principles held by the majority. You do this, because the minority has risen up in arms against the constitutionally expressed will of the majority. In other words, you, the majority, confess yourselves so far conquered as you are willing to surrender part of the decision of the ballot-box to the force of arms. And thus far you declare the fundamental obligation of submission to the constitutional verdict of the majority not binding; the minority, if it please, may force the majority to surrender the whole or part of its will. It may do so, for it has succeeded in doing so. The new principle you introduce into our political life is this: the minority is bound by the constitutional verdict of the majority, unless it be strong enough to force the majority to concessions; then it is not bound, that is to say, elections are not finally decided at the ballot-box, but are afterward open to negotiation; the minority proposes its conditions of submission to the result, and the fighting party wins. Do you know what that means? It means the transformation of the Republic of the United States into something like the old republics of Mexico and South-America; it means the government of revolutionary factions, instead of constitutional majorities; it means the introduction of rebellion as a standing element in our political life. (Great applause.)
Do not accuse me of seeing spectres. Do not indulge in the vain illusion that this first great abandonment of the fundamental obligation will remain an isolated fact. Such precedents are prolific. Let it be once known that the constitutional majority can and may be forced to concessions, and the idea will have an irresistible charm to reckless and restless minds. The composition of our people will no longer be what it was heretofore. The end of the war will throw a fearful number of adventurous spirits upon society, ready, at the call of an audacious leader, at any hour, to overleap the bounds of the accustomed order of things. Warlike habits, added to their warlike tastes, will stimulate them to wild enterprises, and a ceaseless war of factions would be to them an all too welcome field of adventure. This is the material, and you know where to look for the leaders. Already, at this moment, the country is teeming with unscrupulous demagogues, with whom treasonable scheming has become a habit; already we hear of large importations of arms and ammunition, and their distribution among the members of secret organizations; already we see in the papers threats of armed resistance to the loyal majority, in case certain candidates are defeated. And you could be willing to open this flood-gate of disorder by setting aside the only principle, the great fundamental obligation, that keeps democratic government in balance? You would inaugurate a system, which, by compromise and concession, pays and promises a premium to revolt? Is it not astonishing indeed that among men who have such a material stake in social order, as merchants and manufacturers, we should find so many advocates of that fatal policy? And this, they vainly imagine, would lead to peace. The
