of the territory on this continent; so long as we have not explored, much less exploited, its resources; so long as we remain in large measure a mixed population of Americans, Europeans and Africans; … so long as we have an Indian problem and a Mormon problem and a negro problem, to say nothing of many less important questions—so long, it seems to me, we should more nearly follow the natural order of things, if we should remain at home and attend to our own domestic affairs.”96
Burgess’s “despondency and despair” at the American declaration of war was a response also to what he perceived as the eagerness of the business class to promote war “for the sake of profiteering by the vast increase of governmental expenditures.” Quite apart from the greed this displayed, Burgess believed those expenditures and the demands of war would occasion an unwarranted increase in government (as opposed to “state”) power. Also, much like the greedy nationalism to which the antebellum South had fallen prey, this fervor for war would divert from the progress of American liberty by adding the burdens of colonial administration and a new, racially inferior population. Particularly distressing was “to see that Americans were, after all, a warlike people, superficially informed, and easy to incite on Quixotic enterprises.” That is, the best representatives of the American nation had not, as expected, advocated limited government and the further Aryanization of the American population as a principled stand, irrespective of baser motives.97
Burgess’s shock that the American business class might put profit over principle may seem naïve (even if the principle in question was a commitment to racial purity). At the same time, it highlights the degree to which Burgess saw the world in racialized terms—the Teutonic genius was meant to show itself in that race’s best men, and if America’s upper classes couldn’t be trusted to make sound and sober judgments, even in the face of recent experience and scientific advance, this would be a serious blow. However, the point is not to evaluate the strength of Burgess’s analysis. It is, rather, that Burgess’s “attempt to apply the method, which has been found so productive in the domain of Natural Science, to Political Science and Jurisprudence” relied centrally on the idea that historical progress was racial progress.98
By the turn of the twentieth century, Burgess’s work would come to seem increasingly old-fashioned. A younger generation of political scientists, including future U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, would reject Burgess’s intellectual style and many of his conclusions. Nevertheless, many of the racial ideas shaping the older man’s thought would recur in his successors’ work, and others would be only subtly recast. As the next chapters will show, the idea that organic, racialized “peoples” were the protagonists of history and the true subjects of democracy would outlive the Hegelianism in which state theory had embedded it. And no less than their teachers, many younger political scientists would put the racial “lessons” of the Civil War and Reconstruction at the center of a scientific account of politics.
Chapter 2
“All Things Lawful Are Not Expedient”: The American Political Science Association Considers Jim Crow
For all John W. Burgess’s influence, his elaborate theoretical edifice did not long survive intact, and elements of it were subject to challenge even as he remained the discipline’s leading figure. One of the sharpest such challenges came as early as 1891 from future U.S. President Woodrow Wilson. At the time, Wilson was newly teaching jurisprudence and political economy at Princeton University, having completed his studies under Herbert Baxter Adams at Johns Hopkins and published his thesis, Congressional Government, to wide acclaim.1 Wilson took unpitying aim at Burgess in a review of Political Science and Comparative Constitutional Law in the Atlantic Monthly. The review blasted everything from the older man’s “mechanical” style to his “extraordinary dogmatic readiness to force many intricate and diverse things to accommodate themselves to a few simple formulas.” If that weren’t enough, Wilson continued that it was “characteristic of [Burgess] to have no doubts; to him the application of his analysis seem[ed] the perfect and final justification of it.” Burgess’s “thoughtful readers,” Wilson predicted, would “experience much more difficulty and have many more doubts.”2
Wilson’s screed signaled what would shortly become a pervasive critique of Burgess’s mode of political science. Wilson and like-minded scholars, such as Henry Jones Ford, Albert Shaw, Frank Goodnow, and others seeking to further professionalize the discipline in the early twentieth century, found Burgess-style political science to be legalistic and unmoored from any empirical foundation. They also affirmed that the past, so central to Teutonism, was an inadequate guide to the rapidly shifting world they sought to understand. That new world might not be as desired, but the old one could not be recovered. Nor did it hold the keys to the future. As Leo Stanton Rowe was to exhort in 1897, a modern, scientific study of politics would have to come to terms with “new relations” whether one liked them or not.3
All the same, none of these scholars rejected Burgess’s racialism. Wilson’s work was typical in this respect. Wilson sought to move away from the older man’s idealist, historicist intellectual style but maintained many of Burgess’s fundamental precepts, including a racialized conception of the collective shaping and authorizing government. (Indeed, his one concession to Burgess in the 1891 review was that Burgess’s formulation of “the state” as the “more enduring … entity …, which gives to the government its form and vitality” was “serviceable.”4) Wilson’s well-received 1889 textbook, The State, for example, rehearsed all the familiar elements of state theory: the Aryan origins of the Anglo-American political tradition; a link between Teutonic history and the development of individual liberty; an explicit rejection of universalizing, natural law or social-compact theory; and a notion of the “organic political life” of a community as the source of sovereignty.5
Wilson’s fundamental issue with Burgess seems to have been that state theory left little room in American political life for creativity or any real novelty. As Wilson saw it, Burgess’s work cast political progress as “unconscious and unintelligent,” leaving “nothing for us to do.”6 To be relegated to such passivity was anathema to a fast-rising public figure such as Wilson, who saw great changes afoot and imagined an active role in directing them for great, visionary men (such as himself). Thus, in his hands, “the state” shed much of its prescriptive, normative thrust.
The full title of Wilson’s book on the topic gives an indication of the direction in which the concept of “the state” was to move in his work, and subsequently. First subtitled Elements of Historical and Practical Politics, the book bore a second, distinctly government-centric subtitle: A Sketch of Institutional History and Administration. Wilson was already a leading voice in the newly popular study of administration, and his treatment of the state gave prominent attention to the practical principles of governing, which he presented as significantly continuous across government systems. So throughout the book’s nearly 700 pages, government and its functions received more attention, and the Teutonic state appeared less as a singular, world-historic actor and more as one kind of state among many. Moreover, the organic will behind government also appeared in altered form, with the word “state” substituted by the broader “society.”7
In this, Wilson resembles James Bryce, whom he much admired (and eventually resembled, in that both enjoyed illustrious and internationally significant careers in practical politics). Bryce, too, had focused on the living institutions and quotidian practices of American politics, the nature of which he attributed to “opinion,” “character,” and material “circumstance.” The same year The State appeared, Wilson praised Bryce’s The American Commonwealth for demonstrating that American institutions were “the expression of the national life,” which was shaped both by “forces permanent in the history of the English race” and “peculiar influences … operative in our separate experience.”8 That is, as much as Wilson and Bryce privileged the real over the ideal—government itself
