“In the policy of nations,” reasoned Calhoun, “there are two extremes: one extreme, in which justice and moderation may sink in feebleness; another, in which that lofty spirit which ought to animate all nations, particularly free ones, may mount up to military violence. These extremes ought to be equally avoided; but of the two, I consider the first far the most dangerous.... I consider the extreme of weakness not only the most dangerous of itself, but as that extreme to which the people of this country are peculiarly liable.” Clay, aiming at the same objects, dwelt chiefly on foreign dangers as the motive of the strong government he wished to establish. “That man must be blind to the indications of the future,” he declared,[121] “who cannot see that we are destined to have war after war with Great Britain, until, if one of the two nations be not crushed, all grounds of collision shall have ceased between us.” He wished to create a government that should control the destinies of both American continents by a display of armed force. “He confessed with infinite regret that he saw a supineness throughout the country which left him almost without hope that what he believed the correct policy would be pursued,” toward aiding the Spanish colonies against their mother country. Both Calhoun and Clay admitted that they wished to govern in a sense not approved by an apparent majority of the nation; and the sympathies of the House were openly or secretly with them. Of the contrary sentiment, John Randolph was the champion. Although his early career had ended in the most conspicuous failure yet known in American politics, he returned to the House, with intelligence morbidly sharpened, to begin a second epoch of his life with powers and materials that gave him the position of equal among men like Calhoun, Pinkney, and Webster. Randolph held a decisive advantage in wishing only to obstruct. He had no legislation to propose, and his political philosophy suited that extreme “to which,” according to Calhoun, “the people of this country are peculiarly liable.” Early in the session Randolph showed that he understood even better than Calhoun and Clay the division between himself and them. “If the warning voice of Patrick Henry,” he said in the debate of January 31, 1816,[122] “had not apprised me long ago, the events of this day would have taught me that this Constitution does not comprise one people, but that there are two distinct characters in the people of this nation.” In every growing people two or more distinct characters were likely to rise, else the people would not grow; but the primal character, which Randolph meant to represent, enjoyed the political advantage of passive resistance to impulse from every direction. In reply to Calhoun, Randolph defined the issue with his usual skill of words:[123]--