A backward glance at the political fortunes of affluent American families—the Roosevelts, Kennedys, Rockefellers, and even the Bush clan—gives the impression that wealth typically opens the door to those seeking a career in public service. And, for much of the country’s history, significant resources were indeed crucial to political success. Richard Norton Smith, a presidential scholar who has served as director of five presidential libraries, notes that George Washington, one of the wealthiest men of his age, lost his first campaign for the Virginia House of Burgesses in part because he failed to pay for spirits for his supporters. He ensured they were properly lubricated the second time around, and succeeded in his bid.

While it is foolhardy to say that wealth is not an advantage in politics, individuals seeking to emulate the triumphs of New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg (who spent about $159 million on his two campaigns) or former senator and current New Jersey governor Jon Corzine ($100 million invested in his Senate and gubernatorial races) are fighting long odds. Those who believe that the link between personal fortune and political influence is anti-meritocraticly un-American can take some solace in the fact that most political novices who finance their own campaigns do indeed fail.

Tastes Like Chicken
As Elizabeth Harris reports in "Running for Office", about two-thirds of self-funders lose their elections. That group includes unelectable paranoiacs such as Ross Perot (that giant sucking sound he talked about was actually the $81 million he spent on two presidential campaigns going down the toilet) and long-shot candidates like Steve Forbes ($60 million for two bids), but it also counts among its members more well-rounded candidates.

In recent years, self-funding Senate hopefuls such as Blair Hull ($29 million) and Michael Huffington ($28 million) were left licking their wounds, as were those vying in gubernatorial races, such as Tom Golisano (who spent almost $74 million in New York) and Al Checchi (who burned through $40 million in California).

There are a variety of reasons for these failures. Demagogic rivals can point to the fact that American voters, generally speaking, aspire to wealth but are susceptible to primitive caricatures of the wealthy. They cast their opponents as out-of-touch, dilettante dabblers. (Remember the clip of George H.W. Bush admiring the supermarket price scanner?)

Others are brought low by one aspect of self-funding that they thought would be an advantage: that it obviates the need for constant fundraising. The rubber-chicken circuit may be an enervating chore, but it forces candidates to build bridges to constituencies that will provide enduring support. It hones diplomatic skills and moderates the more extreme aspects of campaign platforms. It also forces the candidates to come to terms with the party apparatus—which political aspirants spurn at their peril. Failure to build a fundraising machine also forces these candidates to rely solely on their own financial resources—which may not be a consideration for enthusiastic public-minded billionaires, but will be a limiting factor for those whose fortunes are more modest.

Candidates who skip fundraising not only reduce their odds of winning, but if they do win, they may find themselves politically hamstrung. Those eager to participate in this "strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles" (to quote Ambrose Bierce’s somewhat jaundiced definition of politics) should ask themselves whether self-funding is really just an expensive shortcut to nowhere.