The U.S. House of Representatives is not representative at all. Of its 435 members, 71% are men, 72% are White, one-third are lawyers, and more than half are millionaires.

Compare that with a nation in which women outnumber men, Whites constitute less than 60% of the population, a scant 1 in 128 American workers has a legal background, and 4 in 10 people lack the money to cover a $400 emergency expense.

A House of Representatives with the demographics of a House of Lords isn’t the only reason for legislative dysfunction and public disdain. But it doesn’t help. And legions of Why Not? readers believe they have a solution.

“Why not transform the House of Representatives by including members who are chosen by lottery . . . and drafted to serve for a defined period of time?” wonders a reader in Vero Beach, Florida.

On Election Day, we affirm with our actions an unspoken principle of governance: The fairest and most democratic way to determine who wields public power is by asking citizens to cast ballots.

But what if there’s an alternative — not autocracy or monarchy but a more radical form of democratic representation and popular sovereignty?

“Why not make serving in Congress like jury duty?” asks a reader in Salt Lake City. “If you meet the criteria, you could be selected to serve for a term, which would give a broader cross-section of people representing regular Americans.”

The idea isn’t new. It’s called sortition. And it was standard practice in the birthplace of democracy, ancient Athens, where public officials were chosen by lot. The city-states of Florence and Venice also used the leaders-by-lottery method during the Italian Renaissance. But the idea waned for the next several centuries — only to mount a modest comeback recently in the academic press, among the think-tank set, and in the pages and pixels of political publications.

The particulars of what some call a “lottocracy” vary, but here’s what the basic elements might look like.

Each person in a congressional district who has reached the constitutionally required age of 25 would be a prospective member of Congress. Every two years, a handful of these eligible people, selected at random, would receive a summons, similar to jury service. Those with challenging personal situations — say, recovering from a serious illness, caring for a newborn or performing some essential job — could be excused. But as with juries or military reserves, the system presumes that everyone has a duty to serve.

Of course, the burden of being drafted into a two-year job is far more onerous than sitting through a three-day trial. So, the government could pay these citizen legislators much more than the $30 per day that D.C. Superior Court pays jurors — perhaps even the current congressional salary of $174,000 per year. They’d also get free housing (congressional dorms, anyone?) and a staff. Then, for two years, they’d represent their district.

It’s a bit nutty — complicated and replete with unintended consequences. But first, let’s examine its virtues.

At the top of the list is a mind-rattling but surprisingly convincing argument: Assigning legislators randomly is more equitable and democratic than choosing them through elections. It opens public office to everyone, to anyone. Unlike those aristocratic elections, a lottery draws from a vastly wider, more representative group of citizens.

Partly as a result, a sortition might scrub money out of politics. With no elections and therefore no campaigns, prospective members of Congress wouldn’t have to cultivate donors, dial for dollars or work the fundraising circuit. The implicit quid pro quo of campaign contributions would disappear — ensuring that the chosen few, who already more closely resemble their constituents, can represent those constituents and ignore the special interests and lobbyists.

Like all well-intentioned reforms, this one risks uncorking a spray of new problems. Take expertise. In general, the lottery-chosen citizen legislators won’t have much of it. Yet they’ll be tackling complex issues such as climate change, terrorism and artificial intelligence — and appropriating a $6 trillion budget that reaches every corner of American life. Want to understand energy policy, new Congressman? The fossil-fuel industry will happily supply you a briefing and maybe a steak dinner.

Congressional staff could be a countervailing force. They’ll likely need more staff and more professional staff. A lottocracy could become a wonkocracy.