John Jay, as this series has
hopefully made clear, was not above using mildly manipulative language or
tweaking the emotions of his audience in order to gain the advantage in an argument.
The stakes of the ratification debate in particular, as it unfolded across the
winter of 1787/88, must have seemed very high to him, and so he doubtless felt
justified in bending the truth now and then in order to achieve the outcome he
felt was called for. That being said, elements of his 1788 Address indicate that there were certain non-ideological principles
which he felt all parties involved in that debate ought to have paid heed to.
Though the manner by which he attempted to remind his readers of these
principles was certainly intended to benefit the Federalist cause, they
themselves nevertheless seem to spring from a place of good sense and reason
rather than narrow partisanship. Their invocation by Jay would consequently
seem to indicate that the ratification debate, in addition to essentially
heralding the birth of a national partisan culture in America, was not so
consumed by factionalism as to deny the importance of certain fundamental moral
or philosophical values. As a result, however tempting it might be to discount
anything Jay had to say in his 1788 Address
by recalling his aforementioned willingness to make use of plainly manipulative
rhetorical tactics, certain of the reflections he set forth therein are as
worthy of consideration now as they were when first set down in print.
Consider, for example, his attempts
in paragraphs eight and thirty-four to remind his readers that no one,
Federalist or Anti-Federalist alike, was in a position to declare with
certainty what the outcome of adopting the proposed constitution would
ultimately be. This was, of course, in spite of the fact that both factions had
adopted a tone of utter certitude when addressing the matter in print and
public address. Critics of the Constitution, by the spring of 1788 when Jay’s Address was published, had expended no
small amount of time and effort in decrying its flaws, ascribing to its
creators all manner of sinister motivation, and painting an exceedingly bleak
portrait of tyranny and corruption in the guise of a strengthened national
government. Supporters of the Constitution had conversely portrayed it as being
much called-for by the deficiencies of the Articles of Confederation, drafted
by noble and trustworthy men in a spirit of utter selflessness, and destined to
usher in an era of stability and prosperity the likes of which Americans had
dreamt of since 1776. Though Jay was very much a partisan in the latter camp,
and took no pains to hide it, he evidently possessed wisdom enough to admit
that on some questions the truth of the matter could only ever be discerned
through practical experience and not idle prognostication. “Experience is a
severe preceptor,” he declared in the eighth paragraph of his Address, “but it teaches useful truths,
and however harsh, is always honest–Be calm and dispassionate, and listen to
what it tells us.” While clearly intended to further Jay’s case in favor of the
proposed constitution – the “experience” in question was meant to refer to the
weaknesses of Congress under the Articles – the idea that certain important questions
resisted speculation favored neither the Federalist nor the Anti-Federalist
position.
Jay advanced this same basic
conviction again in the aforementioned thirty-four paragraph of his Address. Admitting that the fitness of something
as complex as the proposed constitution to govern the United States could only
really be determined by actually putting it into practice, it thereby stood to
reason that the only sensible course of action was to adopt the thing and see
what happened. If the document proved itself adequate, after an agreed-upon
trial period, to the economic, diplomatic, and military needs of the American
people, all parties concerned would no longer have need to quarrel. The
Federalist would have made their case, and the concerns of the Anti-Federalists
would have been allayed in the most convincing way possible. If, however, the
proposed constitution proved itself inadequate – if the condemnations of its
critics were borne out by practical experience of its inability to govern the
United States in a manner consistent with basic republican values – its
strongest advocates would be given no choice but to admit that their hopes had
been misplaced.
In 1788, there was almost certainly
no way of knowing which result was more likely. “Experience will better determine
such questions,” Jay avowed, “than theoretical arguments [.]” That he nevertheless endorsed this course of
action – that he was seemingly determined to let the chips fall where they may
– speaks to his faith in the ability of the Constitution to prove its worth, as
well as his evident conviction that some elements of public policy were too
complex or too important to approve or condemn in theory alone. Whatever its
flaws, the Constitution represented an earnest attempt to right the faltering
course of the American republic. Rather than condemn it for failing to address
every possible contingency and concern – denouncing it for failing at
perfection – Jay requested his countrymen instead put it though it paces and
reserve judgement until all parties could speak from a place of practical
experience. While not always possible or preferable – some policy questions
indeed call for decisive action – this course of action was, in 1788, and
remains, over two centuries later, viable, and indeed often necessary.
In addition to this paean to the
virtues of experience over theory, Jay also gave notice in his 1788 Address that there was a principle
underpinning the ratification debate which he and his cohorts would have done
well to remember – i.e. that victory in a political debate was less important
than allowing the American people to decide for themselves what manner of
government best met their needs. He
expressed as much, if not quite so explicitly, in the previously-mentioned
thirty-fourth paragraph. “You cannot but be sensible,” he explained to those
who feared for the rights of their countrymen in the event that the
Constitution was adopted,
That this
plan […] will always be in the hands and power of the people, and that if on
experiment, it should be found defective or incompetent, they may either remedy
its defects, or substitute another in its room.
While, again, it cannot be denied
that this argument directly aligned with Jay’s overt Federalist scruples – in
that it made critics of the proposed constitution appear somewhat alarmist in
their manifest apprehension – there remains an element of faith (for lack of a
better word) at the core of his reasoning that should not be so easily
dismissed. Clearly he believed that the proposed constitution was what the
United States required to finally and permanently assert itself as an
independent, federal republic. He had argued in its favor, and against its
detractors, and would continue to do so. And yet, by stating that it ultimately
fell to his countrymen, if they perceived the Constitution to be in any way
deficient, to “remedy its defects, or substitute another in its room,” Jay evinced
an even stronger belief in the inalienable sovereignty of the American people.
In
so doing, he effectively signalled to the readers of his 1788 Address, intentionally or
unintentionally, that the debates surrounding the ratification of the proposed
constitution – replete with high drama, colorful characters, and caustic
rhetoric – were at bottom less important than the fundamental conviction that
underpinned them. Namely, that the citizens of the United States of American
possessed the unquestionable right to formulate, modify, or abolish the
government under which they lived. The role to be filled by men like him –
jurists, statesmen, and scholars – was undeniably an important one, but in
essence academic next to the duty and the privilege they shared with the much
greater numbers of farmers, soldiers, merchants, and artisans in validating or
disavowing whatever form the American republic happened to take. Consequently,
while it indeed fell to the men selected to participate in the Philadelphia
Convention, or elected to attend the state ratifying conventions, to debate the
merits of checks and balances, or bicameralism, or an independent judiciary,
the final judgement always and ultimately resided with the American people. If
they liked the Constitution, they would keep it. If they didn’t like it, they
would replace it. And if they didn’t like the government that came next, they
would replace that too. This power, fought for and suffered for through eight
blood-soaked years, set them apart from almost any other people on the planet –
it was beyond argument, irrefutable, and lay at the very core of the Revolution
and of American republicanism.
By
attempting to remind his countrymen of the primacy of this most essential
principle, it should not necessarily be understood that Jay was entirely
discounting or dismissing the importance of the ratification debates. The state
conventions were the most practical way, under the circumstances, to determine
whether or not the American people approved of the Constitution. They permitted
members of diverse communities across the United States to voice their
concerns, see their fears allayed or confirmed, and have their votes counted. A
referendum, voted upon by the general population, was not necessarily a
reasonable alternative because it would have discounted the importance of the
states – something advocates of a strong national government were careful to
avoid – and it would not have necessarily allowed the supporters and critics of
the proposed constitution to engage in the kind of systematic debate the state
conventions ultimately played host to. Jay was very much aware of this, of how
important it therefore was to achieve a victory at the New York state
convention, and the potentially invaluable role he stood to play in achieving
the same. Were it otherwise, he doubtless would not have wasted the effort in
campaigning for a seat or writing polemics. In the end, however, as his 1788 Address appears to attest, he knew that
the people at large would determine the value of the Constitution for themselves.
In
this sense, Jay’s reflection that the Constitution would always be “in the
hands and power of the people” perhaps stands as a gentle rebuke, against
himself and his opponents alike, not to lose sight of the reason a framework
for a new national government was being debated in the first place. It was not,
despite the behavior of some of the more self-possessed and self-confident members
of the various states conventions, in order to give well-read and well-spoken
men an opportunity to speak well of the things they had read. Nor was it
intended as a means of reigniting or settling existing partisan disputes.
Rather, its purpose was to allow the various states, their respective
communities, and the American people in general an opportunity to determine for
themselves how they were to be governed. This was – it cannot be stated enough
– an occasion completely without precedent in the history of Western
civilization. Though Jay was no less guilty than any of his countrymen of
sometimes paying more attention to the contest than the context – to the fight,
rather than what was being fought for – paragraph thirty-four of his 1788 Address appears to demonstrate a degree
of self-awareness on his part this is absolutely worthy of commemoration.
Consider: the political process is
important to how the United States of America functions. It is the framework
through which ideas are tested, become policy, and become law. Debate – the
open and rigorous airing of disagreements – is an invaluable part of this
progression. But as the scope and power of the federal government has
increased, and those involved have become ever more invested in their personal
and partisan victories and defeats, the spirit of debate in the American
republic has periodically overpowered its core rationale. The Constitution, to
quote Jay yet again, “will always be the hands and power of the people.” As
true as it was when applied to the debate surrounding the ratification or
rejection of that hallowed charter, no less is it true today. The purpose of
government in the United States is to satisfy the needs and desires of the
people. It is for this reason that they send representatives to their state
capitals and to the national capital. It is for this reason that they organize
themselves into centralized parties. And it is for this reason that in the
winter of 1787/88 they chose from among their neighbors men to vote on their behalf
in accepting or rejecting the proposed constitution. John Jay, evidence to the
contrary notwithstanding, knew this to be true, and attempted to remind his
countrymen of the same. Here at the dawn of the 21st century, we
would do well to remember it, too.
This spirit of apparent concern for
the efficacy of public debate in the United States was also expressed in the
twenty-third paragraph of Jay’s 1788 Address.
Therein, he avowed that it had been impossible for the delegates to the
Philadelphia Convention to draft a new federal charter that would, “Exactly
quadrate with the local policy and objects of every State [.]” This conclusion
had arisen from a number of realizations, a summary of which he then listed.
Because they are so concisely phrased, and because they will shortly prove
relevant to the forthcoming discussion, they will be excerpted here in full:
[The
delegates] were sensible that obstacles arising from local circumstances, would
not cease while those circumstances continued to exist; and so far as those
circumstances depended on differences of climate, productions, and commerce,
that no change was to be expected. They were likewise sensible that on a
subject so comprehensive, and involving such a variety of points and questions,
the most able, the most candid, and the most honest men will differ in opinion.
The same proposition seldom strikes many minds exactly in the same point of
light; different habits of thinking, different degrees and modes of education,
different prejudices and opinions early formed and long entertained, conspire
with a multitude of other circumstances, to produce among men a diversity and
contrariety of opinions on questions of difficulty.
Taking these facts into
consideration – intractable and inextricably bound up with the physical reality
of the diverse and extensive American republic – Jay related to his readers
that the delegates therefore settled upon the only course reasonably available
to them if they wished to make any real progress towards resolving the crisis
they perceived unfolding in America. “Liberality,” he wrote, “as well as
prudence, induced them to treat each other’s opinions with tenderness, to argue
without asperity, and to endeavor to convince the judgement without hurting the
feelings of others.” Thus possessed by the spirit of compromise, the attendees
of the Philadelphia Convention were able to successfully bring forth a document
most likely to meet with the approbation of the largest portion of their
countrymen.
Though
ostensibly offered as an explanation of how and why the proposed constitution
looked the way it did, Jay doubtless intended this insight into the thought
process of the Philadelphia delegates to also act as an exemplar for he and his
cohorts to aspire to. As the Framers of the Constitution had mastered their
impulses, embraced some degree of compassion for one another’s point of view,
and attempted to forge a consensus that gave sole advantage to no community,
state, or class of men, so the participants in the ratification debate ought to
have attempted the same. After all, the considerations they faced were no
different from those that had occurred in Philadelphia. Though residents all of
the same state, they represented different districts, communities, and
commercial interests. They were likewise differently educated and socialized,
and came from different subcultures – the planters of the Virginia Tidewater as
opposed to the farmers of the Piedmont, for example, or the urban artisans of
Philadelphia against the hardscrabble homesteaders of Western Pennsylvania. And
if that weren’t enough to contend with, they were composed, as any assemblage
humanity, of different kinds of men, given to thinking about the same things in
a manner unique to their innate sensibilities. The only solution to the
intractable conflict that would result if every one of these men took their
personal convictions as the sole measure of what was right was therefore the
same in Poughkeepsie, and Boston, and Richmond as it had been on Philadelphia:
compromise.
Or perhaps Jay phrased it better.
“Liberality,” he recounted, had won the day at the Philadelphia Convention, and
“prudence,” and “tenderness.” Whereas “compromise” or “consensus” would seem to
denote only a desired effect or result, the words Jay settled on seem to carry
with them a sense of mutual respect and fellow-feeling. It was not only out of
a need for some way forward that flexibility was called for, his conclusion
seemed to denote, but an understanding that the individuals involved both in
crafting and assessing the Constitution proceeded from honest motives and had
honest reasons to disagree. Because the moral equality of mankind – with, it
cannot be denied, some notably glaring exceptions – was also one of the core
concepts of the American Revolution, it would seem to have followed that every
American, not least of which every American participating in the ratification
debate, owed to their countrymen the benefit of the doubt in matters of
disagreement. If each and every one of them was innately and spiritually equal,
what need was there for status-seeking or one-upsmanship? If American
independence had been a collective effort – what Washington later described as
“The work of joint counsels, and joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings,
and successes” – behaving towards each other in anything less than a gracious
manner would accordingly have seemed the height of ingratitude. Better, then,
to act from a place of fellowship, and cooperation, and deference. The effort
would doubtless proceed more smoothly, and perhaps a few minds might even be
changed.
There
was, of course, a practical dimension to this remonstrance of Jay’s. On subjects
of great complexity, he asserted in the abovementioned twenty-third paragraph, “The
most able, the most candid, and the most honest men will differ in opinion.” Whatever
disagreements arose, then, should not have been immediately traced to personal
malice or invidious intent, but rather treated as the inevitable consequence of
diverse opinions converging on complex issues. Within the context of the
ratification debate – involving about as complex a subject as any involved had
likely experienced – this reflection was notably and specifically relevant. If
any progress was to be made, either in favor of or against the proposed
constitution, the instinctual resort to invective would need to be laid aside
so as not to cloud what was already a labyrinthine issue. Then again, when one
considers the essential nature of American republicanism – wherein abstract and
practical concepts alike were to be discussed at length by elected officials in
the interest of hashing out public policy – perhaps Jay’s call for tolerance
and broadmindedness applied more broadly than he admitted. If the United States
– as a federal entity, and a collection of individual republics – was going to
survive beyond its late 18th century infancy, its citizens were
going to have to grow accustomed to disagreeing, sometimes vehemently, on
matters of great complexity and great importance. The Revolution – which gave
rise to loyalty oaths and neighbor-on-neighbor violence, and during which
cooperation in Congress benefited from a common British enemy – had perhaps not
adequately prepared them for this, but their theoretical devotion to public
debate doubtless made it imperative that they learn very quickly.
It must of course be admitted that
Jay almost certainly intended the reflections and remonstrances cited here from
his 1788 Address to apply only to the
ongoing debate over the ratification of the proposed constitution. He was a
wise man, and highly intelligent, but he was no more a prophet than any of his
contemporaries. He could not have predicted that the form of government he was
advocating would endure for over two centuries – indeed, some delegates to the
Philadelphia Convention remarked that they would be lucky if thing lasted
beyond twenty years – and it would therefore be improper to suggest that his
words were intended to speak to and advise generations yet unborn. Nor would it
be entirely accurate to state that every meaning this series has extracted from
his words was that which he plainly intended to convey. That being said, and as
has hopefully become clear by now, history as in large part an interpretive
discipline. Perhaps Jay did not set out to argue that political debate in the
United States ought to be understood as a means rather than an end, but his
phrasing, choice of words, and general tone effectively embody that value.
Inherent in what Jay chose to communicate to his fellow New Yorkers in the
spring of 1788 was a whole host of unspoken assumptions, shared experiences,
and cultural mores. Teasing these out, with the aid of critical analysis and
research, is one of the principle tasks of the historian. The conclusions that
result are not always apparent, and were often unintended by the subject in
question. But they are nonetheless valid if they are supported by fact, and
context, and logical inference.
Doubtless Jay did not intend to
draw overmuch attention to the idea, but it is clear enough from his 1788 Address that he believed certain areas
of public policy were too complex to leave to debate and conjecture alone. Upon
reflection, this would seem a very sound axiom. The flaws apparent in some
systems or frameworks may prove harmless when put into practice, while certain
other aspects, deemed inoffensive on first blush, may show themselves to be
anything but once things are permitted to take their course. “Experience is a
severe preceptor,” Jay accordingly noted, “but it teaches useful truths […] and
is always honest.” Perhaps not every public act bears up under this logic – the
harm to be caused by some is more plainly seen – but there are always those
instances in which trial and error is the most viable way forward, if not also
the most instructive. It is also fairly apparent that Jay held true to the
conviction, in spite of lapses to the contrary, that the primacy of public
debate in the United States did not give license to the participants in the
same to forget either their obligations to their constituents or to each other.
This, too, appears well-founded. If the United States truly is, as has been
remarked countless times over the last two centuries, a nation of laws and not
men, then it stands to reason that great care ought to be taken in creating and
maintaining the proper environment in which said laws can be discussed. There
can be no room for egos, no room for petty jealousies, and no primacy given
over to party agendas or personal ambitions. The public good should be the only
measure of value, and disagreements treated with tolerance and forbearance.
For, as every representative of the American people owes it to their neighbors
to keep their wellbeing foremost in their mind, so do they owe one another the
courtesy and respect befitting the institution they are a part of and the duty
they are about.
Anyway, that’s my
take. By all means, decide for yourself: http://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/ford-pamphlets-on-the-constitution-of-the-united-states-1787-1788
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