In preparation for new entries in
this essay series, I naturally spend quite a lot of time seeking out old
speeches, declarations, and pamphlets written by members of the Founding
Generation. I skim everything I find, read a fraction of that based on what I
think will generate interesting commentary, and analyse in depth whatever is
next on the docket. In three years (my God, has it been that long?), I’ve
covered quite a lot of ground. From the 1760s to the 1840s – from Benjamin
Franklin, to John Dickinson, to James Madison, to Andrew Jackson – I’ve
discussed here a goodly portion of the major documents, events, and
personalities that have served to make the United States of America what it is
today. I hope, perhaps in vain, that I’ve managed to keep things interesting
for my dear, devoted readers. The American Founding – a period which I might
argue extended at its farthest reaches to the 1860s and the Civil War – is an
exceedingly complex topic of study, and there is a great deal to be said about
its many and various aspects and implications. That being said, and no doubt
owing to the nature of my education, I perceive a number of patterns that
transcend the eras and topics I have examined. There are themes, ideas, and
trends that seem to recur across the decades of America’s Founding Era. The
primacy of inherited British political and legal traditions within the narrative
of the Revolution, for instance, or the impact of classical antiquity – the
literature of Ancient Rome and Greece – on early American republicanism. I feel
the need to remark upon these things every now and then, in spite of how much
white noise they may have become to my audience, because I feel they are of
particular importance to understanding how and why the United States looks and
acts the way that it does.
During my most recent hunt for new
research material, one of these recurring themes caught my attention yet again.
It is, I must admit, an idea that I have touched upon before in this series.
All the same, and begging the indulgence of those of you presently rolling your
eyes, I feel the need to revisit it here in connection with a little pamphlet
written in the late 1780s by one John Jay. Originally printed in April, 1788, An Address to the People of the State of
New-York, on the subject of the Federal Constitution represents the kind of
overtly partisan literature both sides of the debate over the ratification of
the proposed constitution printed in droves between the winter of 1787 and the following
summer. It is, as these things go, not much of a revelation. Jay was a strong
Federalist, supported ratification, and delivered an address that was intended
to conciliate those who were uncertain about the new federal charter and
convince those who were otherwise against it. Little about it is surprising,
save a few sections that will be discussed a little later. It is well-argued,
reasonably succinct, and doubtless served its intended purpose well – New York
did, after all, ratify the Constitution. All that aside, though, it got me
thinking about something.
The American Founders were not
perfect. They were, as a group, exceedingly intelligent, insightful, and
ingenious. And their accomplishments remain a testament to the ability of a
relatively small group of concerned citizens to quite literally change the
world. But they were also human beings. They were flawed. They could be
callous, self-interested, vindictive, and petty. We forget this, I think, in
the face of the statues, and monuments, and widespread popular memorialization.
We remember the things that impress us, and attribute the same degree of virtuosity
to everything they did. As a result, we lose the ability to tell a good idea
from a bad one when names like Washington, Jefferson, or Franklin are attached.
This is a problem. If we are going to continue to draw inspiration from the
Founders, as we should feel entirely free to do, we must be able to discern the
lessons from the lapses. We need to be able to recognize when Jefferson was
offering sound counsel and when he was being a foppish hypocrite. We need to understand
that sometimes John Adams was an exceptionally prudent and principled man and
sometimes he was a bitter old crank. We have to see the Founders for all of
what they were if they are going to be of any use to us.
Jay’s
Address reminded me of this critical
axiom because, while parts of it were prudent, wise, and insightful, others
were plainly partisan, manipulative, and misleading. Indeed, as a purveyor of
rhetoric, Jay appears in his pro-constitutional pamphlet about as willing to
invoke the fear and uncertainty of his audience as any member of 21st
century America’s socio-political elite. Because of his status as a Founder,
however, I’m inclined to believe that these elements of Jay’s argument in favor
of ratification would be smoothed over or forgotten by modern pundits or politicians
seeking to validate their personal point of view. They would be far more
willing, I think, to see the demigod that already exists in their mind than
confront the flawed human being behind the words they seek to invoke. The
result of this kind of reading of the Founders is understandably problematic –
substantive debate gives way to meaningless name-dropping. Seeking to prevent
this, in whatever small what that I can, I wish to offer an analysis of Jay’s Address that separates the rhetoric from
the reason while still embracing both. Hopefully, when all is said and done, it
will have become clear enough that the Founders ought to always be treated as
the mere mortals they truly were. Sometimes they were angels and sometimes they
were men; one should not cancel out the other, or discourage forming a healthy,
measured respect for all that they achieved and all they still have to teach
us.
That
being said, a brief discussion of the context in which Jay’s Address was published would seem, at
this stage, appropriate. Of the man himself, it will suffice to say that he was
a born (December 12, 1745) and bred New Yorker, that he attended King’s College
(Class of 1764), and that his record of public service as of 1788 was lengthy
and well-attested (one term in the First Continental Congress, two terms in the
Second Continental Congress, one term as United States Minister to Spain, and
an ongoing appointment as United States Secretary of Foreign Affairs). During
his tenure as the nation’s top diplomat between 1784 and 1789, it fell to Jay
to articulate and pursue the foreign policy objectives of the newly-independent
United States. These objectives included, among others, securing recognition of
American independence from the Great Powers of Europe, establishing sustainable
commercial relationships abroad, paying off debts incurred during the war so as
to establish the nation’s credit on a stable footing, and firmly establishing
America’s territorial boundaries vis-à-vis its various European colonial
neighbors. Due to the notorious deficiencies of the existing government under
the Articles of Confederation, however, Jay found his aims continually
frustrated and his own position continually undermined. The ability of the various
states to disregard the mandate of Congress or its officers was a source of
particular vexation – lacking any means to enforce its policy decisions or
collect taxes, the national government was chronically underfunded and
essentially powerless. Seeking a remedy to this ungainly state of affairs, Jay
understandably came to support the attempts of men like Alexander Hamilton and
James Madison – fellow public servants, both – to strengthen or replace the
existing United States government.
These
attempts culminated in the calling of the Philadelphia Convention in May, 1787,
attended by fifty-five delegates representing twelve states (Rhode Island being
the sole holdout), and the drafting of an entirely new national constitution. This
document, the subject of thorough debate and painstaking efforts at compromise,
was then submitted to Congress on September 28th with the
instruction that it be thereafter transmitted to the various state
legislatures. The states were to then call special ratifying conventions and
oversee the election of delegates. The state conventions were to establish
their own rules and structure one they had assembled, and vote for or against
the ratification of the proposed national constitution. Unlike the Articles of
Confederation, alterations to which required the consent of all thirteen
states, the Constitution only required nine conventions to vote in the
affirmative before the new government was to take effect. Delaware, whose
convention was first convened on December 3rd, quickly became the
first state to approve the proposed constitution on December 7th,
1787. The vote was unanimous; all thirty delegates, though representing Whig
and Tory factions that dated back to the Revolution, were in complete agreement
that the new federal charter would substantially increase their state’s power
in Congress (thanks to the states’ equal representation in the Senate) and
alleviate some of the costs of trade and commerce Delaware suffered under in
the absence of strong federal regulations. Neighboring Pennsylvania was the
next state to vote for ratification, though the proceedings of its convention
were far more acrimonious.
As
in Delaware, Pennsylvania politics in the 1780s were defined by a strongly
factional element. Unlike in Delaware, however, this factionalism played a
significant role in determining the outcome of the state’s ratifying
convention. This was, in truth, no great surprise. Pennsylvania was one of the
largest and most influential states, and it derived certain distinct benefits
from its position under the Articles of Confederation. Whether the loss of
those privileges – for instance, being able to set tariffs on imports to the
port of Philadelphia that neighboring states like Delaware and New Jersey were
forced to pay – would be adequately compensated by the commercial advantages of
a stronger federal government was a matter for legitimate debate. The state’s
two major political factions were accordingly motivated by partisan and
practical considerations alike, and seized upon the ratifying convention as yet
another battlefield in their ongoing contest.
Opening
in Philadelphia on November 21st and concluding its business on
December 12th, the Pennsylvania ratifying convention proved to be a
contentious, drawn-out, and deeply-divided gathering of some of the state’s
most talented, eloquent, and impassioned citizens. The Republican faction –
members of the state’s eastern merchant and intellectual elite who favored
replacing the 1776 constitution with a more orthodox governing framework –
enjoyed majority among the assembled delegates while the Constitutionalists –
ambitious and upwardly-mobile farmers, westerners, and Irish or German
Protestants who favored the 1776 constitution – were at a distinct numerical
disadvantage. The debates that followed were accordingly often accompanied by
accusations that the opinions of the minority were only being given a token
hearing so as to move the debate along as quickly as possible. In spite of this
apparent desire for haste, however, the convention dragged on for twenty-two
days, during which a relatively small number of delegates posed the same
arguments time and again. As both sides had become convinced of the outcome of
the assembly very soon into its proceedings, speakers appeared more interested
in ensuring their words would be captured by the attending journalists than
convincing anyone in attendance of anything they didn’t believe already. When
the convention finally secured a vote on the proposed constitution on December
12th, 1787, the tally was entirely expected – forty six in favor to
twenty-three against – and the minority delegates soon after voiced their
dissent in an editorial published in the Pennsylvania
Packet. Their description of the heavy-handed tactics of the majority
further inflamed existing partisan rancor in the state. The period following
the convention’s adjournment, intended by the majority to be a period of
celebration to coincide with Christmas, was consequently marked by episodes of
mob violence, effigy burning, and public accusations of foul play.
The state conventions that
immediately followed Pennsylvania in ratifying the proposed constitution tended
to be less tense, with delegates observing a greater degree of equanimity then
their fellow Americans in Philadelphia. Meetings in New Jersey and Georgia, for
instance, followed the example of Delaware by voting unanimously for
ratification in January, 1788 (thirty-eight to zero and twenty-six to zero,
respectively), and the Connecticut convention returned a healthy majority in
favor of approving the new federal charter later that same month (one hundred
twenty-eight to forty). South Carolina approved of the proposed constitution by
a similar margin in April (one hundred forty-nine to seventy-three), while
Maryland produced a close but still respectable margin to the same end earlier
that month (sixty-three to eleven). In spite of these relatively trouble-free proceedings,
however, the strength of certain regional political disputes ensured that not
every state convention was unmarred by partisan discord.
Though the Massachusetts ratifying
convention proved to be far less rancorous than its Pennsylvania counterpart,
it was marked by a similar political division and witnessed a similarly close
final vote. Thanks to the characteristic municipal autonomy afforded the New
England town, and the experience gained by regular citizens during the
ratification process of the state’s own constitution in 1780 – it was, in fact,
the only state that submitted its new governing charter for popular approval –
the people of Massachusetts were unusually adept, experienced, and creative
when it came to matters of balance, structure, and power in government. This
widespread sense of political awareness had already been a partial cause for
conflict during the abortive Shays Rebellion of 1786 and 1787 – a popular
revolt among indebted farmers and Revolutionary War veterans centered in rural
Western Massachusetts – and tempers had yet to cool entirely by the time the state
convention was assembled in Boston on January 9th, 1788. Opposition
to the proposed constitution – similar in structure to the state constitution
that many rebellious Shaysites had identified with corruption and elitism – was
accordingly quite common among the three hundred sixty-four gathered delegates,
and the Federalists (as supporters of the Constitution had become known) were
careful to proceed on a course of conciliation and compromise.
Though certain personal
disagreements did occasionally serve to disrupt the ongoing debates, and
bitterness remained on the part of delegates that had earlier supported the
aforementioned rebellion, this sense of openness and reconciliation succeeded
in convincing enough declared opponents of the proposed constitution to switch
their vote when the final tally was made. Notably, the Federalists agreed to
submit a list of amendments to the Constitution, compiled by a committee, to
the first Congress elected under the new frame of government. The understanding
reached by the majority of the convention delegates was that Congress would
make the consideration of these amendments their first priority. While this
attempt at rapprochement did not meet with universal acclaim – many
Anti-Federalist delegates still voted against ratification – the willingness of
the Constitution’s supporters to compromise ensured that even those in the
minority were willing to respect the final outcome. Thus, on February 6th,
1788, Massachusetts voted to ratify, one hundred eighty-seven to one hundred
sixty-eight.
In spite of the cautionary tale
that was the Pennsylvania debacle, and the admirable example provided by the
assembled Massachusetts delegates, New York’s ratifying convention arguably
proved to be the most contentious of those yet convened. This state of affairs
was substantially due to the fact that New York’s existing political rivalries
partially imposed themselves upon the terms of the ratification debate. Public
affairs in the Empire State had been defined by familial and factional association
since the colonial era, and the events of the Revolution allowed a number of
key personalities to achieve dominant positions. The group most vehemently
opposed to the proposed constitution was led by Governor George Clinton
(1739-1812), a populist figure who had served as the state’s chief executive
since 1777 and built a base of support by using his office to confiscate the
estates of wealthy Loyalists and distribute them among New York’s tenant
farmers. This created an entire social class of small-scale yeoman landowners
who owed their prosperity to Clinton and supported him almost unconditionally.
Clinton’s allies included lawyer and merchant Melancton Smith (1744-1798), and
John Lansing (1754-1829) and Robert Yates, both of whom were appointed to
represent New York at the Philadelphia Convention and walked out in protest.
Arrayed against them were declared nationalists like Robert Livingston
(1746-1813), lawyer, diplomat, and Chancellor of New York (effectively the head
of the state’s highest court), lawyer and member of Congress Alexander Hamilton
(1755-1804), and John Jay himself.
Having spent the better part of the
previous decade squabbling over control of key state political offices, and
otherwise jockeying for position, these men, their allies, and supporters were
not particularly disposed to be conciliatory in the spring of 1788. The county
elections meant to select delegates for the state ratifying convention accordingly
reflected this rather fraught state of affairs. Pamphlets and editorials were
widely printed and distributed by both sides, accusations of personal ambition,
corruption, and underhandedness were hurled indiscriminately in the press, candidates
manoeuvred carefully in choosing which county to represent at the convention –
nobody wanted to risk being excluded from the debate, and so were sure to
campaign in districts that looked to favor their stated views – and allegations
of bribery and favoritism on the part of state officials were far from unknown.
In one notable instance, Federalists in Ulster County (in the Catskill
Mountains) even attempted to confuse voters by nominating Anti-Federalist
candidates other than those who had declared themselves. The state convention,
set to convene in Poughkeepsie in Anti-Federalist-dominated Dutchess County,
thus looked set to be just another manifestation of New York’s endemic partisan
warfare. Jay, himself a Federalist delegate-in-waiting, waded into this melee
in the middle of April, 1788 with the publication of his aforementioned
pamphlet, An Address to the People of the
State of New-York, on the subject of the Federal Constitution.
Substantially less aggressive in tone than much of the campaign literature then
in circulation, it was held in high esteem by Jay’s Federalist allies and
widely republished and distributed in several of New York’s counties, New York
City, and even in states that had yet to decide on the proposed constitution.
This was a lot to take in, I’m
sure. While far from an exhaustive chronicle of the ratification process, I do
hope the details provided have made certain things fairly clear. However much
it might please us to think of the Founders as being selfless, objective, and
above party, the method by which the United States Constitution was ratified in
1787/1788 very clearly exposed the limits of the unity and solidarity that the
Revolutionary War had engendered. Though the debate over the new federal
charter was ostensibly concerned with national issues and national priorities,
the mechanism of ratification was distinctly provincial. The states, each with
a distinctive political culture, factions, local grudges, and regional
concerns, were the entities tasked with ultimately determining the fate of the
federal union. A consequence of this arrangement, likely unintended by the
attendees of the Philadelphia Convention, was that intra-state conflicts –
between Shaysites and Boston merchants in Massachusetts, Constitutionalists and
Republicans in Pennsylvania, and the Clinton and Livingston factions in New
York – became fused with issues of far greater import than was normally the
case – the nature of republican government, the needs of a complex, federal
state, and the dangers of unchecked authority. Rather than lay aside their
egos, their preconceptions, and their vendettas, men from across the colonies,
selected to represent their friends and neighbors, frequently brought their
provincialism with them. The result, in a word, was chaotic.
It also bears remembering that the
various state ratification conventions did not occur in isolation from one
another or all at once. Rather, they took place in a kind of cascade, with each
state and set of delegates respectively influenced by any number of rational
and irrational considerations. Authorities in Delaware and Pennsylvania, for
instance, were each keen for their state to be the first to ratify the
Constitution. While the former succeeded in this, and with a minimum of fuss given
the advantages that small states stood to gain, the latter’s attempt at haste
only served to needlessly exacerbate existing friction within Pennsylvania’s
political culture. Delegates elected in other states, having observed the
turmoil unleashed in Philadelphia, aimed to proceed with greater care and
consideration for those whose opinions they did not share. Massachusetts
represented the pinnacle of this model – wishing only to decide upon the
proposed constitution in a manner that would leave everyone satisfied that
their views had been duly considered, the Federalists in that state practiced
respect, modeled patience, and aimed at compromise. Yet more states were
inclined to call their conventions precisely when they did, and yet more
delegates were given to stall or speed things along, by a concern for the
overall progress the Constitution was making. It being widely understood that the
document would come into effect once nine state conventions had voted to
approve it, supporters and opponents of ratification often planned their
efforts according to the running tally. An early defeat, some reasoned, would
perhaps help turn public opinion in other precincts against the entire project.
Delay, others deduced, would prove similarly advantageous – once eight
conventions had chosen to ratify, the opportunity of becoming the ninth and
final state might prove enough to sway the undecided; once nine had approved,
the conversation would inevitably shift from deciding on a new national
government to staying in or departing from the federal union.
All of these factors, to a greater
or lesser extent, weighed upon men like John Jay as they aimed to determine
whether their home state was for or against the proposed constitution. And
though the stakes were very high – a fact not lost on anyone – the tenor of the
resulting debates was generally somewhat mixed. Forbearance and high-mindedness
were widely aimed for – an issue of such widespread and lasting significance as
the size, structure, and authority of the United States government seemed to
demand as much. Frequently, however, local concerns and existing conflicts
frustrated attempts at statesmanlike behavior. Rather than bring feuding
parties together in a fit of public-spiritedness, the proposed constitution and
its implications became yet another thing for existing factions to bludgeon
each other with. Certainly much was said, within the state conventions and
without, that was ingenious, insightful, and inspired. Among the delegates
chosen to represent their respective states and counties were some of the most
intelligent, experienced, and prudent men America had yet produced. And even
those of comparatively humble talents were now and then recorded as having
brought to the discussion unique perspectives from which all present were able
to benefit. Nevertheless, the business of ratification was frequently as dirty
as it was dignified, and the participants most often subject to deification in
subsequent eras were no more removed from its best aspects than its worst. John
Jay is emblematic of this, and his Address
is the evidence.
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