Three Who Made For Hamilton, Madison and Washington, the fate of the new nation and their own quest for fame were virtually entwined. By Brooks D. Simpson

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ven as the members of the Constitutional Convention met in Philadelphia in 1787, observers ascribed to them superhuman qualities. Thomas Jefferson, then in Paris as the American minister to France, pronounced the gathering “an assembly of demigods.” Since that time the lives of the Constitution’s framers have been enshrined in myth, and among those most celebrated as philosopher-statesman are George Washington, James Madison and Alexander Hamilton. But their triumph in securing the adoption of the Constitution did not rest merely on their disinterested statesmanship or the elegance of their political thought, but on their skill as practical politicians who seized an opportunity to secure the reputation of the young republic— and their own reputations as its founders. For there was no doubt in their minds that the reputation of the United States was at stake in the 1780s. They saw a feeble nation struggling under the frail Articles of Confederation frittering away an opportunity for greatness. Something had to be done, according to Washington, “to avert the humiliating and contemptible figure we are about to make in the annals of mankind.” Mindful of the judgments of history, they knew their own quest for lasting fame—“the ruling passion of the noblest minds, which would prompt a man to ... undertake ... arduous enterprises for the public benefit,” as Hamilton put it—depended on the fate of the American experiment. And while all three were well schooled in political thought, they realized that intellectual brilliance alone would be of little consequence; politics would determine the outcome of this struggle. Alexander Hamilton, an ambitious and outspoken young man whose self-confidence flirted with conceit, had first perceived the need for a stronger national government when he served on Washington’s staff during the Revolution. Hamilton viewed the inability of the Continental Congress to supply the army and pay its soldiers, owing to the refusal of state governments to contribute to the common defense, as evidence that virtue and patriotism were not sufficient to sustain the new republic. “The fundamental defect” of the nation’s political institutions, he observed, “is a want of power in Congress.... It is neither fit for war nor peace.” The Articles of Confederation had established a “feeble and distracted” national government, unable to raise revenue, make policy or compel adherence; the states were “jarring, jealous, and perverse,” leaving Americans “fluctu-

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With George Washington presiding, the framers assembled. ating and unhappy at home, weak and insignificant” abroad. “To make our independence a blessing,” Hamilton believed Americans “must secure our Union on solid foundations—a herculean task” that would require “all the virtue and all the abilities of the country.” A more energetic and powerful national government was essential to achieving Hamilton’s vision of an American empire. He believed there was “something noble and magnificent in the perspective of a great Federal Republic, closely linked in the pursuit of a common interest, tranquil and prosperous at home, respectable abroad.” To assist in establishing such an order would

a Constitution

Madison and Hamilton sit in the first row, third and fourth from left, in this painting (circa 1850) by Thomas Prichard Rossiter. gratify his desire to play the role of founder, “the most illustrious and important of any I am able to conceive,” he declared. When Hamilton took his seat as a member of the Confederation Congress in 1782, he encountered a like-minded Virginian, one who also balanced his hopes for empire and greatness with his fears of feebleness and disintegration. James Madison impressed Hamilton as a thoughtful, withdrawn, studious and somewhat infirm colleague, whose native caution was frequently misread as indecisiveness. However, nearly everyone agreed that he possessed compelling intellectual powers. Frustrated at Congress’s incapability, Madison predicted that if each state were left free to act on its own without heeding the needs of the nation, the “discord, confusion, and never

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ceasing war which has been the inevitable lot of separate sovereignties and neighboring states” would result. The following year he worked with Hamilton to pass a proposal to payoff the country’s public debt and other obligations by levying an impost on imports. Emphasizing the broader implications for the reputation of the national government, Madison argued that should the plan be adopted, “the cause of liberty will acquire a dignity and lustre which it has never yet enjoyed and an example will be set, which cannot but have the most favorable influence on the rights of mankind.” But should it fail to pass, “the great cause which we have engaged to vindicate, will be dishonored and betrayed.” As Hamilton and Madison battled to pass the impost, which

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Cartoon (right) by engraver Amos Doolittle shows mounting pressure for stronger central government. Among the points raised: pensions for veterans, the states’ unchecked issuance of paper currency and a crazy quilt of burdensome taxes. A $20 bill (below) issued in 1775 by the Continental Congress.

would have expanded Congress’s power to tax, they received support from an unexpected quarter—the retiring commander of the Army of the United States. Normally, George Washington kept his opinions and frustrations about the palsied politics of Congress to himself. He had made clear that he would have nothing to do with any effort to supplant it with a military dictatorship headed by himself, arguing that Americans had not overthrown King George III of Great Britain in order to enthrone King George I of Mount Vernon. However, when Washington resigned his commission in 1783—an act demonstrating the supremacy of civil over military power—he spoke out at last. It was now up to Americans, he said in a circular letter to the states, to decide whether the United States was to become “respectable and prosperous, or contemptible and miserable, as a nation” through its form of government. “This is the moment when the eyes of the whole world” would watch the Americans’ experiment in republicanism; “this is the moment to establish or ruin their national character forever” by founding and administering a wise and energetic government.

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To Washington, peace with England did not mark the success of the struggle for independence; it remained uncertain “whether the revolution must ultimately be considered as a blessing or a curse.” Under a feeble national government, “every thing must very rapidly tend to anarchy and confusion.” Should that happen, he predicted, the “Union cannot be of long duration.” Despotism would be the inevitable result, for “arbitrary power is most easily established on the ruins of liberty, abused to licentiousness.” In that case, “it will be a subject of regret, that so much blood and treasure have been lavished for no purpose, that so many sufferings have been encountered without a compensation, and that so many sacrifices have been made in vain.” It was an eloquent appeal—and it failed. The impost was defeated. The time for reform had not yet arrived. Over the next few years, the new nation stumbled along on the verge of humiliation. Congress rarely commanded a quorum; its revenues were so sparse it could barely payoff a third of the interest on the national debt. Efforts to strengthen its powers were fruitless since it proved impossible to gain the unanimous support of the parochial state legislatures, which instead erected trade barriers, passed measures that violated international agreements and acted as if the 13 states were really 13 separate countries. Foreign powers treated the fledgling republic with contempt. Great Britain refused to withdraw its troops from western outposts and encouraged tribes to conduct raids on frontier settlements, convinced that the Americans were helpless to do anything about it. This turn of events infuriated Washington. “From the high ground we stood upon, from the plain path which invited our footsteps, to be so fallen! So lost!” Under the “half-starved, limping” Confederation, the United States was “always moving upon crutches, and tottering at every step.” To John Jay he expostulated, “What a triumph for the advocates of despotism, to find that we

are incapable of governing ourselves, and that systems, founded on the basis of equal liberty, are merely ideal and fallacious.” And to Madison he wrote in despair, “Thirteen Sovereignties pulling against each other, and all tugging at the federal head will soon bring ruin on the whole; whereas a liberal, and energetic Constitution, well guarded and closely watched, to prevent encroachments, might restore us to that degree of respectability and consequence, to which we had a fair claim and the brightest prospect of attaining.” The retired general maintained a wide correspondence with other leaders at home and abroad; a former aide called Mount Vernon “the focus of political intelligence for the new world.” In 1785 Washington was host to a conference of representatives from Maryland and Virginia to resolve problems of navigation along the Potomac. Encouraged by the results of this effort, Madison pushed through the Virginia legislature a proposal to invite delegates from all the states to meet at Annapolis, Maryland, to discuss issues of commerce. But when he reached Annapolis in early September 1786, only two other delegates had arrived. A dozen, representing five states, eventually came. And although others were reportedly on the way, the meeting seemed a humiliating failure. But what appeared to be a disaster was to one delegate an opportunity. Why not call for another meeting in Philadelphia next spring to replace the Articles? queried Alexander Hamilton, the delegate from New York. He had long believed that only a convention could overhaul the Articles, for the state legislatures would never accomplish such a task. Determined not to alienate Edmund Randolph, another of the Annapolis dozen, Madison urged Hamilton to conceal his revolutionary intent beneath reassuring rhetoric about the need for mild revisions. After approving the reworked draft of Hamilton’s proposal, the delegates hastily adjourned, lest those still in transit water down their handiwork. For Madison, the Annapolis meeting provided a glimmer of hope, but he was well aware that if there was a lukewarm response from the state legislatures, the call for a convention would die aborning. Returning to Virginia, he secured the election of Edmund Randolph as governor, replacing Patrick Henry, who was no friend to the nationalists. With Randolph’s encouragement, Virginia’s legislature approved the proposed convention and named a slate of delegates weighted toward the nationalists. Other states followed suit, and in February 1787 the Confederation Congress endorsed the measure. With this triumph in hand, Madison grasped for another— making sure George Washington headed Virginia’s delegation. First, he had to overcome the general’s reluctance to reenter public life. Washington enjoyed the role of gentleman planter at Mount Vernon and feared his reputation would be besmirched by political wrangling, especially if he lent his name to an unsuccessful movement. But events in western Massachusetts changed his mind. Furious at the failure of the Massachusetts legislature to provide debtor relief and increase issues of currency, dissatisfied farmers under the command of Revolutionary War veteran Daniel Shays closed down local courts and even the state supreme court to forestall judgments against debtors. What threat-

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New York City marked the Constitution’s ratification by the required nine states with parade featuring float “Hamilton.”

The only contemporary sketch of Daniel Shays (left) and Job Shattuck, leaders of the western Massachusetts rebellion.

ened to become a full-fledged insurrection collapsed with a minimum of bloodshed, but the uprising lent credence to predictions by Madison and Hamilton of disorder, violence and mob rule if something was not done soon to strengthen the national government. Shays’ Rebellion confirmed Washington’s concerns. The general, “mortified beyond expression,” feared that the nation was about to “sink into the lowest state of humiliation and contempt.” Something was seriously, perhaps fundamentally wrong with a government that could not preserve order or protect prop-

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Charles Wilson Peale depicted young James Madison in 1783. Madison was a delegate from Virginia to the Confederate Congress that year. He commissioned the miniature as a gift for a young lady.

Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton at Battle of Yorktown, where he led a bayonet assault against the British. erty. As he told Madison, “What stronger evidence can be given of the want of energy in our government, than these disorders? If there is not power in it to check them, what security has a man for life, liberty, or property?” It was time to take action: “Without an alteration in our political creed, the superstructure we have been seven years in raising, at the expense of so much treasure and blood, must fall. We are fast verging to anarchy and confusion.” Like his contemporaries, Washington was schooled in a political tradition that encouraged “vigilance in watching, vigor in acting.” Failure to respond in this time of crisis would put his reputation for selfless public service in jeopardy. Hesitation for office became someone who wanted to make clear his reluctance to assume power; prolonged procrastination marked a failure of patriotism and an absorption with private matters. Washington, more than most, understood the importance of appearances. Fearing he would be charged with “dereliction to republicanism,” he agreed to attend the Philadelphia convention. “The pressure of the public voice was so loud, I could not resist the call,” he later explained. Madison was relieved and grateful. “To forsake the honorable retreat to which he had retired and risk the reputation he had so deservedly acquired,” Madison observed to Jefferson, “manifested a zeal for the public interest that could, after so many and illustrious services, scarcely have been expected of him.”

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Madison prepared carefully for Philadelphia. For two years he had examined the weaknesses of confederations-such as the Achæan and the Lycian confederations and the Dutch United Provinces, which were doomed to collapse because they lacked power to compel cooperation and unity; and he had paid particular attention to the weaknesses of the Articles of Confederation. He would go to the convention armed with arguments in support of a stronger national government, as well as a proposal for one. But knowledge would not be enough. For months Madison flattered, appeased and placated Edmund Randolph, a gifted orator, because he wanted the governor to present his blueprint of a new government. Randolph agreed. In another backroom bargain, Madison arranged for Washington, not Philadelphia’s own Benjamin Franklin, to be chosen as the convention’s presiding officer, knowing full well that Washington would recognize Randolph first. For Madison’s plan of government conformed to Washington’s desire “that the Convention may adopt no temporising expedient, but probe the defects of the Constitution to the bottom, and provide radical cures....” In one bold stroke, Madison ensured that his proposal would set the terms of the debate, bypassing efforts to seek minor reforms, even though providing a new framework of government exceeded the scope of the delegates’ instructions. Madison’s plan worked like a charm. Washington was named presiding officer on May 25, the first day of the convention. Four days later Randolph presented Madison’s plan. This Virginia Plan outlined a national government separated into executive, legislative and judicial branches; allotment of seats in the bicameral legislature would be according to either population or taxable wealth, abolishing the one state-one vote procedure of the Confederation Congress. The legislature would select both the executive and the judiciary, could veto state legislation and enforce its decisions. In the ensuing discussion Madison defended his plan skillfully. “He blends together the profound politician, with the Scholar,” noted Georgia delegate William Pierce; “in the management of every great question he took the lead” and “always comes forward the best informed Man of any point in debate.” But delegates from smaller states feared that proportional representation, whether by population or property, would create a national government dominated by larger states. They rallied behind

The Resignation of General Washington by John Trumbull shows Washington returning his commission to Congress. Mrs. Washington and her three grandchildren watch from the balcony. Thomas Jefferson stands third from left. the New Jersey delegate William Paterson, whose plan maintained the principle of one state-one vote and watered down or deleted many of the powers Madison had entrusted to the national government. With a stalemate looming over the proceedings, Alexander Hamilton intervened. The New Yorker had been fairly quiet for several weeks; he was flanked by two cronies of Governor George Clinton—Robert Yates and John Lansing, Jr.—both upstate lawyers who opposed strong national government and rendered Hamilton a minority of one from his own state. But now he saw an opportunity to assist Madison. On June 18, he spoke for more than five hours offering a third alternative. Though the speech earned Hamilton the enduring label of monarchist, his advocacy of a strong, centralized government nearly eradicating the states and headed by a powerful executive contained few startling ideas. And, as one delegate commented, his plan was “praised by everybody” but “supported by none.” Hamilton had never intended his listeners to consider his discourse a concrete proposal. His purpose was political and tactical. As he listened to Madison’s defense of the Virginia Plan, the New Yorker had scribbled, “human mind fond of compromise.” Now he set the stage for one. By presenting an extreme proposal for national power, he made Madison’s plan more acceptable by placing it in the middle ground between Paterson’s and his own. It was a masterstroke of political strategy. The next day, Madison delivered a pointby-point rebuttal of Paterson’s plan; the delegates then voted to treat the Virginia Plan as the basis for discussion. As the deliberations dragged on through the summer, the nationalists grew discouraged. Hamilton returned to New York to practice law. In his absence Madison, with Rufus King, James Wilson and others, carried on the struggle. While he failed to gain approval for several of his more advanced suggestions, Madison remained sure that the proposal under discussion was a marked improvement over the Articles. To remove possible obstacles to ratification, he convinced his fellow delegates that ratification should be accomplished through state conventions elected for that purpose, circum-

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venting the state legislatures, which would rebel at any fundamental alteration in the structure of government. Moreover, Madison established that only nine states need approve the new Constitution to give it life, ensuring that the ratification process would be freed from the yoke of unanimity under which the Confederation had labored. As the summer dragged on, other compromises were hammered out, until it seemed as if the convention might succeed after all. In September, Hamilton returned to Philadelphia to help draft the penultimate version of the convention’s handiwork. Appealing to his fellow delegates to give the finished framework their unanimous support, he reminded them that while “no man’s ideas were more remote from the plan than his were known to be,” it was now this plan or none. Delegates had to choose “between anarchy and convulsion on one side, and the chance of good to be expected from the plan on the other.” Privately, Washington seconded these sentiments; while he wished that the document “had been made more perfect,” he realized that “it is the best that could be obtained at this time” when “the political concerns of this country are ... suspended by a thread.” The alternative, he believed, was “anarchy” and “disunion.” On September 17, the convention adjourned, and the new Constitution was ready for public inspection and discussion. Drafting a constitution was one thing; gaining its adoption was another, and Madison, Washington and Hamilton went to work to gain its acceptance. Among these efforts was the collaboration of Hamilton, Madison and John Jay on a series of essays explaining and defending the Constitution to New Yorkers, where the ratification fight promised to be especially difficult. On October 27, the first number of the Federalist appeared in print. By the following May, 85 essays had been published, all but five composed by Madison or Hamilton. While most people would agree with Washington’s observation that the Federalist represented political discussion of the highest level, this very brilliance rendered the essays nearly useless as propaganda. The voters who were to elect delegates to the ratifying conventions were far more interested in learning how the Constitution would affect their daily lives. Even supporters of ratification complained that the essays were “not well calculated for the com-

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The Federalist No. 10 written by James Madison appeared first in November 1787 in New York newspapers. The entire series of essays was also issued in bound volumes. This edition dates from 1788. Though justly celebrated, the Federalist did not play a critical role in the struggle for ratification.

mon people.” Their learnedness supported charges that the nationalists were highbrow aristocrats conspiring to subvert liberty. Furthermore, most of the elections for delegates to the ratifying conventions had taken place before a third of the essays appeared. Six states had ratified the Constitution by the time Madison’s No. 51, usually ranked second in importance to Federalist No. 10, was published. Outside of New York City, few people saw the Federalist; in seven states it never saw the light of day. This suggests that the series was not decisive in the struggle for ratification. At most, it rehearsed and refined arguments for the crucial battles in New York and Virginia. Still, superior political skill, not surpassing philosophical argument, proved critical in these states, with Hamilton and Madison playing leading roles. The opposing sides were evenly matched in numbers and talent when Virginians met to vote on ratification. With calm, reasoned arguments, Madison struggled against the “overwhelming torrent” of Patrick Henry’s oratory, an effort that left him hoarse and ill. Things looked even more grim in New York, where the Constitution’s advocates found themselves outnumbered, 46 to 19. Hamilton prevented adjournment by proposing a point-by-point discussion of the document. His arguments won plaudits but no followers; as he complained to Madison, we “confound but do not convince.” But these deliberations bought much needed time, for while Hamilton and his supporters held forth, New Hampshire became the ninth state to ratify, presenting Clinton and his cohorts with the choice of surrender or exclusion from the new United States. That information arrived in Albany on June 24; eight days later debate was interrupted by the news that Madison and his allies had carried the day in Virginia with a vote of 89 to 79, in part because of Madison’s decision to accept the possibility of amendments designed to restrict the power of the federal government over the lives of American citizens.

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Alternately cajoling delegates with the promise to consider suggested amendments and threatening upstaters with the secession of New York City, Hamilton finally triumphed on July 26, securing New York’s ratification by three votes, 30 to 27. Thus opponents were not persuaded by discussion but, as Hamilton noted, were “convinced by circumstances”—and, one might add, the compromise over the need for a bill of rights. Though George Washington took no active role in the ratification process, he corresponded with colleagues, provided information and encouragement and expressed his satisfaction at each sign of the approaching victory. But others felt his presence. Gouverneur Morris informed Washington that affixing “your name to the Constitution has been of infinite service” in securing ratification. As James Monroe remarked in a letter to Jefferson, “Be assured, his influence carried this government.” But Alexander Hamilton knew that even ratification was not enough to secure the Constitution’s triumph. “It is to little purpose to have introduced a system, if the weightiest influence is not given to its firm establishment, [at] the outset,” he wrote Washington. Americans still had to be persuaded to put their faith in the new experiment and see it through to realization. Even now opponents of the Constitution were planning to call a second convention, which might undo the work of the first. There was only one way to nip continued debate in the bud; Washington must become the first President. For the delegates at Philadelphia would never have created a strong executive had they not believed Washington would be the first man entrusted with its powers. As they discussed the executive branch, one delegate recalled, they “shaped their ideas of the powers to be given to a president, by their opinion of his virtues.” Washington hemmed and hawed. Enjoying retirement and apprehensive about appearing “vain-glorious,” he tiptoed about his

sentiments. But Hamilton, who once bragged that he knew Washington “intimately and perfectly,” appealed once more to the general’s concern about reputation. “The crisis which brought you again into public view [leaves] you no alternative but to comply,” he wrote. “A regard to your own reputation as well as to the public good, calls upon you in the strongest manner to run that risk.” Washington’s influence, so critical in drafting and ratifying the Constitution, would be equally important “in preserving it from the future attacks of its enemies.” In short, “it would be inglorious in such a situation not to hazard the glory however great.” Hamilton knew his man. Others echoed his call, causing Washington to admit “a fear that my refusal might induce a belief that I

preferred the conservation of my own reputation and private ease to the good of my country.” Eventually he acknowledged that he was responding to the imperatives of duty, as indeed he was. With Washington installed as President, the foundation was laid for a promising future for the new nation under its new Constitution, a future secured by three practical politicians who linked their own reputation to that of the nation they had done so much to create. Brooks D. Simpson, Assistant Professor of History at Arizona State University, is the author of Let Us Have Peace: Ulysses S. Grant and the Politics of War and Reconstruction, 1861-1868.

When New Hampshire ratification assured a majority, New York eventually followed, and in July 1788 major festivities were organized to celebrate the new Constitution. Drawing shows the elaborate banquet pavilion set up in New York City.

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