by John Ferling
By the spring, Hamilton would have known about Virginia’s call for an interstate convention. During the previous year he had rebuffed those who urged him to seek a seat in the New York assembly, but in April 1786 he eagerly sought election, subsequently remarking that he was drawn back into politics by the “derangement of our public affairs.”27 He hoped to have New York’s legislature endorse the convention in Annapolis, and he wished to attend it. Hamilton succeeded on both counts. In September, he was in Annapolis, where, like Madison, he was prepared to take a first step in changing the government of the United States.
The Annapolis venture failed, but it was a failure with positive consequences. Only a dozen delegates from five states attended. All stayed at the City Tavern, and with plenty of time on their hands during the week or so that most were in town, they conversed and made future plans. It is a good bet that Hamilton and Madison, reunited for the first time in more than three years, dominated the discussions, and equally likely that Hamilton, always a clever strategist, took the lead in plotting the next steps. The outcome was that the Annapolis Convention urged that another convention meet in May in Philadelphia, but that it have “enlarged powers” to take up “other” matters “as the situation of public affairs, may be found to require” in order “to render the constitution of the Foederal Government adequate to the exigencies of the Union.” In addition, Hamilton and Madison knew that it was crucial to have Washington on hand, both for the respectability that his presence would bring to the meeting and to impress the public with the gravity of the nation’s problems. When Madison left Annapolis for home, he swung by Mount Vernon, where he spent three days laying the groundwork for Washington to attend the Philadelphia meeting, if it in fact was to take place.28
What was especially needed to give the Philadelphia Convention a better chance of success was some dramatic occurrence that lent an air of immediate crisis. Like manna from heaven, Shays’ Rebellion erupted just as the Annapolis Convention came to its abortive end.
The uprising aroused a sense of urgency among Nationalists, and may have contributed to their willingness to compromise once they got together in Philadelphia. The insurgency may also have convinced Washington to attend. Previously, he had tenaciously resisted all entreaties. He neither desired to risk his towering reputation in a cause that many Americans, possibly most, opposed, nor did he wish to renege on his pledge to never again hold office. Then came Shays’ Rebellion, after which Washington pronounced the Philadelphia Convention “very desirous.”29
Before Shays’ Rebellion, the consolidationists had primarily focused on the dangers of national weakness, but the unrest in Massachusetts brought economic considerations, and especially indebtedness—personal, state, and national—front and center. This was Hamilton’s bailiwick, and he responded with a ninety-minute speech in the New York assembly in February. It was occasioned by yet another attempt to secure a national impost, though in some ways his address was his opening salvo on behalf of the constitution that was soon to be drafted. Yet again, the national will had been frustrated by a narrow provincial interest. Unless a remedy was found, powerful local oligarchs would always have the power to thwart the national well-being. In a contest between local and national authority, he said, “the body of the people will always be on the side of the state governments,” for local interests and issues comprise “familiar personal concerns.” During the war, localism had played out in the form of a “universal delinquency” by the states to meet their national responsibilities. In the five years since Yorktown, five states “have paid nothing” to the federal treasury, while payments from the other eight “have declined rapidly each year.” This was entirely predictable. The end game was similarly foreseeable: The national government “will never be able to exercise power enough to manage the general affairs of the union.” Such a state of affairs renders “the confederacy … in continual danger of dissolution.” Unless remedied, the union will be sundered, subjecting the states to the wiles of Europe’s great powers. He concluded with an appeal: Do not let the United States perish from fears over the “imaginary dangers from the spectre of power in Congress.”30
Hamilton lost the battle over the impost, but he successfully moved to have the assembly send representatives to the convention in Philadelphia. The Clinton faction could not avoid naming Hamilton to its delegation, but by appointing John Lansing, the mayor of Albany, and Judge Robert Yates—two of its own—the Clintonians assured that Hamilton would be checked.
Hamilton was accustomed to dominating every room, and within days of entering Congress in 1782 he had emerged as a leader. But Hamilton was not a commanding figure at the Constitutional Convention. Though he was far younger than most—thirty-two, which was ten years below the average age of the delegates—it was not his age that was a factor. Hamilton’s influence was limited largely because his views were too radical even for this conservative gathering. Desperate for the convention to produce something that was superior to the Articles of Confederation, Hamilton for the most part remained on the sidelines, watching and listening, but rarely speaking.31
George Mason aptly described the delegates as the “first characters” in the land, and not solely because nearly all belonged to society’s top rung. Nearly 80 percent had sat in Congress, eight had been delegates to state constitutional conventions, seven had been governors, and one-third had served in the Continental army. These men were experienced, but they were not disinterested. More than half were slave owners, a third were actively involved in foreign or interstate commerce, the lion’s share were land speculators, and a majority owned certificates of public debt. Economic considerations were part and parcel of the deliberations. The Philadelphia Convention was also defined by who was not present. The “new men,” like Abraham Yates, were conspicuously absent. Nor were vocal decentralists with democratic leanings, such as Samuel Adams and Patrick Henry, present in the East Room of the Pennsylvania State House, the same chamber in which independence had been proclaimed eleven years earlier.
While virtually every delegate came prepared to increase the powers of the national government at the expense of the states, none was willing to jeopardize the vital interests of his own state. Moreover, the larger states sought more power than they had under the Articles, while the smaller states steadfastly resisted losing their clout. These things made for problems, though it did not mean that the convention was doomed. All knew that this would almost certainly be the only opportunity in their lifetimes—and possibly the only chance ever—to fashion a truly strong national government that could cope with what they saw as deep-seated problems. These delegates were experienced politicians, skilled in the arts of bluff, bluster, and deception, but also practiced in negotiating deals. Most had come prepared to bargain, hopeful, as Grayson had predicted fifteen months earlier, that through compromise a good government could be created.
Hamilton had little experience in such things. He had sat in Congress for a few months, but at a time when it was hardly more than an idle debating society. Most of his experience had been in the army, where orders were given and followed, not disputed and haggled over. Relatively unaccustomed to the ways of legislators, he was convinced after a few weeks that “we shall let slip the golden opportunity.” His “anxiety” that “the Convention … will not go far enough” was made all the greater by his belief that “there has been an astonishing revolution for the better in the minds of the people,” and that they were now “ripe” for “a strong well mounted government.”32 During the first twenty or so sessions, he said nothing. But on June 18, his frustration and apprehension peaking, Hamilton delivered a remarkable six-hour speech in which he laid bare his most deeply held convictions, hoping to persuade the delegates to commit to a radical plan of constitutional revision.
At the time of his remarks, the convention had been presented with two working proposals. The Virginia Plan called for a new constitution that vested the national government with much greater powers, incl
uding the authority not only to enact laws “in all cases to which the separated states are incompetent,” but also to “negative” state laws “contravening … the articles of union.” The New Jersey Plan, on the other hand, proposed that the Articles of Confederation be amended to augment the powers of the federal government, though state sovereignty would for the most part be preserved.
When Hamilton rose to speak, the East Room was warm and stuffy, as it nearly always was on summer days. Following the procedure adopted by the Continental Congress, the delegates kept the room’s tall windows shut, both to suppress outdoor noise and to preserve the secrecy of their discussions and transactions. Hamilton faced colleagues seated in hard Windsor chairs at round tables covered with green fabric. The tables and chairs were positioned in arcs, and the delegates sat facing the dais, where the presiding officer, General Washington, sat in the tallest chair of all. Looking out over the rather small, square room, with its gray paneled walls, Hamilton began by saying that he was “unfriendly to both plans,” as under both the states would continue to “counteract” the national interest. Neither plan would solve the problems of raising adequate amounts of revenue or of raising armies before war was declared, and neither would satisfactorily check democracy. These deficiencies would mean that neither “public strength” nor “individual security” could be achieved.
What then was the solution? Hamilton said that he would like to see the “formal Extinction of State Governments,” but admitted that such a step would “shock public Opinion too much.” He also declared that he remained committed to republicanism, though he “despair[ed] that a republican government can remove the difficulties.” In fact, the plan that he recommended was republican in only a narrow sense. Hamilton urged a national government drawn on the likeness of the British example, “the best model the world ever produced.” The British government excelled because it provided for national strength, but also as it inhibited change.
Hamilton told his colleagues that every society divided into “the few and the many.” The few—the “rich and well born”—having already reached society’s pinnacle, had no incentive to pursue radical change. In contrast, the many were not only “turbulent and changing,” but they also would “seldom judge or determine right.” Therefore, it was crucial that the Constitution be designed in such a fashion to assure that the few would be the predominant force in the nation’s government. This was the only safe way to “check the imprudence of democracy.”
Hamilton recommended the creation of a bicameral congress, consisting of a lower house elected for three-year terms by the qualified voters, and an upper house chosen for life by an electoral college whose members had been elected by the qualified voters. He additionally urged an executive chosen by the electoral college for life. Calling the executive an “elective monarch,” Hamilton said that a life term would place him “above temptation” and enable him to act solely in the national interest. He urged that the executive be vested with extraordinary powers, including unalloyed control of the military, enormous authority in the realms of foreign policy and finance, and an ironclad veto. In this layered structure of choosing the key officials, it went without saying that America’s principal rulers would inevitably be drawn from society’s elite. Most of those “trifling Characters” that tended to “obtrude” in republics would be screened out, he said.33
It was the most radical plan introduced at the Constitutional Convention, and while a great many delegates liked what they heard, all knew that the sort of constitution Hamilton favored was too impolitic to win ratification. A Connecticut delegate summed up the reaction of the Convention: Hamilton “has been praised by every body” but “supported by none.”34
Nevertheless, speaking in what was supposed to be a secrecy-shrouded chamber, Hamilton had pulled back the curtain that concealed the true thoughts of the most conservative Americans. For them, the American Revolution had been about breaking free of the mother country and creating their own powerful nation state, one in which the entrepreneurs, speculators, exporters and importers, and men of finance would be free from London’s confining shackles and oppressive hand. They had not dreamed of sweeping political or social change. But change had been unleashed, including the elevation to power of those who had been powerless in colonial days. This change aroused fear among the most conservative Americans. They yearned to stop the American Revolution, to make change more difficult, to preserve the contours of the society with which they had been familiar prior to 1776. Hamilton accepted that there would always be natural inequalities in society, and that they would increase over time. As this was the natural way of things, he was not inclined to seek any remedy for the disparities. Hamilton’s way of thinking was not one of compassion. It was an expression of the elite’s overarching desire to preserve their exalted status, and its class-biased, antidemocratic spirit not only would characterize Hamilton’s thought for the remainder of his life, but also would remain the driving force behind much of conservative philosophy for generations to come.
Hamilton’s political philosophy was strikingly unlike that of Jefferson’s. Their differences were rooted in their conflicting views of human nature. Jefferson was an optimist; Hamilton was a pessimist who, in the words of one scholar, held “mankind in pragmatic distrust.”35 He saw humankind as the pawn of passion, and in numerous writings Hamilton spoke of the intractable “avarice, ambition, interest which govern most individuals.” Given man’s ever-present “love of power,” “desire of preeminence and dominion,” irresistible “low intrigue” for gaining power, and propensity for deception once in power—in order to achieve greater power and make pawns of the weak—Hamilton harbored doubts about man’s capability for self-government.36
Later, Hamilton viewed Jefferson as a “visionary” who embraced “pernicious dreams,” for the Virginian thought humankind was endowed with a moral sense that made possible affection and empathy. If man’s environment could be changed so that education was widespread, social distinctions eliminated, and wealth more equally distributed, the good in mankind would predominate. Jefferson championed governments that permitted change, advocated listening to the will of the people, and denounced the oppression of the many through what he had called the tyranny of the few. His draft constitutions for Virginia bore little resemblance to the plan that Hamilton had laid out. Emphasizing the goal of maintaining the authority of the “whole body of the people,” the officeholders in Jefferson’s plans were to serve for brief terms, the executive was to be a weak official, and a bill of rights was to be included in order to protect the people from their government. At bottom, Jefferson’s constitutional formulations sought to facilitate the desires of the governed. Hamilton emphasized the preservation of order and stability, the protection of those who had reached society’s summit, and the means of restraining those who had not.37
Hamilton had not been a major player in the convention prior to his speech, and he played an insignificant role from that point forward. He talked at length only one other time, on June 29, in the midst of what seemed to be a crisis of indissoluble differences among the delegates. The heart of his remarks concerned the “consequences of the dissolution of the Union,” though this time he emphasized the dangers from abroad claiming, “Foreigners are jealous of our encreasing greatness, and would rejoice in our” divisions. Moreover, the nation was in debt to European powers, which might drive them to gain what they were owed. If the nation is weak, he cautioned, “foreigners will invade your rights.” The United States would survive only if the states remained united “for our common defence.” Among his last words to the convention was an appeal to create a national government of “sufficient stability and strength” that it could provide for the national defense.38
Following his second speech, Hamilton went home to tend to his legal practice. Two weeks after his departure, Washington wrote to Hamilton that it seemed unlikely that the convention would produce the government that America required. “I wish you were
back,” he added. The convention was the first occasion, as far as is known, when Hamilton and Washington were together since Yorktown. Hamilton had not made the one-day ride from Annapolis to Mount Vernon to call on Washington the previous fall, perhaps because Betsey had given birth to the couple’s third child during his absence and he was anxious to get home. But Hamilton’s lingering rancor toward Washington likely played a role too, and in fact he does not appear to have associated with Washington in Philadelphia. Washington dined, drank tea, even went sightseeing with numerous others, but in his diary he never mentioned the least contact with Hamilton. After having been in the same city with Washington for six weeks, Hamilton remarked that he had not “compared ideas” with Washington. The general, of course, was aware of Hamilton’s thinking after his June speech, and he appeared not to have been put off by it. Furthermore, as Washington lodged with Robert Morris and spent considerable time with Gouverneur Morris—with whom he went fishing near Valley Forge during a weeklong recess—he was probably made aware, if he had not known previously, that Hamilton’s grasp of economics was exceptional.39
