A More Perfect Union:
The Creation of the U.S. Constitution
May 25, 1787, Freshly spread dirt covered the cobblestone street in front
of the Pennsylvania State House, protecting the men inside from the sound
of passing carriages and carts. Guards stood at the entrances to ensure that
the curious were kept at a distance. Robert Morris of Pennsylvania, the
"financier" of the Revolution, opened the proceedings with a nomination--Gen.
George Washington for the presidency of the Constitutional Convention. The
vote was unanimous. With characteristic ceremonial modesty, the general expressed
his embarrassment at his lack of qualifications to preside over such an august
body and apologized for any errors into which he might fall in the course
of its deliberations.
To many of those assembled, especially to the small, boyish-looking, 36-year-old
delegate from Virginia, James Madison, the general's mere presence boded
well for the convention, for the illustrious Washington gave to the gathering
an air of importance and legitimacy But his decision to attend the convention
had been an agonizing one. The Father of the Country had almost remained
at home.
Suffering from rheumatism, despondent over the loss of a brother, absorbed
in the management of Mount Vernon, and doubting that the convention would
accomplish very much or that many men of stature would attend, Washington
delayed accepting the invitation to attend for several months. Torn between
the hazards of lending his reputation to a gathering perhaps doomed to failure
and the chance that the public would view his reluctance to attend with a
critical eye, the general finally agreed to make the trip. James Madison
was pleased.
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General George Washington was unanimously elected president
of the Philadelphia convention. |
The Articles of Confederation
The determined Madison had for several years insatiably studied history and
political theory searching for a solution to the political and economic dilemmas
he saw plaguing America. The Virginian's labors convinced him of the futility
and weakness of confederacies of independent states. America's own government
under the Articles of Confederation, Madison was convinced, had to be replaced.
In force since 1781, established as a "league of friendship" and a constitution
for the 13 sovereign and independent states after the Revolution, the articles
seemed to Madison woefully inadequate. With the states retaining considerable
power, the central government, he believed, had insufficient power to regulate
commerce. It could not tax and was generally impotent in setting commercial
policy It could not effectively support a war effort. It had little power
to settle quarrels between states. Saddled with this weak government, the
states were on the brink of economic disaster. The evidence was overwhelming.
Congress was attempting to function with a depleted treasury; paper money
was flooding the country, creating extraordinary inflation--a pound of tea
in some areas could be purchased for a tidy $100; and the depressed condition
of business was taking its toll on many small farmers. Some of them were
being thrown in jail for debt, and numerous farms were being confiscated
and sold for taxes.
In 1786 some of the farmers had fought back. Led by Daniel Shays, a former
captain in the Continental army, a group of armed men, sporting evergreen
twigs in their hats, prevented the circuit court from sitting at Northampton,
MA, and threatened to seize muskets stored in the arsenal at Springfield.
Although the insurrection was put down by state troops, the incident confirmed
the fears of many wealthy men that anarchy was just around the corner.
Embellished day after day in the press, the uprising made upper-class Americans
shudder as they imagined hordes of vicious outlaws descending upon innocent
citizens. From his idyllic Mount Vernon setting, Washington wrote to Madison:
"Wisdom and good examples are necessary at this time to rescue the political
machine from the impending storm."
Madison thought he had the answer. He wanted a strong central government
to provide order and stability. "Let it be tried then," he wrote, "whether
any middle ground can be taken which will at once support a due supremacy
of the national authority," while maintaining state power only when
"subordinately useful." The resolute Virginian looked to the Constitutional
Convention to forge a new government in this mold.
The convention had its specific origins in a proposal offered by Madison
and John Tyler in the Virginia assembly that the Continental Congress be
given power to regulate commerce throughout the Confederation. Through their
efforts in the assembly a plan was devised inviting the several states to
attend a convention at Annapolis, MD, in September 1786 to discuss commercial
problems. Madison and a young lawyer from New York named Alexander Hamilton
issued a report on the meeting in Annapolis, calling upon Congress to summon
delegates of all of the states to meet for the purpose of revising the Articles
of Confederation. Although the report was widely viewed as a usurpation of
congressional authority, the Congress did issue a formal call to the states
for a convention. To Madison it represented the supreme chance to reverse
the country's trend. And as the delegations gathered in Philadelphia, its
importance was not lost to others. The squire of Gunston Hall, George Mason,
wrote to his son, "The Eyes of the United States are turned upon this Assembly
and their Expectations raised to a very anxious Degree. May God Grant that
we may be able to gratify them, by establishing a wise and just Government."
The Delegates
Seventy-four delegates were appointed to the convention, of which 55 actually
attended sessions. Rhode Island was the only state that refused to send
delegates. Dominated by men wedded to paper currency, low taxes, and popular
government, Rhode Island's leaders refused to participate in what they saw
as a conspiracy to overthrow the established government. Other Americans
also had their suspicions. Patrick Henry, of the flowing red Glasgow cloak
and the magnetic oratory, refused to attend, declaring he "smelt a rat."
He suspected, correctly, that Madison had in mind the creation of a powerful
central government and the subversion of the authority of the state legislatures.
Henry along with many other political leaders, believed that the state
governments offered the chief protection for personal liberties. He was
determined not to lend a hand to any proceeding that seemed to pose a threat
to that protection.
With Henry absent, with such towering figures as Jefferson and Adams abroad
on foreign missions, and with John Jay in New York at the Foreign Office,
the convention was without some of the country's major political leaders.
It was, nevertheless, an impressive assemblage. In addition to Madison and
Washington, there were Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania--crippled by gout,
the 81-year-old Franklin was a man of many dimensions printer, storekeeper,
publisher, scientist, public official, philosopher, diplomat, and ladies'
man; James Wilson of Pennsylvania--a distinguished lawyer with a penchant
for ill-advised land-jobbing schemes, which would force him late in life
to flee from state to state avoiding prosecution for debt, the Scotsman brought
a profound mind steeped in constitutional theory and law; Alexander Hamilton
of New York--a brilliant, ambitious former aide-de-camp and secretary to
Washington during the Revolution who had, after his marriage into the Schuyler
family of New York, become a powerful political figure; George Mason of
Virginia--the author of the Virginia Bill of Rights whom Jefferson later
called "the Cato of his country without the avarice of the Roman"; John Dickinson
of Delaware--the quiet, reserved author of the "Farmers' Letters" and chairman
of the congressional committee that framed the articles; and Gouverneur Morris
of Pennsylvania-- well versed in French literature and language, with a flair
and bravado to match his keen intellect, who had helped draft the New York
State Constitution and had worked with Robert Morris in the Finance Office.
There were others who played major roles - Oliver Ellsworth of Connecticut;
Edmund Randolph of Virginia; William Paterson of New Jersey; John Rutledge
of South Carolina; Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts; Roger Sherman of Connecticut;
Luther Martin of Maryland; and the Pinckneys, Charles and Charles Cotesworth,
of South Carolina. Franklin was the oldest member and Jonathan Dayton, the
27-year-old delegate from New Jersey was the youngest. The average age was
42. Most of the delegates had studied law, had served in colonial or state
legislatures, or had been in the Congress. Well versed in philosophical theories
of government advanced by such philosophers as James Harrington, John Locke,
and Montesquieu, profiting from experience gained in state politics, the
delegates composed an exceptional body, one that left a remarkably learned
record of debate. Fortunately we have a relatively complete record of the
proceedings, thanks to the indefatigable James Madison. Day after day, the
Virginian sat in front of the presiding officer, compiling notes of the debates,
not missing a single day or a single major speech. He later remarked that
his self-confinement in the hall, which was often oppressively hot in the
Philadelphia summer, almost killed him.
The sessions of the convention were held in secret--no reporters or visitors
were permitted. Although many of the naturally loquacious members were prodded
in the pubs and on the streets, most remained surprisingly discreet. To those
suspicious of the convention, the curtain of secrecy only served to confirm
their anxieties. Luther Martin of Maryland later charged that the conspiracy
in Philadelphia needed a quiet breeding ground. Thomas Jefferson wrote John
Adams from Paris, "I am sorry they began their deliberations by so abominable
a precedent as that of tying up the tongues of their members."
The Virginia Plan
On Tuesday morning, May 29, Edmund Randolph, the tall, 34-year- old governor
of Virginia, opened the debate with a long speech decrying the evils that
had befallen the country under the Articles of Confederation and stressing
the need for creating a strong national government. Randolph then outlined
a broad plan that he and his Virginia compatriots had, through long sessions
at the Indian Queen tavern, put together in the days preceding the convention.
James Madison had such a plan on his mind for years. The proposed government
had three branches--legislative, executive, and judicial--each branch structured
to check the other. Highly centralized, the government would have veto power
over laws enacted by state legislatures. The plan, Randolph confessed, "meant
a strong consolidated union in which the idea of states should be
nearly annihilated." This was, indeed, the rat so offensive to Patrick Henry.
The introduction of the so-called Virginia Plan at the beginning of the
convention was a tactical coup. The Virginians had forced the debate into
their own frame of reference and in their own terms.
For 10 days the members of the convention discussed the sweeping and, to
many delegates, startling Virginia resolutions. The critical issue, described
succinctly by Gouverneur Morris on May 30, was the distinction between a
federation and a national government, the "former being a mere compact resting
on the good faith of the parties; the latter having a compleat and
compulsive operation." Morris favored the latter, a "supreme power"
capable of exercising necessary authority not merely a shadow government,
fragmented and hopelessly ineffective.
The New Jersey Plan
This nationalist position revolted many delegates who cringed at the vision
of a central government swallowing state sovereignty. On June 13 delegates
from smaller states rallied around proposals offered by New Jersey delegate
William Paterson. Railing against efforts to throw the states into "hotchpot,"
Paterson proposed a "union of the States merely federal." The "New Jersey
resolutions" called only for a revision of the articles to enable the Congress
more easily to raise revenues and regulate commerce. It also provided that
acts of Congress and ratified treaties be "the supreme law of the States."
For 3 days the convention debated Paterson's plan, finally voting for rejection.
With the defeat of the New Jersey resolutions, the convention was moving
toward creation of a new government, much to the dismay of many small-state
delegates. The nationalists, led by Madison, appeared to have the proceedings
in their grip. In addition, they were able to persuade the members that any
new constitution should be ratified through conventions of the people and
not by the Congress and the state legislatures- -another tactical coup. Madison
and his allies believed that the constitution they had in mind would likely
be scuttled in the legislatures, where many state political leaders stood
to lose power. The nationalists wanted to bring the issue before "the people,"
where ratification was more likely.
Hamilton's Plan
On June 18 Alexander Hamilton presented his own ideal plan of government.
Erudite and polished, the speech, nevertheless, failed to win a following.
It went too far. Calling the British government "the best in the world,"
Hamilton proposed a model strikingly similar an executive to serve during
good behavior or life with veto power over all laws; a senate with members
serving during good behavior; the legislature to have power to pass "all
laws whatsoever." Hamilton later wrote to Washington that the people were
now willing to accept "something not very remote from that which they have
lately quitted." What the people had "lately quitted," of course, was monarchy.
Some members of the convention fully expected the country to turn in this
direction. Hugh Williamson of North Carolina, a wealthy physician, declared
that it was "pretty certain . . . that we should at some time or other have
a king." Newspaper accounts appeared in the summer of 1787 alleging that
a plot was under way to invite the second son of George III, Frederick, Duke
of York, the secular bishop of Osnaburgh in Prussia, to become "king of the
United States."
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Alexander Hamilton on June 18 called the British government
"the best in the world" and proposed a model strikingly similar. The erudite
New Yorker, however, later became one of the most ardent spokesmen for the
new Constitution. |
Strongly militating against any serious attempt to establish monarchy was
the enmity so prevalent in the revolutionary period toward royalty and the
privileged classes. Some state constitutions had even prohibited titles of
nobility. In the same year as the Philadelphia convention, Royall Tyler,
a revolutionary war veteran, in his play The Contract, gave his own jaundiced
view of the upper classes:
Exult each patriot heart! this night is shewn
A piece, which we may fairly call our own;
Where the proud titles of "My Lord!" "Your Grace!"
To humble Mr. and plain Sir give place.
Most delegates were well aware that there were too many Royall Tylers in
the country, with too many memories of British rule and too many ties to
a recent bloody war, to accept a king. As the debate moved into the specifics
of the new government, Alexander Hamilton and others of his persuasion would
have to accept something less.
By the end of June, debate between the large and small states over the issue
of representation in the first chamber of the legislature was becoming
increasingly acrimonious. Delegates from Virginia and other large states
demanded that voting in Congress be according to population; representatives
of smaller states insisted upon the equality they had enjoyed under the articles.
With the oratory degenerating into threats and accusations, Benjamin Franklin
appealed for daily prayers. Dressed in his customary gray homespun, the aged
philosopher pleaded that "the Father of lights . . . illuminate our
understandings." Franklin's appeal for prayers was never fulfilled; the
convention, as Hugh Williamson noted, had no funds to pay a preacher.
On June 29 the delegates from the small states lost the first battle. The
convention approved a resolution establishing population as the basis for
representation in the House of Representatives, thus favoring the larger
states. On a subsequent small-state proposal that the states have equal
representation in the Senate, the vote resulted in a tie. With large-state
delegates unwilling to compromise on this issue, one member thought that
the convention "was on the verge of dissolution, scarce held together by
the strength of an hair."
By July 10 George Washington was so frustrated over the deadlock that he
bemoaned "having had any agency" in the proceedings and called the opponents
of a strong central government "narrow minded politicians . . . under the
influence of local views." Luther Martin of Maryland, perhaps one whom Washington
saw as "narrow minded," thought otherwise. A tiger in debate, not content
merely to parry an opponent's argument but determined to bludgeon it into
eternal rest, Martin had become perhaps the small states' most effective,
if irascible, orator. The Marylander leaped eagerly into the battle on the
representation issue declaring, "The States have a right to an equality of
representation. This is secured to us by our present articles of confederation;
we are in possession of this privilege."
The Great Compromise
Also crowding into this complicated and divisive discussion over representation
was the North-South division over the method by which slaves were to be counted
for purposes of taxation and representation. On July 12 Oliver Ellsworth
proposed that representation for the lower house be based on the number of
free persons and three-fifths of "all other persons," a euphemism for slaves.
In the following week the members finally compromised, agreeing that direct
taxation be according to representation and that the representation of the
lower house be based on the white inhabitants and three-fifths of the "other
people." With this compromise and with the growing realization that such
compromise was necessary to avoid a complete breakdown of the convention,
the members then approved Senate equality. Roger Sherman had remarked that
it was the wish of the delegates "that some general government should be
established." With the crisis over representation now settled, it began to
look again as if this wish might be fulfilled.
For the next few days the air in the City of Brotherly Love, although
insufferably muggy and swarming with blue-bottle flies, had the clean scent
of conciliation. In this period of welcome calm, the members decided to appoint
a Committee of Detail to draw up a draft constitution. The convention would
now at last have something on paper. As Nathaniel Gorham of Massachusetts,
John Rutledge, Edmund Randolph, James Wilson, and Oliver Ellsworth went to
work, the other delegates voted themselves a much needed 10-day vacation.
During the adjournment, Gouverneur Morris and George Washington rode out
along a creek that ran through land that had been part of the Valley Forge
encampment 10 years earlier. While Morris cast for trout, Washington pensively
looked over the now lush ground where his freezing troops had suffered, at
a time when it had seemed as if the American Revolution had reached its end.
The country had come a long way.
The First Draft
On Monday August 6, 1787, the convention accepted the first draft of the
Constitution. Here was the article-by-article model from which the final
document would result some 5 weeks later. As the members began to consider
the various sections, the willingness to compromise of the previous days
quickly evaporated. The most serious controversy erupted over the question
of regulation of commerce. The southern states, exporters of raw materials,
rice, indigo, and tobacco, were fearful that a New England-dominated Congress
might, through export taxes, severely damage the South's economic life. C.
C. Pinckney declared that if Congress had the power to regulate trade, the
southern states would be "nothing more than overseers for the Northern States."
On August 21 the debate over the issue of commerce became very closely linked
to another explosive issue--slavery. When Martin of Maryland proposed a tax
on slave importation, the convention was thrust into a strident discussion
of the institution of slavery and its moral and economic relationship to
the new government. Rutledge of South Carolina, asserting that slavery had
nothing at all to do with morality, declared, "Interest alone is the governing
principle with nations." Sherman of Connecticut was for dropping the tender
issue altogether before it jeopardized the convention. Mason of Virginia
expressed concern over unlimited importation of slaves but later indicated
that he also favored federal protection of slave property already held. This
nagging issue of possible federal intervention in slave traffic, which Sherman
and others feared could irrevocably split northern and southern delegates,
was settled by, in Mason's words, "a bargain." Mason later wrote that delegates
from South Carolina and Georgia, who most feared federal meddling in the
slave trade, made a deal with delegates from the New England states. In exchange
for the New Englanders' support for continuing slave importation for 20 years,
the southerners accepted a clause that required only a simple majority vote
on navigation laws, a crippling blow to southern economic interests.
The bargain was also a crippling blow to those working to abolish slavery.
Congregationalist minister and abolitionist Samuel Hopkins of Connecticut
charged that the convention had sold out: "How does it appear . . . that
these States, who have been fighting for liberty and consider themselves
as the highest and most noble example of zeal for it, cannot agree in any
political Constitution, unless it indulge and authorize them to enslave their
fellow men . . . Ah! these unclean spirits, like frogs, they, like the Furies
of the poets are spreading discord, and exciting men to contention and war."
Hopkins considered the Constitution a document fit for the flames.
On August 31 a weary George Mason, who had 3 months earlier written so
expectantly to his son about the "great Business now before us," bitterly
exclaimed that he "would sooner chop off his right hand than put it to the
Constitution as it now stands." Mason despaired that the convention was rushing
to saddle the country with an ill-advised, potentially ruinous central authority
He was concerned that a "bill of rights," ensuring individual liberties,
had not been made part of the Constitution. Mason called for a new convention
to reconsider the whole question of the formation of a new government. Although
Mason's motion was overwhelmingly voted down, opponents of the Constitution
did not abandon the idea of a new convention. It was futilely suggested again
and again for over 2 years.
One of the last major unresolved problems was the method of electing the
executive. A number of proposals, including direct election by the people,
by state legislatures, by state governors, and by the national legislature,
were considered. The result was the electoral college, a master stroke of
compromise, quaint and curious but politically expedient. The large states
got proportional strength in the number of delegates, the state legislatures
got the right of selecting delegates, and the House the right to choose the
president in the event no candidate received a majority of electoral votes.
Mason later predicted that the House would probably choose the president
19 times out of 20.
In the early days of September, with the exhausted delegates anxious to return
home, compromise came easily. On September 8 the convention was ready to
turn the Constitution over to a Committee of Style and Arrangement. Gouverneur
Morris was the chief architect. Years later he wrote to Timothy Pickering:
"That Instrument was written by the Fingers which wrote this letter." The
Constitution was presented to the convention on September 12, and the delegates
methodically began to consider each section. Although close votes followed
on several articles, it was clear that the grueling work of the convention
in the historic summer of 1787 was reaching its end.
Before the final vote on the Constitution on September 15, Edmund Randolph
proposed that amendments be made by the state conventions and then turned
over to another general convention for consideration. He was joined by George
Mason and Elbridge Gerry. The three lonely allies were soundly rebuffed.
Late in the afternoon the roll of the states was called on the Constitution,
and from every delegation the word was "Aye."
On September 17 the members met for the last time, and the venerable Franklin
had written a speech that was delivered by his colleague James Wilson. Appealing
for unity behind the Constitution, Franklin declared, "I think it will astonish
our enemies, who are waiting with confidence to hear that our councils are
confounded like those of the builders of Babel; and that our States are on
the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cutting
one another's throats." With Mason, Gerry, and Randolph withstanding appeals
to attach their signatures, the other delegates in the hall formally signed
the Constitution, and the convention adjourned at 4 o'clock in the afternoon.
Weary from weeks of intense pressure but generally satisfied with their work,
the delegates shared a farewell dinner at City Tavern. Two blocks away on
Market Street, printers John Dunlap and David Claypoole worked into the night
on the final imprint of the six-page Constitution, copies of which would
leave Philadelphia on the morning stage. The debate over the nation's form
of government was now set for the larger arena.
As the members of the convention returned home in the following days, Alexander
Hamilton privately assessed the chances of the Constitution for ratification.
In its favor were the support of Washington, commercial interests, men of
property, creditors, and the belief among many Americans that the Articles
of Confederation were inadequate. Against it were the opposition of a few
influential men in the convention and state politicians fearful of losing
power, the general revulsion against taxation, the suspicion that a centralized
government would be insensitive to local interests, and the fear among debtors
that a new government would "restrain the means of cheating Creditors."
The Federalists and the Anti-Federalists
Because of its size, wealth, and influence and because it was the first state
to call a ratifying convention, Pennsylvania was the focus of national attention.
The positions of the Federalists, those who supported the Constitution, and
the anti-Federalists, those who opposed it, were printed and reprinted by
scores of newspapers across the country. And passions in the state were most
warm. When the Federalist-dominated Pennsylvania assembly lacked a quorum
on September 29 to call a state ratifying convention, a Philadelphia mob,
in order to provide the necessary numbers, dragged two anti-Federalist members
from their lodgings through the streets to the State House where the bedraggled
representatives were forced to stay while the assembly voted. It was a curious
example of participatory democracy.
On October 5 anti-Federalist Samuel Bryan published the first of his "Centinel"
essays in Philadelphia's Independent Gazetteer. Republished in newspapers
in various states, the essays assailed the sweeping power of the central
government, the usurpation of state sovereignty, and the absence of a bill
of rights guaranteeing individual liberties such as freedom of speech and
freedom of religion. "The United States are to be melted down," Bryan declared,
into a despotic empire dominated by "well-born" aristocrats. Bryan was echoing
the fear of many anti-Federalists that the new government would become one
controlled by the wealthy established families and the culturally refined.
The common working people, Bryan believed, were in danger of being subjugated
to the will of an all-powerful authority remote and inaccessible to the people.
It was this kind of authority, he believed, that Americans had fought a war
against only a few years earlier.
The next day James Wilson, delivering a stirring defense of the Constitution
to a large crowd gathered in the yard of the State House, praised the new
government as the best "which has ever been offered to the world." The Scotsman's
view prevailed. Led by Wilson, Federalists dominated in the Pennsylvania
convention, carrying the vote on December 12 by a healthy 46 to 23.
The vote for ratification in Pennsylvania did not end the rancor and bitterness.
Franklin declared that scurrilous articles in the press were giving the
impression that Pennsylvania was "peopled by a set of the most unprincipled,
wicked, rascally and quarrelsome scoundrels upon the face of the globe."
And in Carlisle, on December 26, anti-Federalist rioters broke up a Federalist
celebration and hung Wilson and the Federalist chief justice of Pennsylvania,
Thomas McKean, in effigy; put the torch to a copy of the Constitution; and
busted a few Federalist heads.
In New York the Constitution was under siege in the press by a series of
essays signed "Cato." Mounting a counterattack, Alexander Hamilton and John
Jay enlisted help from Madison and, in late 1787, they published the first
of a series of essays now known as the Federalist Papers. The 85 essays,
most of which were penned by Hamilton himself, probed the weaknesses of the
Articles of Confederation and the need for an energetic national government.
Thomas Jefferson later called the Federalist Papers the "best commentary
on the principles of government ever written."
Against this kind of Federalist leadership and determination, the opposition
in most states was disorganized and generally inert. The leading spokesmen
were largely state-centered men with regional and local interests and loyalties.
Madison wrote of the Massachusetts anti-Federalists, "There was not a single
character capable of uniting their wills or directing their measures. . .
. They had no plan whatever." The anti-Federalists attacked wildly on several
fronts: the lack of a bill of rights, discrimination against southern states
in navigation legislation, direct taxation, the loss of state sovereignty.
Many charged that the Constitution represented the work of aristocratic
politicians bent on protecting their own class interests. At the Massachusetts
convention one delegate declared, "These lawyers, and men of learning and
moneyed men, that . . . make us poor illiterate people swallow down the pill
. . . they will swallow up all us little folks like the great Leviathan;
yes, just as the whale swallowed up Jonah!" Some newspaper articles, presumably
written by anti-Federalists, resorted to fanciful predictions of the horrors
that might emerge under the new Constitution pagans and deists could control
the government; the use of Inquisition-like torture could be instituted as
punishment for federal crimes; even the pope could be elected president.
One anti-Federalist argument gave opponents some genuine difficulty--the
claim that the territory of the 13 states was too extensive for a representative
government. In a republic embracing a large area, anti-Federalists argued,
government would be impersonal, unrepresentative, dominated by men of wealth,
and oppressive of the poor and working classes. Had not the illustrious
Montesquieu himself ridiculed the notion that an extensive territory composed
of varying climates and people, could be a single republican state? James
Madison, always ready with the Federalist volley, turned the argument completely
around and insisted that the vastness of the country would itself be a strong
argument in favor of a republic. Claiming that a large republic would
counterbalance various political interest groups vying for power, Madison
wrote, "The smaller the society the fewer probably will be the distinct parties
and interests composing it; the fewer the distinct parties and interests,
the more frequently will a majority be found of the same party and the more
easily will they concert and execute their plans of oppression." Extend the
size of the republic, Madison argued, and the country would be less vulnerable
to separate factions within it.
Ratification
By January 9, 1788, five states of the nine necessary for ratification had
approved the Constitution--Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, and
Connecticut. But the eventual outcome remained uncertain in pivotal states
such as Massachusetts, New York, and Virginia. On February 6, withFederalists
agreeing to recommend a list of amendments amounting to a bill of rights,
Massachusetts ratified by a vote of 187 to 168. The revolutionary leader,
John Hancock, elected to preside over the Massachusetts ratifying convention
but unable to make up his mind on the Constitution, took to his bed with
a convenient case of gout. Later seduced by the Federalists with visions
of the vice presidency and possibly the presidency, Hancock, whom Madison
noted as "an idolater of popularity," suddenly experienced a miraculous cure
and delivered a critical block of votes. Although Massachusetts was now safely
in the Federalist column, the recommendation of a bill of rights was a
significant victory for the anti-Federalists. Six of the remaining states
later appended similar recommendations.
When the New Hampshire convention was adjourned by Federalists who sensed
imminent defeat and when Rhode Island on March 24 turned down the Constitution
in a popular referendum by an overwhelming vote of 10 to 1, Federalist leaders
were apprehensive. Looking ahead to the Maryland convention, Madison wrote
to Washington, "The difference between even a postponement and adoption in
Maryland may . . . possibly give a fatal advantage to that which opposes
the constitution." Madison had little reason to worry. The final vote on
April 28 63 for, 11 against. In Baltimore, a huge parade celebrating the
Federalist victory rolled. through the downtown streets, highlighted by a
15-foot float called "Ship Federalist." The symbolically seaworthy craft
was later launched in the waters off Baltimore and sailed down the Potomac
to Mount Vernon.
On July 2, 1788, the Confederation Congress, meeting in New York, received
word that a reconvened New Hampshire ratifying convention had approved the
Constitution. With South Carolina's acceptance of the Constitution in May,
New Hampshire thus became the ninth state to ratify. The Congress appointed
a committee "for putting the said Constitution into operation."
In the next 2 months, thanks largely to the efforts of Madison and Hamilton
in their own states, Virginia and New York both ratified while adding their
own amendments. The margin for the Federalists in both states, however, was
extremely close. Hamilton figured that the majority of the people in New
York actually opposed the Constitution, and it is probable that a majority
of people in the entire country opposed it. Only the promise of amendments
had ensured a Federalist victory.
The Bill of Rights
The call for a bill of rights had been the anti-Federalists' most powerful
weapon. Attacking the proposed Constitution for its vagueness and lack of
specific protection against tyranny, Patrick Henry asked the Virginia convention,
"What can avail your specious, imaginary balances, your rope-dancing,
chain-rattling, ridiculous ideal checks and contrivances." The anti-Federalists,
demanding a more concise, unequivocal Constitution, one that laid out for
all to see the right of the people and limitations of the power of government,
claimed that the brevity of the document only revealed its inferior nature.
Richard Henry Lee despaired at the lack of provisions to protect "those essential
rights of mankind without which liberty cannot exist." Trading the old government
for the new without such a bill of rights, Lee argued, would be trading Scylla
for Charybdis.
A bill of rights had been barely mentioned in the Philadelphia convention,
most delegates holding that the fundamental rights of individuals had been
secured in the state constitutions. James Wilson maintained that a bill of
rights was superfluous because all power not expressly delegated to thenew
government was reserved to the people. It was clear, however, that in this
argument the anti-Federalists held the upper hand. Even Thomas Jefferson,
generally in favor of the new government, wrote to Madison that a bill of
rights was "what the people are entitled to against every government on earth."
By the fall of 1788 Madison had been convinced that not only was a bill of
rights necessary to ensure acceptance of the Constitution but that it would
have positive effects. He wrote, on October 17, that such "fundamental maxims
of free Government" would be "a good ground for an appeal to the sense of
community" against potential oppression and would "counteract the impulses
of interest and passion."
Madison's support of the bill of rights was of critical significance. One
of the new representatives from Virginia to the First Federal Congress, as
established by the new Constitution, he worked tirelessly to persuade the
House to enact amendments. Defusing the anti-Federalists' objections to the
Constitution, Madison was able to shepherd through 17 amendments in the early
months of the Congress, a list that was later trimmed to 12 in the Senate.
On October 2, 1789, President Washington sent to each of the states a copy
of the 12 amendments adopted by the Congress in September. By December 15,
1791, three-fourths of the states had ratified the 10 amendments now so familiar
to Americans as the "Bill of Rights."
Benjamin Franklin told a French correspondent in 1788 that the formation
of the new government had been like a game of dice, with many players of
diverse prejudices and interests unable to make any uncontested moves. Madison
wrote to Jefferson that the welding of these clashing interests was "a task
more difficult than can be well conceived by those who were not concerned
in the execution of it." When the delegates left Philadelphia after the
convention, few, if any, were convinced that the Constitution they had approved
outlined the ideal form of government for the country. But late in his life
James Madison scrawled out another letter, one never addressed. In it he
declared that no government can be perfect, and "that which is the least
imperfect is therefore the best government."
The Document Enshrined
The fate of the United States Constitution after its signing on September
17, 1787, can be contrasted sharply to the travels and physical abuse of
America's other great parchment, the Declaration
of Independence. As the Continental Congress, during the years of the
revolutionary war, scurried from town to town, the rolled-up Declaration
was carried along. After the formation of the new government under the
Constitution, the one-page Declaration, eminently suited for display purposes,
graced the walls of various government buildings in Washington, exposing
it to prolonged damaging sunlight. It was also subjected to the work of early
calligraphers responding to a demand for reproductions of the revered document.
As any visitor to the National Archives can readily observe, the early treatment
of the now barely legible Declaration took a disastrous toll. The Constitution,
in excellent physical condition after more than 200 years, has enjoyed a
more serene existence. By 1796 the Constitution was in the custody of the
Department of State along with the Declaration and traveled with the federal
government from New York to Philadelphia to Washington. Both documents were
secretly moved to Leesburg, VA, before the imminent attack by the British
on Washington in 1814. Following the war, the Constitution remained in the
State Department while the Declaration continued its travels--to the Patent
Office Building from 1841 to 1876, to Independence Hall in Philadelphia during
the Centennial celebration, and back to Washington in 1877. On September
29, 1921, President Warren Harding issued an Executive order transferring
the Constitution and the Declaration to the Library of Congress for preservation
and exhibition. The next day Librarian of Congress Herbert Putnam, acting
on authority of Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes, carried the Constitution
and the Declaration in a Model-T Ford truck to the library and placed them
in his office safe until an appropriate exhibit area could be constructed.
The documents were officially put on display at a ceremony in the library
on February 28, 1924. On February 20, 1933, at the laying of the cornerstone
of the future National Archives Building, President Herbert Hoover remarked,
"There will be aggregated here the most sacred documents of our history--the
originals of the Declaration of Independence and of the Constitution of the
United States." The two documents however, were not immediately transferred
to the Archives. During World War II both were moved from the library to
Fort Knox for protection and returned to the library in 1944. It was not
until successful negotiations were completed between Librarian of Congress
Luther Evans and Archivist of the United States Wayne Grover that the transfer
to the National Archives was finally accomplished by special direction of
the Joint Congressional Committee on the Library.
On December 13, 1952, the Constitution and the Declaration were placed in
helium-filled cases, enclosed in wooden crates, laid on mattresses in an
armored Marine Corps personnel carrier, and escorted by ceremonial troops,
two tanks, and four servicemen carrying submachine guns down Pennsylvania
and Constitution avenues to the National Archives. Two days later, President
Harry Truman declared at a formal ceremony in the Archives Exhibition Hall.
"We are engaged here today in a symbolic act. We are enshrining these documents
for future ages. This magnificent hall has been constructed to exhibit them,
and the vault beneath, that we have built to protect them, is as safe from
destruction as anything that the wit of modern man can devise. All this is
an honorable effort, based upon reverence for the great past, and our generation
can take just pride in it."
Bibliographic note: Web version based on the Introduction by
Roger A. Bruns to A More Perfect Union : The Creation of the United States
Constitution. Washington, DC : Published for the National Archives and Records
Administration by the National Archives Trust Fund Board, 1986. 33 p. |
