The summer of 1787 was a crucial time in American history – because the Articles of Confederation, the original framing document for the federal government of the United States, had proven altogether unequal to the task of providing a strong and unified government for the young country. A few dozen delegates gathered that summer in Philadelphia, with the official task of amending the Articles. But they exceeded their brief in a bold and decisive way; and – seemingly against all odds – they emerged from their deliberations in Pennsylvania’s State House with a new United States Constitution that was just what the nation needed, as David O. Stewart chronicles in his 2007 book The Summer of 1787.
Stewart, a Washington, D.C., attorney, considers the serious questions that the Framers faced as he sets forth this history of The Men Who Invented the Constitution (the book’s subtitle): “Was the Convention merely amending the Articles? Or was it creating a new, stronger government? The answer was tangled up with the delegates’ puzzlement over how to blend the states with the strong central government….Would the states be abolished? How best to reconcile two sovereigns exercising power over the same territory at the same time?” (p. 55)
As Stewart makes clear, one of the biggest problems facing the Framers as they worked on building a stronger central government for the U.S.A. was the divide between large and small states. This divide went back to the colonial era, when various English kings, over a 125-year period, founded various colonies for reasons that had nothing to do with logical geographical boundaries in North America – and that usually reflected a king’s own need to placate a powerful supporter.
Hence, in 1632, an eavesdropper at Whitehall might have heard royal rumblings along these lines: "What’s that? Lord Baltimore needs a colony for English Catholics? Well, take part of northern Virginia and give that to him. Call it – oh, I don’t know – Maryland." Or, fifty years later, in 1682: "Hmmm? What’s that you say? William Penn wants a coastline for Pennsylvania? And we owe him money? Well, then, just take three coastal counties from Maryland, and let him have those. Call it – let me see, let me see – call it Delaware!"
That was about as systematic as it got; and the upshot of it all was that, as the erstwhile colonies began their national existence as the United States of America, the large and populous states of the new Union – meaning, in those days, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and Virginia – wanted a strong central government, and believed that their interests would be well served by such a government. By contrast, small, thinly populated states like Delaware, New Jersey, and Rhode Island feared that a strongly centralized American government would permit larger states to gobble up their smaller neighbors, like a big fish swallowing up little fish.
That divide between large and small states threatened to derail the entire Convention – especially when the large states formed an alliance with the three Deep South states of South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia, all of which were interested in protecting the institution of slavery within their states. Gunning Bedford of Delaware denounced the alliance between the large states and the slave states, asking if they would crush the small states, and then really turned up the rhetorical heat:
Not content with denouncing his colleagues personally, Bedford turned treasonous. “[S]ooner than be ruined” by the large-state/slave-state allies, the small states could turn to “some foreign ally of more honor and good faith, who will take them by the hand and do them justice.”
His words electrified the room of men who had hazarded their all to fight the British Empire, who lost comrades and loved ones in that cause. Four years after that war, were the states going to turn on each other, allied with competing European powers? The prospect was outrageous. (p. 106)
Stewart emphasizes Benjamin Franklin’s role in brokering the “Great Compromise” through which the House of Representatives would have representatives enumerated by state population, while the Senate would have two senators each for every state. This arrangement enabled the Constitutional deliberations to go forward – and ensured that, centuries hence, many residents of California (population 39.5 million) would wonder aloud why they have the same number of senators as Wyoming (population 600,000).
Another feature of the U.S. Constitution that occasions much comment nowadays is the institution of the Electoral College – the means by which the President of the United States is elected not by the American people themselves, but rather by electors chosen by the 50 states. Stewart recounts how James Wilson of Pennsylvania – who, like many of the Framers, was distrustful of direct democracy – originated the idea of the Electoral College:
The people could vote for “electors,” whose sole duty would be to choose the president. The electors would be wise, or so the argument proceeded, where the masses were ignorant and easily misled. Madison applauded the approach as providing more insurance for Southern states. Those states would suffer under popular elections “on the score of the Negroes” – since their slaves could not vote – but slaves could be counted when allocating electors. (p. 155)
Here, one sees only too clearly how undemocratic and indeed anti-democratic the Electoral College is as an institution, particularly in terms of the way it was crafted to please Southern slaveholders – who would gain more electoral power if more people were held in slavery in their states – and the way the ordinary people of the United States of America were regarded as “ignorant masses.”
Leaving aside for a moment the ways in which recent political history has often shown that the electors of the Electoral College are no wiser, and no more politically objective, than other U.S. citizens, I do find myself wanting to pose a couple of questions. Have things not changed considerably since 1787 – in the realm of public education, for example? Are the American people not to be trusted to choose their own president, with each American’s vote truly equal to every other’s? Is there not something wrong with a system where a presidential candidate can lose an election by 500,000 votes (as in 2000), or by 2.9 million votes (as in 2016), and still be declared the “winner” through the actions of 538 electors?
This discussion of the Electoral College calls to mind the rhetorical gymnastics in which the Framers were forced to engage in order to placate leading slaveholder framers like John Rutledge of South Carolina. There was the infamous “three-fifths compromise” through which enslaved people were counted as three-fifths of a person each for purposes of both representation and taxation. There is the contortion of language through which an enslaved person is referred to in Article IV, Section 2, as a “Person held to Service or Labour”, in the “Fugitive Slave Clause” that was meant to ensure that slaveholders in one state could demand the return of enslaved people who had escaped to another state. The extension of the slave trade until 1808 was another sop to the slaveholders – one that ensured that thousands more innocent men, women, and children, for twenty more years, would be kidnapped from their homes, consigned to the unspeakable horrors of the Middle Passage, and condemned to a lifetime of bondage when they arrived in the United States.
Stewart describes well the contradictions involved here:
Slavery was the original sin in which the nation was conceived. Gouverneur Morris and Rufus King knew it, and said so. John Dickinson and William Livingston knew it; they had freed their slaves. The delegates who belonged to abolition societies – Franklin, [Alexander] Hamilton, and Livingston – certainly knew it. Oliver Ellsworth, who steadfastly stood by his Southern allies, reminded the delegates that if the matter were viewed “in a moral light,” then every slave should be freed; he knew it. Roger Sherman called the slave trade iniquitous; he knew it. Each of those ambivalent Virginians – [George] Mason and [James] Madison and [Edmund] Randolph and the General himself [George Washington] – all knew it. The men from South Carolina surely knew it. Charles Pinckney said he would vote against the slave trade within his own state; John Rutledge would not discuss the morality of slavery, an argument he knew he could only lose. (p. 204)
And a grim precedent had been set – that slavery, and the white South’s attempts to protect slavery, could be made the basis for threatening the Union itself. The Framers’ failure to face squarely the cruelty and injustice of slavery, as Stewart suggests, led inevitably toward the horrors of civil war 80 years later.
While reading The Summer of 1787, I found Stewart’s portrayal of one delegate, George Mason of Virginia, to be of particular interest – and not just because I teach at the Northern Virginia university that bears his name. Mason worked hard on the Constitution, but ultimately decided that he could not sign it, because it did not have a Bill of Rights. Mason’s principled stance cost him the friendship of fellow Virginia luminaries George Washington and James Madison, but his stand in favor of a Bill of Rights was ultimately vindicated. As Stewart points out,
The story of the Constitution did not end on September 17, 1787 [the day the final draft of the Constitution was signed]….Among George Mason’s incisive remarks, none was more telling than his insistence that amending the Constitution should be easy because “the plan now to be formed will certainly be defective.” The first generation had no illusions as to the Constitution’s perfection; they adopted twelve amendments during the first fifteen years, starting with the Bill of Rights. (p. 259)
Stewart describes well the difficulties, inconsistencies, and contradictions involved in the framing of the United States Constitution – and, at the same time, emphasizes what an impressive achievement it is. In other countries that I have visited, the ultimate guarantor of a nation’s identity and territorial integrity is the king, or the army, or “the Party.” Here, it is the Constitution. Other countries, including fellow democracies, have had a number of constitutions (France has had 15 since the year 1789); the United States of America has had one. The U.S. Constitution, responding to the demands of history and of human rights through the amendment process, has survived civil war, world wars, a “cold war,” various forms of economic collapse, and the constitutional crisis of Watergate.
And, as of this writing, there is reason to hope that the United States Constitution will survive even the power-hunger of Donald Trump -- a man whose understanding of and respect for the Constitution seem negligible. With regard to the document that he swore to “preserve, protect, and defend” on January 20, 2017, then-President Trump once said that he would support “Article XII” of the U.S. Constitution – even though the Constitution only has seven articles. President Trump also said in July of 2019 that “I have an Article II, where I have the right to do whatever I want as President” (not true). In an April 2020 news briefing, the president went even further, telling reporters in a news briefing that “I have the ultimate authority” (not true) and later adding that “When somebody is the President of the United States, the authority is total” (not true). He even claimed that local leaders “can’t do anything without the approval of the president of the United States” (not true). And then, of course, there was his attempt on January 6, 2021, to prevent the members of the United States Senate from certifying the electoral victory that Vice President Joe Biden had won, fair and square, over President Trump. That duty of the U.S. Senate is specified in -- wait for it, wait for it -- the United States Constitution.
I make these points not to call Donald Trump’s credibility or competence into question – the former president seems to have done a fine job of that on his own – but rather to point out an important truth. There have been many times when a president, or a member of Congress, or a justice of the Supreme Court – from either major party – has sought power beyond the constraints, the checks and balances, set forth by the United States Constitution. Each time, sooner or later, constitutional restraints have contained the official who, hungry for power, attempted to exceed their Constitutional authority. The center has held – sometimes, seemingly against all odds – for more than 230 years now, in the form of the U.S. Constitution. And that, as Stewart suggests in this fine work of history, is something to celebrate.
Addendum, 10 July 2024:
I feel, I must confess, less confident today about the strength and resilience of the United States Constitution than I did when I originally posted this review. The reason is the Supreme Court's decision, earlier this month, that presidents have broad immunity for “official acts” that they carry out while in office. The president has broad discretion to decide which of their acts are “official” and which are not.
In 1977, in an interview with television personality David Frost, former president Richard Nixon responded to a question about what happens when a president carries out illegal acts by saying that "when the president does it, that means that it is not illegal, by definition."
Nixon's remark horrified many people across the U.S.A. -- including conservatives and Republicans who might ordinarily have been inclined to support him and his policies -- because his ideas seemed to make the president a king, an emperor, a man above the law.
Now, that doctrine that repulsed people in 1977 has been codified by the highest court in the land in 2024. If that decision doesn't end up alongside Dred Scott vs. Sandford and Plessy vs. Ferguson in the annals of Supreme Court infamy, I will be truly surprised.
Stewart's fine book reminds us of an important fact behind the deliberations of the Framers in Philadelphia, back in the summer of 1787: in composing Article III of the Constitution, they set forth their belief that the Supreme Court, like the Electoral College, would be composed solely of wise and objective people -- people who would be above politics, and would make their rulings solely on the basis of what would be good for the people of the United States of America.
Does anyone really believe that to be true of the Supreme Court of today? The court today seems to function as an unelected, appointed-for-life super-legislature -- its members chosen by political advocacy organizations that forward their preferences to a president who follows their recommendations. The justices thus appointed can then be counted upon to rule on behalf of one political party or the other.
Perhaps it is for that reason that less than half of Americans today trust the court and its decisions.
And the fact that large numbers of U.S. citizens today express concern regarding the viability of American democracy speaks for itself. Whether this federal republic retains a system of representative democracy should not even be an issue.
I don’t think the Framers would be pleased with the present state of constitutionalism in the nation whose constitution they worked so hard to craft.