Why The Federalist?
The American Revolution was highly unusual, for a revolution. It was a rebellion of a colony against the metropolis, but one carried out by colonists, not natives. Those who took part in it were relatively well off, and united across a range of economic and social interests—despite which they managed to hang together for a good long while before starting a civil war. And although the rebellion succeeded by enlisting the help of one great power, namely France, to fight another, our ally fell apart before it could demand much of us in return.
Most of all, though, the American Revolution was unusual because it was largely nonideological. The colonists were not fighting for an ism. They fought for “liberty,” yes, but as far as I can tell the concept was vaguely defined.
These facts together gave the framers of the Constitution a relatively free hand and, being Enlightenment rationalists, they sat down with the best models of governance available to them, decided what worked and what didn’t, and tried to build a system that, first and foremost, wouldn’t break. They were not promoting an ideal. More than anything they aimed for resilience, for a government that would not morph into something else: tyranny, oligarchy, a return to monarchy—or a fallen-apart Confederacy, each unit governed by some form of direct democracy.
It is often said that the Framers “didn’t trust the people,” which is supposed to mean, really, “the common people.” I think it is more accurate to say simply that they didn’t trust people. This, above all, is the perspective that has comforted me in reading The Federalist. As I read them, Madison and Hamilton’s views on human nature in this regard are close to my own: people are capable of good, but you can’t trust that most of them will be good most of the time, or even occasionally. You have to assume that most people are rotten most of the time, especially in groups, especially when they can get away with it.
I have needed the comfort. The past five or so years under the Worst President Ever, under a Republican governmental and propaganda machine the likes of which, in its united, shamelessly antidemocratic front, has rarely if ever been seen in a democratic country, have made me need it. I have been comforted by The Federalist because Madison and Hamilton predicted some of the crises I see in our country today, and structured our government to mitigate them.
This is not to say that The Federalist provides an answer to all things, just as the Constitution did not provide an answer for all things. Writing slavery into the body of that document was probably a practical necessity, for example, but also a horrible, horrible evil we have still to live down, 225 years later. But in some things it was remarkably prescient. I plan to write about The Federalist here mainly as a way to organize my own thoughts about the book, but also, should any liberal fellow-traveler happen to read the entries, to offer those same modest comforts to them, and to suggest how Madison and Hamilton might advise us to oppose a juggernaut like the modern Republican Party.
Most of all, though, the American Revolution was unusual because it was largely nonideological. The colonists were not fighting for an ism. They fought for “liberty,” yes, but as far as I can tell the concept was vaguely defined.
These facts together gave the framers of the Constitution a relatively free hand and, being Enlightenment rationalists, they sat down with the best models of governance available to them, decided what worked and what didn’t, and tried to build a system that, first and foremost, wouldn’t break. They were not promoting an ideal. More than anything they aimed for resilience, for a government that would not morph into something else: tyranny, oligarchy, a return to monarchy—or a fallen-apart Confederacy, each unit governed by some form of direct democracy.
It is often said that the Framers “didn’t trust the people,” which is supposed to mean, really, “the common people.” I think it is more accurate to say simply that they didn’t trust people. This, above all, is the perspective that has comforted me in reading The Federalist. As I read them, Madison and Hamilton’s views on human nature in this regard are close to my own: people are capable of good, but you can’t trust that most of them will be good most of the time, or even occasionally. You have to assume that most people are rotten most of the time, especially in groups, especially when they can get away with it.
I have needed the comfort. The past five or so years under the Worst President Ever, under a Republican governmental and propaganda machine the likes of which, in its united, shamelessly antidemocratic front, has rarely if ever been seen in a democratic country, have made me need it. I have been comforted by The Federalist because Madison and Hamilton predicted some of the crises I see in our country today, and structured our government to mitigate them.
This is not to say that The Federalist provides an answer to all things, just as the Constitution did not provide an answer for all things. Writing slavery into the body of that document was probably a practical necessity, for example, but also a horrible, horrible evil we have still to live down, 225 years later. But in some things it was remarkably prescient. I plan to write about The Federalist here mainly as a way to organize my own thoughts about the book, but also, should any liberal fellow-traveler happen to read the entries, to offer those same modest comforts to them, and to suggest how Madison and Hamilton might advise us to oppose a juggernaut like the modern Republican Party.
posted by Antid Oto | 11:50 PM
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