politician, self-taught lawyer, Yale treasurer; Luther Martin, Princeton graduate, a lawyer, a patriot, but tending toward both the bottle and the battological; John Lansing of Albany, owner of a vast tract of land in upstate New York, a friendly, good-looking man who generally took the anti-nationalist line. Paterson and his colleaguesseemed to challenge the Virginia Plan on almost every point, especially in their plea for a new national Congress of one chamber that would represent the large and the small states equally.
With the issue of confrontation clear, the convention moved on to new heights of oratory and argumentation. Emotions rose to such a pitch that there were veiled warnings of walkouts, and indeed of a separation of states and disintegration of the Union. But the convention was never in serious danger. The New Jersey Plan had accepted the major premises of the Virginia Plan: expanded power for the national government; the authority of that government to act directly on individuals and not merely on states; the national executive to have coercive authority over the states if necessary to enforce the law. Committees of compromising politicians were set up and the rival plans were adjusted to each other. Historians have generally written that the “Connecticut compromise” came to the rescue of the beleaguered convention, but in fact the main feature of the compromise—election of an upper chamber on the basis of equality between large and small states, and election of a lower chamber through popular representation—had been foreshadowed in the convention deliberations almost from the start. It was a natural compromise, granting both the Virginians and the New Jerseyites the kind of representation they wanted.
Because the vast majority of the delegates were so agreed on one fundamental concept, further agreements were reached during the remaining weeks of the convention. That concept was checks and balances. One might have expected the proponents of both plans to be disgruntled by the final compromise, because each chamber of Congress was given an absolute veto over the other, which meant that a “small state” Senate might block a “large state” House of Representatives, or vice versa. But neither side seemed to have this fear, mainly because all they wanted for their small states or large states was a “negative veto” to protect their existing liberties, not a positive power to join with other branches to use government in attempts to expand people’s liberties. This attitude and this decision would come back to haunt the future conduct of American public affairs.
It was also because of this fundamental agreement between large- and small-staters that the convention was able to resolve, for the time being at least, some of the other knotty problems before it. One of these was the national executive. The issue arose early in the convention, and it soon became clear that the delegates had highly mixed feelings about the mechanics of the executive. After Charles Pinckney called for a “vigorous executive” but feared that it might exercise powers over “peace and war” more appropriate to a monarchy, and after Wilson moved that the executive consist of a single person, a considerable pause ensued, and Rutledgeremarked on the “shyness of gentlemen” on this subject. They were less shy than uncertain. Sherman considered the “Executive magistracy” to be nothing more than an agency for carrying out the will of the new Congress. Gerry wanted a council annexed to the executive, “in order to give weight and inspire confidence.” Randolph condemned “a unity in the Executive” as the “foetus of monarchy.” Wilson replied: No, it would be the best safeguard against tyranny. Madison suggested mildly that before choosing between a unity and a plurality in the executive, they might fix the extent of executive authority.
On this matter too, the delegates’ differences were largely on points of
With the issue of confrontation clear, the convention moved on to new heights of oratory and argumentation. Emotions rose to such a pitch that there were veiled warnings of walkouts, and indeed of a separation of states and disintegration of the Union. But the convention was never in serious danger. The New Jersey Plan had accepted the major premises of the Virginia Plan: expanded power for the national government; the authority of that government to act directly on individuals and not merely on states; the national executive to have coercive authority over the states if necessary to enforce the law. Committees of compromising politicians were set up and the rival plans were adjusted to each other. Historians have generally written that the “Connecticut compromise” came to the rescue of the beleaguered convention, but in fact the main feature of the compromise—election of an upper chamber on the basis of equality between large and small states, and election of a lower chamber through popular representation—had been foreshadowed in the convention deliberations almost from the start. It was a natural compromise, granting both the Virginians and the New Jerseyites the kind of representation they wanted.
Because the vast majority of the delegates were so agreed on one fundamental concept, further agreements were reached during the remaining weeks of the convention. That concept was checks and balances. One might have expected the proponents of both plans to be disgruntled by the final compromise, because each chamber of Congress was given an absolute veto over the other, which meant that a “small state” Senate might block a “large state” House of Representatives, or vice versa. But neither side seemed to have this fear, mainly because all they wanted for their small states or large states was a “negative veto” to protect their existing liberties, not a positive power to join with other branches to use government in attempts to expand people’s liberties. This attitude and this decision would come back to haunt the future conduct of American public affairs.
It was also because of this fundamental agreement between large- and small-staters that the convention was able to resolve, for the time being at least, some of the other knotty problems before it. One of these was the national executive. The issue arose early in the convention, and it soon became clear that the delegates had highly mixed feelings about the mechanics of the executive. After Charles Pinckney called for a “vigorous executive” but feared that it might exercise powers over “peace and war” more appropriate to a monarchy, and after Wilson moved that the executive consist of a single person, a considerable pause ensued, and Rutledgeremarked on the “shyness of gentlemen” on this subject. They were less shy than uncertain. Sherman considered the “Executive magistracy” to be nothing more than an agency for carrying out the will of the new Congress. Gerry wanted a council annexed to the executive, “in order to give weight and inspire confidence.” Randolph condemned “a unity in the Executive” as the “foetus of monarchy.” Wilson replied: No, it would be the best safeguard against tyranny. Madison suggested mildly that before choosing between a unity and a plurality in the executive, they might fix the extent of executive authority.
On this matter too, the delegates’ differences were largely on points of
Similar Books
