Think Great American
rivalries, and Lincoln-Douglas or LBJ-RFK or maybe even Bill Gates-Steve Jobs
jumps to mind. But none of those—or any others, for that matter—were as fervent,
and certainly none were more consequential, than the competitive coexistence of
Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson. Though they may have been sparring
over economic and foreign policy issues like so many politicians who succeeded
them, nothing less than the shape of a new nation was at stake. And both of
them knew it. Before George Washington appointed them to his cabinet—Hamilton
as Treasury secretary, Jefferson as secretary of state—they barely even knew of
one another. Initially, the two men enjoyed a cordial relationship. Jefferson
invited Hamilton to dinner on a couple of occasions, and they seldom clashed
during their first year in the administration. But they were never close. A
dozen years apart in age— Jefferson was 47 and Hamilton 35 in 1790—they could
not have been more different in temperament. Hamilton was outgoing and
outspoken; he dominated every room. Jefferson, amiable and erudite, was quiet
and reserved.
Deep philosophical
differences, though, soon set them against each other. In Jefferson’s view,
centralized government was simply European-style tyranny waiting to happen
again. Informed by his upbringing in agrarian Virginia, he dreamed of a society
of property-owning farmers who controlled their destiny. While a manufacturing
economy was driven by avarice, a republic resting on the yeoman farmer would
keep “alive that sacred fire” of personal liberty and virtue. Hamilton, of
course, had risen meteorically in the world of urban commerce. Naturally, he
believed that a flourishing merchant economy would sow opportunities for all.
Further, it would produce a philanthropic, knowledgeable and enterprising
people. Jefferson once equated cities with “great sores,” but in Hamilton’s
eyes they were focal points of societal health, providing a foundation for
wealth creation, consumerism, the arts, innovation and enlightenment. A clash
between the two Founding Fathers was inevitable.
The economic program
instituted by the Treasury secretary triggered Jefferson’s suspicions, but it
wasn’t until he learned what Hamilton had preached at the Constitutional
Convention that he put together the whole puzzle. He saw as dangerous
Hamilton’s push to strengthen the central government and presidency. And he
detected an intent to secure the sway of the “financial interest” over Congress
and foster the growth of a new moneyed class. All of it would menace
republicanism and the agrarian way of life. Jefferson was sure that before
long, Hamiltonianism would produce in America the same evil cause-and-effects he
had witnessed in Europe: monarchy and rigid social stratification leading to
massive poverty and widespread urban squalor. He responded by organizing the
Republican Party. Jefferson also hired Philip Freneau, a gifted writer with a
penchant for satire, to run an opposition newspaper, the National Gazette. And
he denounced Hamilton to Washington, reporting that his rival had praised
Britain’s government while calling the Constitution a “shilly shally thing”
destined to be replaced by something better. Hamilton, Jefferson warned,
secretly schemed to restore monarchy in America. Already, a “corrupt squadron”
of Hamiltonians within Congress was engaged in financial speculation,
disdaining constitutional limits on government’s power. Washington, though, was
unmoved; he believed in his former aide and the economic path he had set, one
that would leave the country “prosperous & happy.” Hamilton countered
Jefferson’s attacks by establishing his own party, the Federalists. He denied
plotting an American monarchy, saying that only a “madman” would attempt such a
thing, and suggested to Washington that Jefferson was the one with designs—to
be president and eradicate the current economic program. It was Jefferson too,
driven by “violent passions” and an “unsound & dangerous” philosophy, who
wanted to displace the Constitution.
But even as the pair
fought relentlessly, they agreed on two issues. When Washington spoke of
retiring after one term, both men beseeched him to continue. And when the
French Revolution led to a broader European war, the two were of one mind in
thinking America must remain neutral. In 1793, though, Britain was lured into
the overseas conflict, arousing passions in the States that domestic issues
“could never excite,” as Jefferson remarked. Hamilton, who understood trade
with England to be crucial to the nation’s economy, counseled support of
Britain. In Jefferson’s opinion, Hamilton was “panick struck” by the pro-French
sentiment that prevailed in America. He, in turn, was invigorated by the
support, seeing it as a sign that “the old spirit of 1776 is rekindling.” In
short, he saw it as proof that the days of Hamiltonianism were numbered.
Jefferson left the cabinet and retired from public life in 1794. Hamilton
followed a year later. Convinced that the “philosopher of Monticello” remained
obsessed with becoming president, Hamilton never expected the retirement to
last. Still, during Jefferson’s three years away, Hamilton said little in
public about his rival, even remaining silent when rumors circulated of
Jefferson’s alleged sexual relationship with one of his female slaves. Nor did
Jefferson comment when Hamilton’s extramarital affair with Maria Reynolds
became public in 1797. As Hamilton predicted, his rival did run for president,
in 1796. Throughout the campaign, Jefferson endured furious assaults by the
Federalists, who portrayed him as a hypocrite—an elitist who insincerely
spouted notions of equality. Jefferson lost, to John Adams, and had to settle
for the vice presidency. Two years later, events transpired that troubled him
more than anything had since Hamilton’s economic policies. Spurred by America’s
“cold war” with France, Congress enacted the Alien and Sedition Acts,
repressive measures designed by the Federalists, including Hamilton. Jefferson
called the legislation “detestable” and “worthy of the 8th or 9th century” and
deemed the Federalist government a “reign of witches.” That reign grew scarier
still when Congress ordered the creation of a large standing army, which
Hamilton, with Washington’s help, commanded. Proclaiming Hamilton “our
Buonaparte,” Jefferson predicted the federal troops would be used against
domestic dissidents. (On this point, he was not wholly wrong: Hamilton said in
private that he would not hesitate to “subdue a refractory and powerful
state.”)
Jefferson ran for
President again in 1880, and this time Hamilton, more consumed with defeating
John Adams, whom he both hated and could not exploit, said little against his
political enemy. And when the election ended in a tie with Aaron Burr, Hamilton
supported Jefferson, arguing that he was “able and wise” though his political
philosophy was “tinctured with fanaticism.” Almost as soon as the tie was
broken in Jefferson’s favor, though, Hamilton reverted to his adversarial ways.
In several newspaper pieces, he contended that the new president meant to
destroy the Constitution. Jefferson ignored the onslaught, perhaps having
concluded that Hamilton and his faction were a spent force. Within four years,
Hamilton would be dead, but Jefferson did not exult. And to the end he spoke
only generously of his foe. The two had “thought well” of one another, he said.
Moreover, Hamilton was “a singular character” of “acute understanding,” a man
who had been “disinterested, honest, and honorable.” Jefferson called his
election the “revolution of 1800,” and over the next quarter century much of
the world that he first envisioned in 1776 took shape: the United States was
cast as an egalitarian democracy that effectively erased the social hierarchies
of the colonies, and with federal land easier to purchase, the percentage of
the labor force involved in farming increased.
Hamilton, of course,
would have been dismayed by much of the change. In his final letter, he wrote
that “our real Disease . . . is Democracy.” (To bolster his point, he also
called it a “poison.”) But he would have rejoiced at America’s transformation
into a modern capitalist society. Within 20 years of his death, cities were
expanding and banks had sprung up like weeds. In countless Northeast towns,
residents were more likely to work in a factory than to own a farm. It is safe
to say that aside from George Washington himself, no one had a greater impact
on the founding and development of our nation than Hamilton and Jefferson. Their
opposing visions wind like the twin strands of DNA through American history.
Jefferson was the more revolutionary of the two, and his ringing affirmation of
human rights in the Declaration of Independence has inspired much of the world
for more than two centuries. But Hamilton laid the foundation for the strong,
centralized modern state led by a powerful executive. The footprints of the two
rivals remain visible across the globe, but today’s America more clearly bears
the mark of Hamilton.
