WHEN GEORGE WASHINGTON took the oath of office on April 30, 1789, he was tasked with establishing the functions of the executive branch. The Constitution provided scant information to guide the president as he interacted with the public at events and holidays, welcomed private citizens in his home, and worked with the other branches of government. During the first two years of his administration, Washington designed a social schedule, established relations with the legislature and judiciary, and explored options for obtaining advice. Washington visited the Senate, experimented with a prime-minister-type relationship based on the British model, and sought advice from the Supreme Court before rejecting these options as viable advisory bodies. As Washington established these executive practices—both public and private—he relied on his leadership experience as commander in chief of the Continental Army.
In the months leading up to Washington’s inauguration, he expressed misgivings about the decisions and burdens that accompanied his new position. He understood that his every action would set precedents for his successors and invite controversy and judgment from his fellow Americans. As a result, both Washington and other public officials operated under constant, pervasive anxiety about whether they were making the correct choice at any given moment. As Washington confessed to Henry Knox shortly before taking office, “My movements to the chair of Government will be accompanied with feelings not unlike those of a culprit who is going to the place of his execution.”1 One year into his administration, Washington acknowledged to his friend Catharine Macaulay Graham that he felt every decision carried enormous weight. “I walk on untrodden ground,” he wrote. “There is scarcely any action, whose motives may not be subject to a double interpretation. There is scarcely any part of my conduct which may not hereafter be drawn into precedent.”2 Given these high stakes, Washington established each precedent with precision. He understood that the nation’s future depended on his forging a safe path—an almost impossible task.
In the Early Republic, a man’s reputation determined every social, political, and economic opportunity and interaction. It opened doors for trade partnerships, decided who could obtain credit, and served as political currency. Reputations were so important that men engaged in a highly regulated system of written warfare, which sometimes culminated in duels to defend slights to their honor.3 In order to carve out a successful career in public service, gentlemen had to establish a reputation as virtuous republicans. They were supposed to be talented and exceptional, “live modestly, dress practically, and behave forthrightly in a spirit of accommodation.”4 They were expected to carry these principles into their federal positions—to bring honor and prestige to the office, but not aristocracy. Yet the meaning of these generalities differed from one person to another. What appeared republican to a New Yorker might seem downright aristocratic to a North Carolinian. Furthermore, no existing governing customs or legal precedents existed to guide Washington and the first generation of officeholders. The lack of guidelines filled each new scenario with additional pressure, but also left officials without a rubric to assess their actions. With no other benchmark, officials turned to public opinion to measure their successes and failures—a highly contested process. Some public figures, such as Hamilton, argued that the opinions of public creditors—elite men of substance—should be considered first. He wanted to use their opinions to support his fiscal legislation. Madison, who opposed Hamilton’s agenda, countered that the opinions of average farmers and laborers were more important. He planned to use their opinions to provide transparency and check the corruption and encroachment of government power that he saw in Hamilton’s legislation.5 Thus, depending on the perspective, public opinion could have indicated an official’s likelihood of reelection, but also carried enormous implications for that person’s reputation and life after political office.
All Early Republic officials shared a constant dread that their fellow citizens might condemn their actions. Washington in particular wanted feedback “not so much of what may be thought the commendable parts, if any, of my conduct, as of those wch are conceived to be blemishes.”6 Finding that careful balance between strength and virtue proved challenging. David Stuart, who had married Washington’s stepdaughter-in-law in 1783, regularly funneled reports to Washington from Virginia. A few months after Washington’s inauguration, Stuart shared criticism that he had heard in Virginia about Vice President John Adams appearing too monarchical. Washington offered a half-hearted defense of Adams. He replied that although Adams sometimes adopted a high tone, he only used a carriage with two horses. Washington expected Stuart to understand that Adams’s use of a relatively modest form of transportation conveyed his republican character.7 While this distinction might seem silly in the twenty-first century, it demonstrates how Washington, Adams, and others in the Early Republic carefully crafted and dissected each action for hidden republican and aristocratic meaning.
Before the advent of sophisticated polling measures and widespread suffrage, public opinion was hard to gauge. Politicians relied on a few methods to deduce the thoughts of their fellow citizens. First, a network of private correspondents passed along the opinions of their friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances. These networks expanded far beyond their local communities and allowed politicians to keep tabs on developments across the United States and around the world.8 Politicians also collected pamphlets, which articulated specific arguments. They were usually signed by the author, which conveyed a great deal of seriousness because the author was willing to stake his name and reputation on the argument contained in the pamphlet. Because they were expensive to produce, pamphlets afforded the wealthy and connected a venue to share their ideas. Pamphlets were printed in relatively small numbers for a limited audience with very specific circulation. Broadsides, large printed sheets similar to posters, and newspaper editorials offered a more informal approach. They were cheaper to create, often anonymous, and recirculated through numerous newspapers. As a result, they were generally considered “beneath the notice of elite politicians.”9 That is not to say elite politicians did not notice them, but they considered the medium too undignified to merit a response.
The combination of letters, pamphlets, broadsides, and newspapers offered politicians a fairly thorough report on the opinions of white, literate males. Although politicians often exchanged letters with female family members or friends, these types of published and private communications rarely conveyed the emotions of working-class women, illiterate men, Native Americans, or freed or enslaved African Americans. These were not the constituencies politicians worked to represent.
Not all of this correspondence was petty gossiping. In the absence of precedent, government officials relied on cultural and social traditions to help determine how the new government should work. Given these enormously high stakes, elites meticulously cultivated professional and personal networks both to provide and to disseminate information. These networks offered critical opportunities to develop trade partners, extend credit, open social circles, and promote political aspirations—indeed, they made or destroyed careers. Politicians at every level managed their own information pipelines through families, friends, and colleagues. They expected these contacts to provide crucial intelligence, but also to pass along select data to their own communities, effectively pursuing their own governing agendas through shadow networks.10 Through these connections, politicians could reach wide audiences to promote or defend their political positions. For example, Senator William Maclay from Pennsylvania exchanged letters with other elite Pennsylvanians, wrote newspaper essays for his constituents, and obsessed over the Senate record. He fussed over the terse entries, ensuring that any mention of his name accurately reflected his position. He fumed when the Senate closed its debates to the public and worried that voters would not learn of his efforts to represent their interests in a virtuous republican manner. To overcome the lack of official information, Maclay meticulously recorded Senate interactions in his diary. He narrated the debates, offered his interpretations, and speculated about his opponents’ motives. Maclay did not transcribe his thoughts for his own benefit—he intended this diary for a higher purpose. Every time he traveled home from New York City, he brought his diary in his saddlebag, ready to share it with friends, colleagues, and state legislators in Pennsylvania.11
Long before Washington gathered the department secretaries in the first cabinet meeting, each one of them had created his own network to support his agenda, supply information, and disseminate reports. Secretary of Treasury Alexander Hamilton depended on his own circle of contacts based largely in New York and Philadelphia. Unsurprisingly, Hamilton’s contacts concentrated in elite commercial communities cultivated during his time as a lawyer and politician in New York. As secretary of the treasury, he often consulted these contacts to test how merchant and commercial elites would receive proposed navigation laws and treaties. Reaching out to experts made good business sense, but it also indicates that Hamilton shared the widespread and pervasive anxiety about the future of the nation. His proposed financial system—which depended on the approval of merchant and commercial leaders—would completely transform the nation’s economy. If Hamilton failed, he believed, the Republic would fail along with him, and his personal reputation would be in tatters; this was a fear shared by many of the first officeholders.
Immediately after taking office, Hamilton began building the infrastructure required to implement and enforce his financial system. Hamilton, with Washington’s approval, needed to fill hundreds of positions in ports and customs collections offices across the nation. While the other departments remained quite small, the Treasury Department’s responsibilities and employees stretched across the thirteen states.
As he created this web of employees and new policies to guide their actions, Hamilton reached out to several close associates, including William Bingham and John Fitzgerald. Hamilton and Bingham probably met during the Revolutionary War, when Bingham led the Second Troop of Philadelphia Light Horse dragoons. Bingham came from an elite Pennsylvania family and had enhanced his fortune during the war with several merchant and mercantile businesses. After the war, he enjoyed a prominent position in the financial and political community in Philadelphia. Bingham also played a central role in forming the first Bank of North America—a project near and dear to Hamilton’s heart. In 1787, they likely spent time together discussing new financial institutions for the nation when Hamilton visited Philadelphia for the Constitutional Convention. At the time, Bingham represented Pennsylvania in the Confederation Congress and owned one of the finest homes in Philadelphia. Over the course of the summer, Bingham hosted visiting delegates, including George Washington, for afternoon tea and dinner parties “in great Splender.”12
Hamilton and Fitzgerald developed a close bond while serving together as aides-de-camp for Washington during the war. Both of them fought in the Battles of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth before Fitzgerald retired from the army. In the fall of 1777, they had schemed to defend Washington’s reputation and defeat a cabal in Congress that plotted to replace Washington with General Horatio Gates. In the 1780s, Fitzgerald served as the mayor of Alexandria, one of the largest ports in Virginia. He also ran a profitable mercantile business and worked as a collector of customs under Washington’s administration.13 He was the exact type of person Hamilton relied on for news and advice.
When Hamilton reached out to Bingham and Fitzgerald in the fall of 1789, he asked them to supply information about the Philadelphia and Alexandria ports respectively: “It is my earnest wish to obtain all the lights I can on these Subjects in order that I may be the better able to discharge the trust reposed in me.”14 To accurately craft navigation laws and negotiate trade treaties, he wanted to compile a complete picture of the shipbuilding industry, the number of voyages each vessel sailed between various American and international ports, the number of sailors employed by each vessel, and the wages and other privileges afforded to sailors.15 Hamilton sent these questions to the collectors of customs employed by the Treasury Department, as well as his close friends.16 Since he valued their opinions, he also requested that Bingham and Fitzgerald send periodic updates on their home states and suggestions to facilitate the growth of trade. Finally, Hamilton encouraged them to offer “any thoughts that may occur to you concerning the Finances and Debts of the United States.”17 If anything was going wrong in his new system, he desperately wanted to know about it.
As secretary of the treasury, Hamilton also took advantage of the built-in network at his fingertips in the Treasury Department to collect and distribute information. He utilized the customs collectors stationed at every American port as invaluable assets. In addition to their regular paperwork, Hamilton requested reports whenever “breaches of the Revenue Laws [took] place.”18 He also expected them to provide updates after the administration implemented a new policy.19 On August 10, 1790, Congress passed a new law levying additional duties on goods, including spirits and liquors imported from outside the United States. On December 18, Hamilton sent out instructions to his collectors on how they should assess these new taxes. He concluded his letter by encouraging them to “communicate to me, from time to time, such observations concerning the matter as shall be suggested by the course of practice.”20
Hamilton understood that the financial system required finesse and flexibility. He could not expect Congress to pass legislation, his employees to enforce it, merchants and ship captains to pay their taxes, and the government to obtain revenue without some tension. After all, the rebellious colonies had ostensibly declared independence over unfair taxes. Hamilton relied on his network to let him know when merchants complained of heavy tax burdens, and he counted on them to use judgment and discretion when enforcing taxes on imports—even if that meant turning a blind eye every now and again.21 The network provided crucial feedback about how his policies were received by his key constituents: the merchants, bankers, and elites. His Treasury Department network continued to supply him with updates after his retirement from the administration in 1795. Oliver Wolcott Jr., Hamilton’s protégé, assumed control of the Treasury Department and funneled information to his former boss—often sharing updates with Hamilton before he sent them to President Washington.
In both his private and official correspondence, Hamilton acknowledged the importance of public opinion. He recognized that the American public had a long history of opposing new taxation measures and might resist additional duties under the new administration. Hamilton thought that unimpeachable conduct by the customs collectors might help the public accept new taxes, and he urged his customs collectors to collect payment on imports with “the most exact punctuality.” He admitted that state laws often permitted procrastination of duties. Going forward, however, Hamilton considered “strict observance … essential … as well as necessary to the Public.”22
While Hamilton built a network using Treasury Department employees to further his financial agenda, Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson cultivated his own support network, especially in his home state of Virginia. Jefferson’s closest friend, James Madison, served as the cornerstone of this network. Their five-decade-long partnership began during the Revolutionary War, when Madison supplied Jefferson with war updates from Philadelphia and the other seats of government. At every step of the way, until Jefferson’s death in 1826, they shared intelligence about the state of the Union and their efforts to preserve it in the face of perceived threats, both foreign and domestic. In 1780, Madison alluded to the private nature of their correspondence. He asked Jefferson to confirm the receipt of his recent letters: “I have written several private letters to you since my arrival here, which as they contained matters that I should be sorry should fall into other hands, I could wish to know had been received.”23 The secret nature of their correspondence was crucial, especially when they broke written or unwritten rules by sending each other intelligence while serving in Congress or the cabinet. Washington expected cabinet deliberations to remain private. Jefferson understood Washington’s expectations but elected to share critical information with his closest confidants anyway.24
Jefferson primarily relied on Madison to supply information about political developments and conversations out of his reach. While Jefferson served as the American minister to France, Madison sent updates on the Virginia legislature and the Constitutional Convention. On March 19, 1787, Madison anxiously awaited the start of the convention and shared his concerns with Jefferson: “The difficulties which present themselves are on one side almost sufficient to dismay the most sanguine, whilst on the other side the most timid are compelled to encounter them by the mortal diseases of the existing constitution.”25 Once Jefferson joined Washington’s administration, he often found himself stuck in New York City and then Philadelphia with a full plate of State Department responsibilities. Madison took advantage of congressional recesses to travel home, visit with neighbors and his own informants, and send reports on public morale back to Jefferson.
During these trips, Madison mined a blend of his personal and professional connections for useful information, and created a hierarchy of communications with Jefferson at the top, then Madison, then local contacts. Madison’s local connections supplied information to him, and he in turn supplied reports to Jefferson. If it served his purposes, Jefferson then passed material on to Washington. When Congress was in session, Madison leaked to Jefferson key details about private conversations not found in the official record of congressional debates. He began this practice when Jefferson traveled back to the United States from France. For example, in February 1790, Madison ensured that Jefferson understood the political scene in New York City before arriving to take office as secretary of state. On February 14, he wrote, “The Report of Mr. Hamilton has been, of late, the principal subject of debate.” Madison’s letter referred to Hamilton’s proposal for the national government to pay off bonds issued during the Revolutionary War. Madison shared that the House had voted unanimously to fund the foreign debt but fractured over the domestic debt. At issue was whether the federal government would pay off the initial bondholders, such as soldiers and farmers, or pay off the speculators who then held most of the bonds. Madison favored a split payment plan that would minimally reward speculators while also repaying the original, virtuous bond owners. He confessed to Jefferson, “The equity of this proposition is not contested. Its impracticability will be urged as an insuperable objection.”26 After Jefferson’s retirement from the State Department, Madison continued to serve in the House of Representatives and regularly relayed information from Philadelphia back to Jefferson in Virginia.
James Monroe also provided important information from Virginia and abroad about how the world perceived the administration, Hamilton, and Jefferson. From 1790 to 1794, Monroe served as a senator from Virginia. During congressional recesses, Monroe traveled back to Virginia to tend to his law practice. Unlike Madison, who spent most of his time in Albemarle and Orange Counties in the central region of Virginia, Monroe frequently sent Jefferson dispatches from Fredericksburg, Williamsburg, and Richmond.27 For example, on October 16, 1792, Monroe reported important personal news, including the death of Colonel George Mason, as well as political developments, such as Richard Henry Lee’s retirement from the Virginia governor’s office. Monroe also passed along significant political gossip: “Dr. Lee, Harvie, and F. Corbin were mentioned to me by the last post as the only competitors [to replace Henry]. I think it probably some other person may be brought forward, but this is conjecture only.”28 After his appointment as the Minister to France, Monroe proved even more useful to Jefferson. Monroe sent a steady supply of updates on the French Revolution and the war in Europe, filled with colorful assessments inspired by their shared Francophilia. In his first letter after arriving in Paris, Monroe reported: “It happened that I took my station a few days after Robertspierre had left his in the Convention, by means of the guillitin, so that every thing was in commotion, as was natural upon such an event; but it was the agitation of universal joy occasioned by a deliverance from a terrible oppression.”29
Washington also maintained an extensive information network independent from his subordinates in the executive branch. He received updates from correspondents on his pet projects, including the Potowmack Company, his extensive land holdings out west, and the development of the District of Columbia as the nation’s capital city. For example, on September 2, 1789, George Gilpin sent Washington a full account of his recent adventures up the Potomac River. Gilpin and Washington probably met before the start of the Revolutionary War. Gilpin had established himself as a successful wheat merchant in Alexandria, where Washington frequently sold his harvests. In May 1780, Washington rented a steady mare from Gilpin to calm one of his flightier horses.30 After the war, they developed a closer relationship over their shared passion for the Potowmack Company.31 Washington believed that the new nation needed to develop economic bonds between the western and eastern regions to foster nationalism. A canal system transporting goods from western farms to eastern markets and ports would facilitate these tenuous bonds. The Virginia legislature created the Potowmack Company to “[open] and [extend] the navigation of Potowmack river.” In May 1785, the company met for the first time, electing Washington as the first president and Gilpin as one of the directors.32 When Gilpin wrote to Washington in September 1789, he had completed his voyage up the Potomac River and shared detailed notes of the distances, waterfalls, rapids, and water depths.33
Washington also frequently requested that his trusted advisors pass along reports on public opinion. David Stuart, James Madison, and Chief Justice John Jay were all trusted correspondents in the early years of Washington’s administration.34 Washington also welcomed advice from other friends and government officials. When Edmund Pendleton, president of the Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals, shared his unsolicited opinion on the recent treasury legislation that created the national bank, Washington assured him, “With the most scrupulous truth I can assure you, that your free & unreserved opinion upon any public measure of importance will always be acceptable to me, whether it respects men, or measures—and on no man do I wish it to be expressed more fully than on myself.”35
Washington’s extensive newspaper and magazine subscriptions demonstrate his significant financial and emotional investment in staying informed of developments and public opinion in communities across the United States.36 He cared deeply about what American citizens thought of the administration and him personally, and he knew that his success, and the nation’s future, depended on their support.
Washington experienced a more complicated relationship with public opinion than many other public officials. As president, he felt that his position prevented him from responding to attacks or taking active steps to shape his image. In presidential decisions both big and small, Washington acknowledged the importance of republican virtue and widespread anti-British sentiment. In 1783, officers of the Continental Army formed the Society of the Cincinnati with Washington’s blessing and encouragement. Washington believed that the members established the organization to erect a “memorial of their common services, sufferings, and friendships” and were driven “by motivates of sensibility, charity, and patriotism.”37 Yet public outcry forced Washington to distance himself from the society, at least officially. Much to his surprise, the public objected to the organization, especially the hereditary membership, which reminded many of British aristocracy. Critics labeled the organization a subversion of “the principles of republican government” and accused Washington of “wanting in patriotism for not discouraging an establishment calculated to create distinctions in society.”38 In response to these critiques, he encouraged the organization to amend its membership policies. While Washington continued to host many members of the society in his home and visit them in their cities—all appropriate private social interactions—he avoided an official presence in the society.39 For example, he declined to attend the society’s first annual meeting, scheduled to take place in Philadelphia in the summer of 1787.40 Washington’s sensitivity to criticism and his eagerness to avoid it demonstrate how he incorporated public opinion into his decision-making process.
Washington learned a valuable lesson from the backlash over the Society of the Cincinnati and subsequently worked to avoid similar accusations of aristocracy.41 On August 28, 1788, William Barton, a specialist on the art of heraldry, wrote to Washington offering to create a special seal for the executive branch that would be “consonant to the purest spirit of Republicanism.” Washington replied that he believed heraldry could be of great use to the new nation, but that “the minds of a certain portion of the community … believ[e] that the proposed general government is pregnant with the seeds of discrimination, oligarchy, and despotism.” He assured Barton that while he supported the proposal, he must decline the offer out of “some respect [for] prevalent opinions,” and that in this instance, “some sacrifices might innocently be made to well-meant prejudices, in a popular government.”42 While Washington may have agreed with Barton about the utility of heraldry, he refused to attach his name to the project out of fear that it would appear unrepublican.
Washington’s efforts to sidestep criticism often worked. On April 23, 1789, Senator Richard Henry Lee brought forth the issue of how Congress should address the president. Although the constitution labels the office “President,” it does not specify how the individual should be addressed. On one side, Vice President John Adams and the majority of the Senate advocated for a more extravagant title that would bestow prestige and respect on the new executive branch. Adams endorsed “His Highness the President of the United States of America, and Protector of their Liberties.” The House of Representatives, and most American citizens, preferred something simpler, such as “President.”43 Washington studiously avoided giving any indication of his preference. On May 14, 1789, Senator Maclay confessed in his diary that he had no clue how Washington felt about the dispute that became known as the Title Controversy. Maclay served as one of the most vocal opponents of the more regal titles proposed in the Senate and noted his contempt for Vice President Adams for advocating “titles & honors.”44 He asserted that Washington had not expressed opposition to titles or else he “would have heard of it.” Edmund Randolph shared with James Madison a popular report circulating in Virginia, holding that Washington had written to John Adams threatening to resign if Congress approved an ostentatious title for the president. Many newspaper editorials assured American citizens that Washington bore no blame for the proposed titles. The New York Daily Advertiser claimed, “Our amiable and truly excellent President, we are credibly informed, wishes no badge, which the constitution has not expressly allowed, to distinguish him from his fellow citizens in general.”45
Although Washington did not reveal his position while the Title Controversy raged in Congress, he later expressed relief at the outcome. On July 26, 1789, Washington wrote to David Stuart that the question of titles “was moved before I arrived, without my privity or knowledge—and urged after I was apprised of it, contrary to my opinion; for I (foresaw and predicted the reception it has) met with … Happily, the matter is now done with, I hope never to be revived.”46 Perhaps Washington felt relief at avoiding the awkward title recommended by John Adams, or perhaps he was just glad to have escaped the criticism levied against his vice president.
While Washington and the secretaries’ efforts to gather news may seem excessive to us, this information and these relationships served an important purpose. Reports on public opinion helped the first officeholders evaluate their own behavior and that of their colleagues. Furthermore, maintaining these pipelines of information was a critical part of public service. These relationships ensured that the officeholders would continue to receive updates on how the public viewed their actions and whether their careers would be judged successes or failures.
Armed with the public’s opinion, Washington set out to create a working and social environment that befitted a republic. As president, he implemented a similar decision-making process to the one he had established during the Revolutionary War. First, he sought out several advisors to solicit their advice before establishing any social or government policy. Second, he considered their advice in private. Third and finally, he made a decision, which he then implemented with alacrity and firmness. In 1789, he was especially focused on how the president should interact with the public. Washington submitted several questions to Acting Secretary of State John Jay, Vice President John Adams, future secretary of the treasury Hamilton, and Acting Secretary of War Knox. Washington inquired if it would be improper for him to make informal visits to his private acquaintances, whether he should he make a tour of the states in the Union during the congressional recess, and whether he should host four great parties per year to commemorate important occasions. Perhaps more important, Washington wanted to know how and when to engage with audiences. At the bottom of the page, underneath the questions, Washington explained: “The President in all Matters of business or Etiquette can have no Object but to demean himself in his publick Character in such a manner as to maintain the dignity of Office without subjecting himself to the imputation of superciliousness or unnecessary reserve.”47
After receiving responses from his advisors, Washington’s first order of business was to create a social calendar that was sufficiently warm and open, while also establishing respect for the new executive. Twice a year, on February 22 and July 4, Washington opened his home to the public to celebrate his birthday and the birth of the nation. On those days, cannons placed at the end of Market Street boomed to announce the start of the festivities. Units of Society of Cincinnati veterans marched in full regalia to the President’s House, where they mingled with upstanding citizens. Hundreds if not thousands of visitors filled the drawing rooms, dining rooms, hallways, and landings. They drank punch, offered cheers to Washington’s future health, and enjoyed music played by bands in the street.48
Although Washington opened his doors on special occasions, he could not welcome random visitors to the house or else a daily continuous stream of guests and office-seekers would have made his work impossible. Instead, Washington hosted weekly levees: any man dressed in respectable attire could enter the president’s home every Tuesday afternoon. Washington balanced the open-door policy with strict protocol. He dressed in a velvet suit, wore a ceremonial sword, and greeted each guest with a formal bow. The attendees were then shown to their place in a large circle. Washington slowly walked around the room and exchanged a few words with each guest. After he concluded his circle, the levee ended.
One step below the formal levees, Martha hosted her weekly drawing room gatherings on Friday evenings, which George attended as a guest. These soirees included both men and women and required an invitation.49 Martha’s drawing rooms provided an opportunity for George to receive diplomats, congressmen, government officials, and prominent families.50 In the Early Republic, women could not participate in politics or government. Therefore, when women were present, events were considered private and the conversations were outside the realm of masculine politics. Of course the reality was much more political than anyone acknowledged, and women read, discussed, and wrote about these issues.51 Because Martha hosted the drawing rooms, George was free to mingle with the guests and engage in conversations about theater, literature, and, of course, politics. Washington used the social nature of these events to his advantage—he dropped hints about his preferences on legislation under consideration by Congress without appearing to interfere with the legislature.
Finally, the Washingtons hosted private dinners once a week. They invited politicians, government officials, and their friends. The department secretaries and their families frequently attended these dinners.52 As Washington planned his dinners over the course of a congressional session, he carefully selected guests from each branch of government and from all states. He made sure to include all members of the federal government, avoid charges of favoritism, and refrain from giving offense to any one delegation. A dinner invitation to the President’s House helped foster emotional ties between the guests and Washington—and, by extension, with the new federal government. Furthermore, by inviting officials from differing states, he could subtly build coalitions and support for his policies.
Although Washington was the official host of these dinners, he invited the department secretaries as members of his official family to help him facilitate these events just as he had relied on his aides-de-camp to serve guests and foster lively conversation at headquarters. For example, on January 28, 1790, the Washingtons hosted a dinner with representatives from the executive branch and both houses of Congress. From the executive branch, Washington invited Adams and Hamilton. He also included Senators Philip Schuyler (New York), Tristam Dalton (Massachusetts), Robert Morris (Pennsylvania), and Pierce Butler (South Carolina). From the House of Representatives, Washington invited Michael Stone (Maryland), William Smith (South Carolina), James Schureman (New Jersey), Thomas Fitzsimons (Pennsylvania), Theodore Sedgwick (Massachusetts), Daniel Huger (South Carolina), and James Madison (Virginia). Washington continued these dinners through the end of his presidency, noting in his diary that he hosted the entire diplomatic corps at his home on January 12, 1797.53
In June 1792, Edward Thornton, a British citizen, attended one of these dinners. Thornton served as the secretary to George Hammond, the British minister to the United States. While in the United States, Thornton frequently wrote to his mentor and financial backer, James Bland Burges, an undersecretary for the British Foreign Department. In one of his missives to Burges, Thornton described Washington’s efforts to straddle the line between republican virtue and respect for the office of the president. Washington clearly harbored a “certain dislike of monarchy,” Thornton reported, noting that this dislike seemed a bit hypocritical given that Washington “love[d] to be treated with great respect” and traveled “in a very kingly style.”54
Thornton also highlighted how Washington carefully orchestrated his every public action and appearance. For most travel, Washington rode in an ornate cream-colored coach pulled by six matching horses and attended by liveried coachmen. The coach was one of the fanciest in the United States and recognizable to all who saw it.55 Washington knew that his fancy coach might remind some citizens of the trappings of monarchy, however, so he balanced it by taking a daily walk on the streets of New York City and then Philadelphia. Walking must have provided little pleasure to Washington. He much preferred to ride a horse for exercise rather than stain his boots with the muck and waste that flowed onto the city streets. But Washington was a conniving politician who carefully crafted his image. He took his walks to convey that he was no better than the average citizen who trudged through the city streets. Washington’s contemporaries understood these walks as a political statement and applauded his assertion of republican virtue.56 Washington hoped that observers would come to the same conclusion regarding the combination of these three types of social gatherings—that they struck an appropriate balance between “too much state and too great familiarity.”57
Washington referred to the secretaries as his family and regularly included them in social gatherings, events, and meals. He was a great fan of the theater, and he “[could not] deny himself the gratification of requesting the company” of his friends and colleagues.58 When the federal government resided in New York City, Washington maintained a box at the John Street Theatre. He frequently sent tickets to the secretaries and their wives, as well as other friends and former military officers. On November 24, Washington attended a performance of “The Toy; or a Trip to Hampton Court,” performed by the Old American Company. He sent invitations to Abigail Adams, wife of John Adams; Philip Schuyler, senator from New York, and his wife, Catherine; Rufus King, senator from New York, and his wife, Mary; Alexander Hamilton; and Kitty Greene, the widow of General Nathanael Greene. Less than a week later, on November 30, Washington enjoyed the Old American Company’s performance of Cymon and Sylvia. He again invited a number of his friends and government officials: Dr. William Samuel Johnson, senator from Connecticut, and his wife, Anne Johnson; Ruth and Tristam Dalton, senator from Massachusetts; Sarah and John Jay, chief justice of the Supreme Court; Lucy and Henry Knox; Baron von Steuben, one of Washington’s favorite generals during the war; and Kitty Greene.59 Washington had learned from his experience as commander-in-chief that these social events fostered an esprit de corps among his subordinates that helped carry the officers through the dark days of the war. He was eager to encourage similar bonds and loyalty with the secretaries.
In addition to his regular social events, Washington also embarked on two major tours of the nation during his first term as president. He aimed to bring the federal government to communities that rarely interacted with the new administration outside of their use of the postal service. Washington was the most notable symbol of the new nation, and he hoped his presence would foster emotional connections to the union and build support for the administration’s policies. Finally, he wished to explore regions and communities previously unknown to him and learn about their cultures, economies, and ways of life.60
Washington conscientiously planned both tours to showcase his devotion to republican virtue. For example, prior to his arrival in Boston on October 24, 1789, Washington informed John Hancock, governor of Massachusetts, that he wished “to visit your Metropolis without any parade, or extraordinary ceremony.”61 He also had these sentiments published in a local newspaper. Despite his protestations, crowds thronged to view the Revolutionary War hero and first president. Washington greeted the people with signs of respect. He bowed to the crowds and removed his hat to honor the ladies observing from the windows. Through these subtle acknowledgments of the average citizen, he appeared less formal.62
Washington also took care to emphasize his civilian, not military, status. This position was consistent with his insistence as commander in chief that the military remain subordinate to civilian authority, but he also may have been wary of reigniting the controversy over the Society of the Cincinnati. On the morning of October 23, he stopped in Worcester for breakfast on his way to Boston. While dining, an aide to Major General John Brooks walked in and delivered a message that the Middlesex militia awaited his arrival to parade and conduct a military review. Frustrated that his efforts to prevent fanfare had failed, Washington confessed in his diary that he “[found] this ceremony was not to be avoided though I had made every effort to do [so].”63 He sent a message back to General Brooks that “there was an impropriety in my reviewing the Militia, or seeing them perform Manoeuvres otherwise[. That] as a private Man I could do no more than pass along the line.” Washington understood that reviewing the troops and their maneuvers was something a military commander would do to judge battle readiness. Because the United States was not at war, Washington viewed himself a civilian leader and considered a full military review inappropriate. He recognized the symbolic imagery of a conquering military commander and took pains in Boston to emphasize his status as a civilian leader, lest the American public view him as too militaristic.64
Washington also avoided imposing on, or favoring, private citizens. By traveling with very few attendees, he conscientiously distinguished himself from British monarchs, who infamously traveled with enormous royal retinues and lodged the entire caravan at private homes at the expense of the owner. Royal visits could convey favor but also could be used as punishment or as a reminder of royal dominance because of the awesome expense of feeding, housing, and stabling the royal entourage. Queen Elizabeth would frequently force her hosts to feed more than a hundred guests for weeks at a time. These visits served as a costly reminder to the nobility that the monarch ruled the nation.65 Washington, in contrast, recognized that his presence would place a financial burden on his hosts and sought to bear those expenses himself.
On his own tours of the nation, Washington declared that he would only seek lodging at public accommodations where he could pay for his room and board, even when that meant suffering through uncomfortable conditions. Many public houses only offered small, dirty accommodations with little privacy. They were frequently infested with lice and bedbugs, and rarely provided the high-quality food Washington usually consumed on a daily basis. By paying for his room and board, as well as for those of his slaves and servants, he sought to avoid comparisons to British royal tours. Only rarely were Washington’s intentions thwarted. On April 27, 1791, he accepted lodging at Jeremiah Vareen’s home believing it to be an inn. When he discovered it was a private home, he offered to pay for food and lodging, but Vareen refused. In his diary, Washington wrote—almost in self-defense—that he had been misled: “To this house we were directed as a Tavern, but the proprietor of it either did not keep one, or would not acknowledge it.”66
Washington also received so many offers to lodge with friends, former officers, and government officials that he could not select one offer without risking insult. If he stayed with government officials, he might insult former military officers and the Society of the Cincinnati, or vice versa. Similarly, if he stayed with friends in North Carolina, but in boarding houses in South Carolina, he might give offense to one state or the other. Public accommodations allowed him to visit friends and colleagues while maintaining cordial relations with everyone.67
Other than April 27, 1791, Washington lodged at a public house almost every other night of his tours. By resting at public houses, Washington took his meals and interacted with average Americans. He learned about their lives and gathered public opinion. This decision invoked republican simplicity: lodging at public houses conveyed that he did not require special treatment just because he was the president.
Washington also physically endured the hardships of eighteenth-century travel. Especially in the southern states, many of the roads were of poor quality, and Washington complained in his diary of the dust, rain, and rough terrain. On Saturday, April 16, 1791, he hoped to escape a violent storm at a local inn. Upon his arrival, however, he discovered that the inn had “no stables in wch. the horses could be comfortable, & no Rooms or beds which appeared tolerable, & every thing else having a dirty appearance.”68 Unfortunately, these poor conditions were more the norm than the exception. Washington frequently described accommodations as “indifferent” and “tolerable.”69
Washington’s decision to lodge in public accommodations, endure uncomfortable travel, and bear the financial cost of his tours were carefully calculated decisions to highlight his normalcy and position himself in direct contrast to the British monarchy. The American public grasped the symbolism of his actions and applauded his republican virtue. One newspaper in Charleston proclaimed, “The harmony and hilarity which prevailed throughout were strongly demonstrative of the general gratitude and joy; and it must have afforded the highest gratification to every true patriot to have observed the man whom we most venerate—venerated by all.”70
Washington’s efforts to create a social calendar that balanced republican virtue and gravitas for the new federal government highlight the sheer number of daily practices of the executive branch that he had to create from scratch. Furthermore, the care and detail that Washington poured into planning his interactions with the public reflect his engagement with the political environment around him. Public officials and elites obsessed over the tiniest details of the new federal government and weighed how certain practices might strengthen or threaten the republic. Washington was no exception.
As president, Washington created a productive governing environment by replicating the intimate working atmosphere that he had established as commander in chief. He selected department secretaries based on many outside factors, including the different regions and interests they represented within the United States and the specific experience they brought to each department. Jefferson and Randolph represented Virginia, Knox came from Massachusetts, and Hamilton made his home in New York. But Washington also selected secretaries with whom he had a personal relationship. For example, Washington could have appointed George Clinton to high office; Clinton had served in the New York militia during the war and had many years of experience in state and national office. But he had opposed the ratification of the Constitution and did not have a close bond with Washington. On the other hand, both Randolph and Hamilton had served as aides-de-camp, and Randolph went on to represent Washington in many private legal matters. Knox was one of Washington’s favorite generals and kept Washington apprised of government developments when he served as secretary of war for the Confederation Congress (1785–1789).71 Jefferson had served with Washington in the Virginia House of Burgesses, and they continued a regular correspondence to manage the war effort in Virginia during Jefferson’s tenure as governor (1779–1781).72 Finally, Washington chose secretaries who could provide knowledge and advice on areas beyond his expertise. Hamilton grasped the complexities of the nation’s finances. Jefferson had spent six years abroad as the American minister to France, so he brought firsthand experience with the European courts to the administration. Randolph supplied legal interpretations of administrative policy and helped Washington analyze the federal Constitution and congressional legislation. Finally, Knox had run the War Department for several years, negotiated treaties with Native American nations, and organized national militia efforts.
Washington nurtured his relationships with the department secretaries through social interactions. When healthy, and weather permitting, Washington exercised daily, either on horseback or on foot, and he often incorporated social calls with the department secretaries into his exercise routines. For example, in late October, Washington left New York City to begin his tour of the northern states during the congressional recess. Jay, Knox, and Hamilton joined him on a leisurely ride out of the city before they returned to their work, and Washington headed north.73
After selecting his official family and instituting a social calendar, Washington turned to creating the daily practices of the executive branch. Although the president’s powers were outlined in the Constitution, it fell to Washington to determine how he was supposed to use them from day to day. Complicating the task, political divisions between the nation’s leaders arose just a few months after Congress began its first session. During the 1790s, two political camps emerged: Federalists, who believed that only a stronger federal government could save the United States from anarchy, and Democratic-Republicans, who preferred a decentralized government to protect individual liberties and state sovereignty.74
In April 1789, several years before the nation’s first political parties formed, the beginnings of the ideological division emerged in the First Federal Congress during the Title Controversy. While the debate was about the president’s title in theory, questions about executive and congressional power lingered under the surface. An ostentatious title suggested that the executive would be supreme over the executive, while a modest title protected legislative supremacy. The debate over the president’s title demonstrates that both sides believed they were fighting for the future of the republic and that every decision had the potential to secure the nation’s survival or precipitate its demise.75
Washington’s first official visit to the Senate, which we first discussed in the introduction, revived the concerns about the balance of powers between the branches of government that had erupted a few months prior.76 In 1789, the president and senators understood that the first visit could establish a precedent for their relationship as they jointly conducted foreign affairs in the future. The first issue they confronted involved federal negotiations with the many Native American nations along the United States’ extensive western borders.
Most Native American nations had sided with the British during the Revolutionary War, recognizing the threat that American settlers posed to Native land.77 After the war, the Confederation government had appointed commissioners who dictated coercive treaties with tribes to secure peace, establish borders, compel land cessions, and arrange for the exchange of captives. Those controversial treaties provoked considerable armed resistance, particularly in the federal territory north and west of the Ohio River. In the southeast, relations with the Creeks remained tense, and the Cherokees objected to frequent violations of their treaty by white settlers from North Carolina. Representatives from the national government, the Carolinas, the Creeks, and the Cherokees planned to meet on September 15, 1789, to negotiate a new treaty. Washington sought advice about what instructions to give to the commissioners. Because he considered Indian relations to fall under the heading of foreign affairs, he followed constitutional guidelines and prepared to meet with the Senate.
After meeting with a planning committee and supplying all previous treaties, Washington and Knox arrived at eleven thirty in the morning on Saturday, August 22, 1789. After their introduction, Washington handed Adams his prepared remarks. Noise coming in from the open windows forced Adams to read the remarks twice before opening the floor for the senators to debate Washington’s questions. The senators sat in silence.78 Maclay snarked in his diary that his colleagues were so intimidated by Washington’s presence in the Senate chambers that they skulked in embarrassing silence. He suspected that if the Senate failed to provide advice, Washington would not return, and the Senate would lose its constitutional right to advise on foreign affairs. These fears, and the fact that he noted them in his diary, indicate the intensity of every moment of governing in the Early Republic. Maclay worried that one misstep might doom the Republic—a fear shared by many of the first officeholders. Determined to prevent any expansion of presidential authority, Maclay stood up and suggested referring the issue to committee for discussion in detail. Washington lost his temper before agreeing to return a few days later.79 Although he did return the following Monday, Maclay’s concerns proved prescient: Washington never returned to the Senate for advice.80
After witnessing the president lose his temper, Maclay was convinced that “the President wishe[d] to tread on the Necks of the Senate.”81 Maclay had served as a vocal Anti-Federalist during the ratification of the Constitution, and he became a Democratic-Republican purist during the Title Controversy. He distrusted executive authority and viewed Washington’s actions, both in August 1789 and later, as evidence of a Federalist bid to centralize power. For example, on January 14, 1790, Maclay attended a dinner at the President’s House. At the dinner, he interpreted Washington’s attention and kindness as an attempt to “soften” his republican ardor.82 He believed that this behavior was consistent with Washington’s efforts to reduce the Senate’s power back in August. Maclay wrote in his diary that Washington “wishes Us to see with the Eyes and hear with the ears of his Secretary only, the Secretary to advance the Premisses the President to draw Conclusions, and to bear down our deliberations with his personal Authority & Presence.”83
For his part, Washington sought a strong presidency and viewed the senators as his advisors. Washington saw no reason for them to refer the issue to committee—they had all the information they needed. He had sent all previous treaties for the senators’ review, and Secretary Knox, who had managed earlier treaties with Native Americans, had come along to answer the senators’ questions.. Based on this exchange, Washington concluded that the Senate could not provide the prompt advice that he needed to handle pressing diplomatic exchanges.
After rejecting the Senate as a source of advice on matters of foreign affairs, Washington experimented with two other options: a prime minister-style relationship, and he consulted with the Supreme Court. First, a prime minister, like the position in Great Britain, would have been an individual with a position in Congress that would have also served as Washington’s spokesperson. Washington could have promoted the development of a position similar to a prime minister in two ways, either by using the vice president as a liaison for the administration or by selecting an influential person in the House—such as James Madison—to promote the president’s policy. As the president of the Senate under the federal Constitution, the vice president could also serve as a potential intermediary between the legislative and executive branches. Yet, while Adams and Washington respected each other, they never developed a close or warm relationship. Furthermore, Adams had lost political clout due to his ill-considered leading role in the Title Controversy. Offending republican sensibilities, Adams reaped insulting nicknames, including “the Dangerous Vice” and “His Rotundity.” The public outcry embarrassed Washington, who thereafter doubted Adams’s political judgment and distanced himself from the vice president. This frostiness made political collaboration unlikely going forward.84 As a result, when Washington eventually created a cabinet, he never invited Adams to join the deliberations. The relationship between the vice president and the president might have evolved differently if the nation had elected John Jay or another of Washington’s confidants as vice president instead of Adams.
A prime minister in the House of Representatives initially seemed a more likely scenario. Washington and Madison had worked closely together during the 1780s. They organized the Mount Vernon Conference, a gathering of delegates from Virginia and Maryland that met at Mount Vernon to discuss economic tensions between the two states and control of the Potomac River. Washington and Madison successfully navigated the group to a compromise that produced the Compact of 1785—an agreement regulating the shared Potomac waterway. Just two years later, Madison helped to convince Washington to attend the Constitutional Convention. They worked together during the convention to draft the Virginia Plan and to drum up support for a strong executive. After Congress sent the constitution to the states for ratification, Madison kept Washington apprised of the Virginia ratification debates in Richmond. Once in office as the first president, Washington consulted with Madison on department appointments and dispatched him to Monticello to persuade Jefferson to accept the post of secretary of state.85
After Washington’s inauguration, Madison served as his primary advisor. Washington requested Madison’s advice as he established executive protocols for private and public social events. He also relied on Madison to guide his interactions with Congress. For example, the day after the inauguration, Congress formed a committee to draft a response to Washington’s inaugural address. Congress appointed Madison chairman of this committee, and he was responsible for creating the first draft. A few days later, Washington asked Madison to prepare his own reply to Congress’s response. Madison agreed, and thereby composed both sides of the official written conversation between the House of Representatives and the president.86
Washington relied on Madison less after the department secretaries commenced their administrative duties in September 1789. Washington and Madison’s working relationship began to deteriorate over the summer of 1790 as political differences drove a wedge into their friendship. In the spring of 1790, Madison broke with the administration to oppose Alexander Hamilton’s proposal to fully fund wartime bonds and assume the war debts of all thirteen states. Madison thought an enormous national debt would be dangerous, and he favored paying back the bonds to the original holders who had earned them through military service or by lending goods and money to Congress in its time of need. Hamilton favored paying the current holders of the bonds, which meant mostly the speculators and financiers who had bought most of them up at reduced rates during the recession in the 1780s. Hamilton understood the emotional appeal of Madison’s position, but he argued that the federal government had to pay its debts at face value or creditors would not trust the government, making them less likely to offer future loans.
Madison and Hamilton’s disagreement boiled down to a fundamentally different interpretation of the “necessary and proper” clause of the federal Constitution—the clause that gave Congress power to pass laws to carry out its other responsibilities. Hamilton argued that these powers included debt management and the creation of a national bank to help manage the nation’s credit. Madison disagreed.87 Although he opposed both the bond payment and assumption measures, he worked with Jefferson to broker a compromise in June 1790. Madison agreed to provide the necessary votes to pass Hamilton’s bill, and in return, Hamilton swung northern support behind the Residence Act, which would move the federal capital to the banks of the Potomac River in 1800.
Any lingering goodwill from the compromise evaporated in February 1791, when Madison unequivocally split from the administration to oppose Hamilton’s new bank bill, “An Act to Incorporate the Subscribers to the Bank of the United States.” Madison worried that the national bank would favor northern merchants and speculators at the expense of farmers, particularly those in the South. He also argued that the Constitution did not grant the federal government the power to create a national bank. After much deliberation, Washington sided with Hamilton and signed the bills into law. Notoriously thin-skinned, Washington interpreted Madison’s opposition to the administration’s policies as a personal attack.
Finally, in October 1791, Madison founded a partisan newspaper called the National Gazette and contributed editorials attacking the administration and further alienating the president.88 Washington did not know with certainty that Madison was behind the creation of the National Gazette—at least not in 1791—but after reading the editorials, he may have guessed the author’s identity. More important, the bitter political debates in the newspapers deepened the partisan divide, moving Washington and Madison even farther apart.
As their relationship soured, Washington no longer turned to Madison for advice on social etiquette, matters of foreign affairs, or nominees to fill vacancies in the executive branch. Instead, he primarily relied on his department secretaries, Jay, and other Federalist-leaning advisors. While Washington still heard Madison’s advice—filtered through Jefferson—he was more inclined to select Federalist nominees, practices, and policies recommended by his Federalist advisors.
The Supreme Court offered another alternative to the president’s cabinet. A few delegates to the Constitutional Convention and the state ratification conventions anticipated that the Supreme Court might develop into an alternative advisory body to the president. Samuel Jones and Robert Livingston, both delegates to the New York state convention, had worried that the Supreme Court resembled the Star Chamber in Great Britain. The Star Chamber was made up of common-law judges and the king’s Privy Counsellors. The Chamber emerged in the late fifteenth century to hold accountable powerful individuals who frequently escaped punishment in common-law courts. By the seventeenth century, however, the Chamber became known for political oppression and monarchical tyranny. Many delegates at the Constitutional Convention worried that the Supreme Court justices would become privy councilors to the president and subvert justice rather than remain independent.89 Robert Whitehill expressed similar fears in the Pennsylvania state ratifying convention. He proposed an additional council to shoulder the burden of advising the president and to ensure that the justices remain independent of the executive branch.90
The Supreme Court also fit Washington’s requirements for a council. He appointed the first justices, so he selected attorneys who were loyal to the new federal government and who supported a constitutional interpretation consistent with his own opinions. The six-justice Supreme Court also suited Washington’s preferences for intimate counsel and had the potential to offer more efficient advice than the twenty-six-man Senate. Additionally, the Constitution appointed the Supreme Court as the arbiter of all laws and treaties, so Washington valued the justices’ advice on how to implement the laws. Finally, Jay, one of Washington’s trusted advisors, led the Supreme Court. The two men had a long history together, and Jay had unparalleled expertise on foreign affairs and statecraft. Washington and Jay first met during the First Continental Congress in Philadelphia in 1774. They continued their correspondence during Jay’s tenure as president of the Continental Congress from 1778 to 1779 and minister to Spain from 1779 to 1782.91 After the war, Jay served as secretary of foreign affairs under the Articles of Confederation, during which time he and Washington exchanged letters discussing foreign affairs and agreeing on the need for a stronger national government.92 After the Constitutional Convention in 1787, they shared their hopes of ratification, and Jay forwarded Washington his publications in favor of the new Constitution.93 In 1789, Jay remained in office as the acting secretary of foreign affairs until Congress established the Department of State in July 1789. Washington trusted Jay’s foreign policy and legal expertise, and nominated him to be chief justice of the Supreme Court on September 24, 1789.94
Early in his administration, Washington consulted Jay on many procedural questions, legal issues, and diplomatic challenges.95 He valued Jay’s opinions on social etiquette at the start of the administration.96 He also relied on Jay when faced with constitutional issues, frequently consulting Jay and Randolph on the same questions of law. In June 1790, Washington considered one of the first applications for clemency. He forwarded Jay the application for mercy and requested Jay’s legal opinion.97
The department secretaries followed Washington’s example and sought Jay’s legal and diplomatic expertise. In April 1793, Hamilton provided Jay with the latest updates on the diplomatic tensions with France and Great Britain and asked for his advice. A few days later, Jay replied and encouraged the administration to move cautiously: any statement published by the president should avoid mentioning treaties or “neutrality,” Jay believed, because it was better “at present that too little shd. be said, than too much.”98 Jay shared Washington and the secretaries’ desire for peace and suggested that the administration would have more power to negotiate behind closed doors if the proclamation left room for interpretation.99
The other justices, however, balked at providing advice for the executive. During the summer of 1793, Washington’s cabinet secretaries debated how to handle British and French ships and the ships they had captured into American ports. On July 12, the cabinet gathered and requested a meeting with the Supreme Court justices to discuss the issue. On July 20, 1793, four of the justices—John Jay, James Wilson, James Iredell, and William Paterson—replied that the question of whether the Supreme Court could provide advice to the president required full participation by all of the justices. They requested additional time to consult their colleagues. On August 8, the justices declined to provide advice. In the letter, they provided their rationale:
The Lines of Separation drawn by the Constitution between the three Departments of Government—their being in certain Respects checks on each other—and our being Judges of a court in the last Resort—are Considerations which afford strong arguments again the Propriety of our extrajudicially deciding the questions alluded to; especially as the Power given by the Constitution to the President of calling on the heads of Departments for opinions, seems to have been purposely as well as expressly limited to executive Departments.100
The other justices drove the Supreme Court’s refusal to provide advice. Jay had favored a more flexible interpretation of the separation of powers among the branches of government and had willingly consulted with Washington and the secretaries in the past. Furthermore, in 1794, he temporarily left his judicial post to accept a diplomatic appointment from Washington to negotiate a new treaty with Great Britain.101 Clearly Jay was willing to juggle several roles within the federal government without worrying that they would pose a conflict of interest or muddy the separation of powers. Perhaps Jay would have offered Washington guidance if not for the other justices’ objections.
Washington’s councils of war, and the advice he received from his officers, had been critical to his success during the Revolution, so it is almost surprising that he did not create the cabinet earlier in his presidency. Instead, Washington used every tool available to him under the strict letter of the Constitution before concluding that these options were insufficient. Washington’s governing strategies during the years 1789 to 1791—particularly his failed visit to the Senate in August 1789—suggest that a council continued to be on his mind. When Washington did embrace the cabinet as a central part of the executive branch in 1793, he continued to utilize the same strategy. He often brought questions to the cabinet meetings or submitted then in advance to the department secretaries.102
In 1789, Washington entered the presidency with little guidance about how to structure his daily activities, manage the executive branch, or interact with his advisors. The Constitution offered scant instructions, and there was no precedent for Washington to follow. In the face of this novel situation, he created a social calendar and work environment modeled after his leadership experience as commander in chief of the Continental Army. When establishing executive precedent, Washington initially tried to follow the constitutionally approved mechanisms for obtaining advice: he visited the Senate for consultation, he engaged the executive departments for written advice, and he experimented with other advisory options, including the Supreme Court and prime minister. All of these options, however, failed to provide Washington with the support he needed to govern effectively. Washington neither planned nor intended to create the cabinet when he first took on the presidency, but he eventually realized that he needed more help than the Constitution could offer.