Equally remarkable was the Revolution’s impact on political and military affairs. Politically, it sparked the feeling in Europe that a new era was dawning. News of American events and institutions filtered into Europe through the press, the efforts of American propagandists, discussions in literary clubs, and reports of returning soldiers. The Enlightenment’s liberal philosophical ideas lost their abstractness as Americans seemingly put them into practice, thereby intensifying the revolutionary and democratic spirit in Europe. In France the new spirit mingled with rising discontent fomented by a soaring cost of living and a bankrupt treasury, both of which resulted primarily from France’s support of the United States. Six years after the Treaty of Paris, France exploded in its own revolution, plunging Europe into a generation of nearly ceaseless violence.
War after 1789 was radically different from what it had been during the age of limited warfare. Restraints on warfare began eroding during the American Revolution, and the French Revolution completely washed them away. Americans reintroduced ideology into warfare, fought for the unlimited goal of independence, and mobilized citizen-soldiers rather than professionals. In the spring of 1783, Washington summarized the drastic implications of these changes. “It may be laid down as a primary position, and the basis of our system,” he wrote, “that every Citizen who enjoys the protection of a free Government, owes not only a proportion of his property, but even of his personal service to the defense of it.” To protect the nation, “the Total strength of the Country might be called forth.” Mass citizen-soldier armies would be motivated by patriotic zeal as they fought for freedom, equality, and other abstract ideological virtues.
The French followed Washington’s prescription for national defense when the government issued a levee en masse in 1793, theoretically conscripting the entire population. France’s national mobilization portended a new, more destructive type of warfare that would culminate in the twentieth century. Huge armies required large-scale production to equip, feed, and transport them, which in turn necessitated economic regimentation. The line between soldiers and civilians, both indispensable to the war effort, became blurred. To sustain the patriotic ardor of troops and workers, governments resorted to mass indoctrination. And since national survival seemed at stake, nations fought with grim determination, surrendering only when battered into abject helplessness. The American and French Revolutions, politically and militarily, transformed Western civilization.
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FOUR
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Preserving the New Republic’s Independence, 1783–1815
The post-Revolutionary era, which was one of serious peril for the infant republic, necessitated the development of a military policy that reconciled ideological concerns for liberty with military effectiveness. Complicating the task of devising an appropriate policy were three events during 1783 that reawakened traditional fears of a standing army and poisoned civil-military relations. The first episode leading to this crisis in civil-military relations was the Newburgh Conspiracy. Early in the war Continental Army officers began demanding half pay for life as a postwar pension, a tradition in European armies. Despite opposition to the creation of a favored class, in 1780 the Continental Congress promised the officers half pay for life. But by the winter of 1782–1783, when the army was at Newburgh, New York, nothing had been done to implement the promise. Officers feared their service was going to go uncompensated and that the new Confederation Congress, which assumed authority after the ratification of the Articles of Confederation in 1781, would repudiate that pledge as it disbanded the army.
The officers drew up a petition offering to have half pay for life commutated into a lump-sum payment, and a committee, headed by General Alexander McDougall, carried it to Congress. The army delegation played into the hands of those congressmen, known as nationalists, who desired a stronger central government. They especially wanted the government to have the power to tax, a function that public creditors also favored. The nationalists tried to combine the army’s discontent with the civilian creditors’ clamor to secure a permanent taxing power for Congress and thereby strengthen the government. McDougall and the nationalists implied that if the officers’ demands were not met, the army might defy congressional control over the military. Despite the threat of a mutiny, Congress refused to capitulate to the commutation proposal and the nationalists’ demands.
To intensify pressure on recalcitrant congressmen, the nationalists fomented further demonstrations among the officers at Newburgh. Whether or not some officers actually contemplated a coup d’état remains unclear, but two anonymous documents, known as the Newburgh Addresses, circulated in camp. One called for a meeting to discuss means for obtaining redress; since Washington had not been consulted, such a meeting was against regulations. The other denounced Congress and threatened its supremacy over the military.
These documents shocked Washington, though perhaps they did not surprise him. He shared the officers’ belief that their valorous service had been rewarded by ingratitude and injustice, and he received hints that nationalists were using the army as a lobby group. Washington adhered religiously to civilian rule, believing that “the Army was a dangerous Engine to Work with.” He acted quickly to stop the growing protest by calling his own meeting, at which he warned the men against impassioned actions and argued that an attempted coup would tarnish the army’s reputation and “open the flood Gates of Civil discord.” With a touch of theatrics, he recalled his own sacrifices, noting he had grown gray and nearly blind in the service. Pledging to do everything he could in their behalf, he implored the officers to continue their “unexampled patriotism and patient virtue.” Washington’s virtuoso performance undermined whatever scheme was afoot. When he departed, the officers adopted a memorial affirming their “unshaken confidence” in Congress and deploring the Newburgh Addresses. Meanwhile, under the pressure of the threats and unaware of the dramatic reversal at Newburgh, Congress enacted a plan commutating half pay for life into full pay for five years. The crisis was over, but many people considered the episode a frightening example of a standing army’s potentially subversive nature.
As winter yielded to spring, another cloud drifted out of Newburgh to cast a shadow on the army. In mid-May, Henry Knox formed the Society of the Cincinnati to unite army officers in a fraternal and charitable organization. But outsiders saw sinister designs in the Cincinnati’s constitution. Membership was hereditary: Was this a step toward an American nobility? The society also permitted honorary memberships: Would it become a powerful pressure group by adding important politicians to its ranks? Each officer contributed to a charitable fund: Could this be a war chest to finance diabolical plots? Auxiliary state societies were to correspond through circular letters discussing, among other things, “the general union of the states”: Did this imply a political purpose, perhaps to overthrow the Confederation? Washington’s acceptance of the Cincinnati’s presidency indicated that the organization had none of these corrupt motives, but the public furor against the society was nonetheless intense.
As critics pilloried the Cincinnati, another thunderbolt was brewing. On April 11, 1783, Congress proclaimed an end to hostilities, even though no definitive peace treaty had been signed. Men wanted to be discharged and paid immediately, but Congress was reluctant to do the former until final peace was achieved, and it lacked the money to do the latter. Troops became riotous, and in mid-June some of the Pennsylvania troops in the Continental Army mutinied. The men marched on the Pennsylvania State House, where both Congress and the state government were meeting, and sent in a message threatening “to let loose an enraged soldiery on them” if their demands were not met. The legislators refused to comply and courageously left the building to a flurry of insults; but Congress moved to Princeton as a precaution.
These ominous events overshadowed the Confederation’s efforts to devise an effective postwar military policy. In April 1783, Congress appointed a committee to study future policy. Alexander Ham
ilton, one of Washington’s former aides and an ardent nationalist, chaired the committee and sought advice from the commander in chief, who responded with his “Sentiments on a Peace Establishment.” The general mentioned the need for a navy and seacoast fortification but emphasized four necessities. First, the country should have a regular army to garrison the west, “awe the Indians,” and guard against attacks from Spanish Florida or British Canada. Considering the nation’s poverty, its distance from Europe, and the widespread prejudice against professional military forces, Washington proposed a small regular army—specifically, 2,631 officers and men. Second, with the army so tiny, the nation required a “respectable and well established Militia.” Contrary to the colonial system, Washington insisted the militia should be nationalized, with the central government imposing uniformity in arms, organization, and training. In particular, within each state he wanted “a kind of Continental Militia,” modeled after the war’s minutemen, under stringent national control. Thus Washington proposed a three-tiered land force: A regular army, a ready reserve similar to the volunteer militia, and an improved common militia. Third, he suggested arsenals and manufactories to support these armies. Fourth, he wanted military academies to foster the study of military science.
Washington later wrote that his “Sentiments” conveyed what he thought would be politically acceptable, not what he “conceived ought to be a proper peace Establishment.” Considering his distaste for the militia, he undoubtedly preferred to minimize its role and depend on regulars. But he was aware of the resurgence of the pre-Revolutionary fear of a permanent army and knew a large army would be unacceptable. Paradoxically, although militia and regulars complemented one another in the Revolution, proponents of each now viewed them as rival defense systems. Regular army advocates stressed militia debacles, while militia enthusiasts eulogized Concord and Bunker Hill and emphasized the compatibility of radical Whig ideology and the militia system.
Hamilton’s committee report followed most of Washington’s recommendations, although it put less emphasis on the militia and stressed a greater reliance on a standing army. But antinationalists rejected as unnecessary the arguments in favor of peacetime preparedness at the national level. After all, the colonies had had virtually no organized military strength in 1775, yet they had prevailed against the British. So why was more strength necessary now? Moreover, the antinationalists believed that a strong central government and a regular army went hand in glove, and they wanted neither, preferring a decentralized system of sovereign states each exercising complete control over its own militia. Because antinationalists were in the ascendancy in Congress, the legislature rejected Hamilton’s report and on June 2, 1784, disbanded all but eighty men and a few officers of the Continental Army.
Having discarded Hamilton’s plan, Congress had to do something to meet the urgent military problems in the west. The British refused to evacuate their western posts, from which they controlled the fur trade, subverted the Indians, and threatened to contain American expansion. In the southwest, Spain exerted similar influences, though not as strongly. The nation had to preserve peace with the Indians, if for no other reason than Congress lacked the funds to fight a war. Somebody had to protect envoys to the Indians, evict squatters on Indian lands, and defend surveyors and settlers. Since the states had ceded their land claims in the Northwest Territory to the Confederation, these problems were beyond the scope of any individual state militia. They were also beyond the capacity of eighty soldiers.
Congress recognized its military challenges, and the day after disbanding the Continental Army it created the 1st American Regiment—the first national peacetime force in American history—by calling on four states to raise 700 militiamen for one year. The regiment was a hybrid, neither strictly militia nor regular. Its formation depended on the states’ goodwill to provide men, but Congress organized, paid, and disciplined the regiment, and the commander, Josiah Harmar of Pennsylvania, reported to both Congress and the Pennsylvania state government. When enlistments expired in 1785, Congress continued the regiment but made it a regular force by calling for three-year recruits and omitting all reference to the militia. When the end of this enlistment period approached, Congress again authorized the same number of men for three years. Thus the Confederation created a very small standing force. Like the prewar British garrison, the regiment failed to police the west effectively. Harmar never received enough men to “awe” the Indians, with whom relations continued to deteriorate, or the white squatters, who encroached on Indian territory with impunity. And least of all did Harmar’s troops awe the British. To nationalists, the regiment’s ineffectiveness symbolized the Confederation’s weakness.
Events in Massachusetts in 1786 dismayed nationalists even more than the precarious frontier situation. Burdened by debts and taxes, farmers led by Daniel Shays rebelled against the government. Publicly hiding behind the subterfuge of preparing for frontier defense, Congress voted to expand the army to 2,040 men but could raise only two artillery companies and was powerless to intervene. Eventually Massachusetts volunteers quelled the rebellion, but this did not lessen the nationalists’ sense of humiliation and fear. In their minds Shays’ Rebellion proved the impotence of the Confederation Congress and seemed to be the first stumble toward anarchy.
The Confederation’s military weakness on the frontier and in Massachusetts was one of the primary reasons for the Constitutional Convention. Nationalists believed that unless the government was strengthened, the United States would remain weak at home and contemptible abroad. Since they had a vision of a great nation that would protect life, liberty, and property and be respected in foreign councils, the situation was intolerable.
The Constitution, the “Dual Army,” and the Navy
The delegates to the Constitutional Convention generally agreed that the government needed enhanced coercive powers. “But the kind of coercion you may ask?” Washington wrote to James Madison. “This indeed will require thought.” And indeed it did, since military force is the essential concomitant of governmental authority. The extent of the government’s military power had profound ramifications, affecting not only the distribution of power between the states and the central government but also perceptions of the relationship between security and liberty. Was it possible to invest sufficient power in the government to defend against foreign and domestic enemies without transforming it into an oppressive instrument? The Constitution tried to create a delicate balance in which the central government received enough power to “provide for the common defense” and “insure domestic tranquility,” without extinguishing state sovereignty and individual liberty. The document divided military power between the federal government and the states, giving paramount power to the former while guarding against excessive centralized authority by sharing national power between Congress and the president.
Congress could “provide and maintain a navy” and “raise and support armies”; to ensure money for these purposes, it could levy and collect taxes and borrow funds. However, since the Constitution limited Army appropriations to two years, a permanent standing army was possible only with Congress’s continuing consent. Congress was to provide for calling forth the militia “to execute the laws of the Union, suppress insurrections, and repel invasions,” as well as establish regulations “for organizing, arming, and disciplining the militia” and for governing the militia when in national service. Congress also had the power to declare war. Congressional tyranny was unlikely, since the president was not only the commander in chief of the Army and Navy, but the militia “when called into the actual service of the United States.” He also appointed military officers, with the advice and consent of the Senate. The Constitution thus gave national military forces two masters, neither of which could attain a despotic preeminence.
As for the states, the Constitution guaranteed them a republican form of government and promised them protection from invasion or domestic violence. The states could not form alliances, author
ize privateers, keep nonmilitia troops or warships in peacetime without Congress’s consent, or engage in war “unless actually invaded, or in such imminent danger as will not admit of delay.” But they retained their own militias. The right to do so was not explicitly stated in the Constitution proper, but it was implicit in the states’ authority to appoint militia officers and train the militia “according to the discipline prescribed by Congress.” The Second Amendment made the states’ militia authority explicit.
The Constitution institutionalized the dual-army tradition. The historic militias remained, and the new government had ample authority to establish a regular Army. Since one of the nationalists’ primary goals had been to permit the central government to maintain a peacetime army, they had achieved an impressive victory. Nationalists also wanted a nationalized militia, but in this they were only potentially successful and were dependent on the laws that Congress would pass implementing its authority over the militia. Despite the careful restraints on military power, many antinationalists inveighed against the proposed government’s despotic potential. Unlike nationalists, they were less concerned with military effectiveness than they were with maintaining a proper constitutional balance between the states and the federal government. They disliked the new government’s concurrent power over the militia, a dramatic departure from past practice that might diminish state autonomy and undermine the militia’s local nature. Fearing “the natural propensity of rulers to oppress the people,” they were also alarmed by the prospect of a standing army. But with painstaking thoroughness the nationalists parried every antinationalistic thrust, and the Constitution took effect on June 21, 1788, after the ninth state had ratified it.
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