I recently read _A Magnificent Catastrophe_, Edward Larson’s account of the 1800 election. I’m not a historian and so lack the qualifications to write a real review. But let me note some good stuff in the book. It is a history that political scientists can certainly love.
The book documents the rise of political parties and party discipline in American politics. During this election, parties began to establish formal organizations.
bq. For the first time by members of any state party, Republicans in Virginia named a general committee and county committee. This structure, which was in place by the summer, enabled state Republicans to disseminate information and organize voters. (161)
There was also, of course, the partisan press. And thus Larson has reams of quotes that show, if it still needs proving, that American politics has never lacked for invective. Next time you read some bed-wetting pundit bemoaning how contemporary politics is too negative or lacks civility or whatever, remember this from a Federalist newspaper:
bq. Citizens choose your sides. You who are for French notions of government; for the tempestuous seas of anarchy and misrule; for arming the poor against the rich; for fraternizing with the foes of God and man; go to the left and support the leaders, or the dupes, of the anti-federal junto. But you that are sober, industrious, thriving, and happy, give your votes for those men who mean to _preserve the union_ of the states, the purity and vigor of our excellent Constitution, the sacred majesty of the laws, and the holy ordinances of religion. (93)
There were many choice bits about Jefferson himself. I’ll cite not the most virulent, but rather a few passages from Federalist papers that singled out Jefferson’s predilection for (gasp) science and philosophy:
bq. Science and government are different paths. He that walks in one becomes, at every step, less qualified to walk with steadfastness or vigor in the other. O that his friends were aware that to him the honorable station is a private one, that mankind would suffer his talents and energies to be harmlessly exhausted in adjusting the bones of a _nondescript_ animal, or tracing the pedigree of savage tribes, who no longer exist.
bq. He is so true a philosopher as to be above matters of fact. Philosophers admire no governments that are practicable…They trust no theory but such as are untried.
bq. Mr. Jefferson’s conduct would be frequently whimsical and undignified. He would affect the character of a philosopher [and] countenance quirks. (181)
I’m leaving out Republican criticisms of Adams, but they weren’t any nicer.
The book also describes “a new kind of campaign” — in particular, Adams’ month-long trip from Massachusetts to Washington DC in the spring of 1800. It was essentially the first attempt by a presidential candidate to campaign directly to voters. It also illustrated the power of the median voter, as Adams attempted to “center himself” between Jefferson and the Republicans on the one hand and Hamilton and the High Federalists on the other. (And, lest we think that horse-race journalism is entirely a modern invention, Larson notes that during Adams’ trip and through the campaign, newspapers “started running periodic projections of the probable electoral-vote count,” 147.)
Larson argues that the vigorous discourse surrounding the election had this effect:
bq. Despite the lack of mass media and national party organizations, virtually the same partisan messages reached citizens everywhere. (186)
Of course, all this partisanship provoked lamentations. Here is Adams’, from the end of December when the election is headed to the House:
bq. How mighty a a power is the spirit of party! How decisive and unanimous it is!
Not everyone was so grim. Here is Fisher Ames, a Federalist writing after the election:
bq. Party is an association of honest men for honest purposes and, when the state falls into bad hands, is the only efficient defense; a champion who never flinches, a watchman who never sleeps.
Larson pivots to Washington as voting in the House begins. Here, he makes an argument at odds with something that you hear today — which is that partisanship in the contemporary Congress would be lessened if members didn’t jet home every weekend to campaign and instead hung around to spend time with each other. In fact, the opposite was true then:
bq. Conditions in the nation’s capital aggravated the partisan divisions that beset Congress. In cosmopolitan Philadelphia, lawmakers met in the historic old State House and enjoyed the distractions of the nation’s largest and most cultivated city. In frontier Washington, politics consumed them. There was little else to do.
Larson notes that there were few places for members of Congress to live, and most crowded into a handful of boardinghouses, segregating themselves by party.
After his victory, Jefferson sought to mitigate partisanship in his speech to Congress. I note certain rhetorical parallels to the speeches of more recent Presidents:
bq. Every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We are all Republicans. We are all Federalists.
And we worship an awesome God in the blue states, etc., etc.
I’ll add one more concluding observation in this disjointed ramble through the book. Political science frequently draws attention to the broader rules and institutions that govern elections, as opposed to the day-to-day tactics that journalists monitor. Larson’s account puts those rules in the foreground. In particular, he describes how consumed the parties were by the various means in which states would select electors. In several state legislatures, there were bruising battles, with Federalists and Republicans arguing for whatever means would maximize their vote share — direct election by the legislature, district-level elections throughout the state, etc.