In the world of the early Republic, every man active in politics worried obsessively about his "character," although not in the sense in which one would use that word in the twenty-first century. In the eighteenth century, character referred almost entirely to one's public reputation—an extrinsic, rather than intrinsic, quality. Character was something that one fashioned and held, so that one would speak of "acquiring" a character. In the early years of the new nation, the word took on tremendous political importance as leaders attempted to construct a distinctly American political tradition.
The founders' political reliance on notions of character was the product of the American Revolution, which had tarnished their most important political model, Great Britain. After spending much of the century striving to become more like their English cousins, Americans found themselves thrust into a political wilderness of their own making. The Revolution added a further stumbling block to their efforts to create a new political world. The unity of the Revolutionary cause, always problematic given that roughly a third of the population remained loyal to England, at least at the beginning of the war, had given way to the bickering and squabbling of thirteen individual states with differing and sometimes conflicting ideas about what sort of nation they were creating. But the founders still clung to the ideal of unity and continued to have exalted ideas about the necessity of working toward the public good. This Revolutionary legacy gave them a repugnance for politics as usual. Politicians and party politics were anathema to their ideas of good government, and they expressed disgust with the idea that they had risked their lives to found a nation that would become the tool of self-interested and selfserving politicians.
In this atmosphere, character became inordinately important as a means of insuring that only the right sort of men would stand at the helm of the ship of state. But how did one gain the proper character? That in itself was part of the problem. There really were no clear standards or codified rules. At the most basic level, political leaders were supposed to be gentleman, but even this standard proved problematic in an American context. Unlike their British counterparts, who could count on the aristocracy to provide a continuous standard to which other British gentlemen aspired, American society was much more fluid, and the differences between the highest and lowest of society were not that large. Because of this, young, ambitious, talented men such as Alexander Hamilton (a penniless newcomer who was an illegitimate child) could rise to prominence in just a few short years through their service during the war and could be accepted as men of character. Even as men such as Hamilton were accepted into the political leadership, though, many, including Hamilton himself, began to complain that the door had been thrown open too wide and that men without the proper character were becoming political leaders. In addition, people argued about which qualities constituted the proper character. At stake was nothing less than what sort of political world they were trying to create as well as how inclusive the political realm would be.
Losing one's character was as problematic an issue as gaining it. One could certainly lose one's character through obvious acts of corruption, such as stealing public money, although even areas like this were more ambiguous than might be imagined. At the time, there was no clearly established boundary between public and private life, which is one of the reasons why character itself was so important and yet so problematic. Robert Morris, the superintendent of finance for the Continental Congress during the early 1780s, used his position for both the public good and private profit, something that loose eighteenth-century notions of conflict of interest allowed.
Despite their abhorrence of politics as usual, political leaders necessarily became enmeshed in political activities, such as organizing allies, attacking foes, counting votes, and contesting elections. Yet even as they strayed from their ideals in their own actions, the founders would have bridled at the suggestion that they were politicians. For most, this tension between word and deed led them to cling to and insist on their own characters even more fiercely and to denounce the characters of their enemies even more viciously. One of the reasons that other founders repeatedly criticized Aaron Burr as a scoundrel unfit for public life was that he not only dirtied his hands in politics but reveled in it and did not even make an attempt to hide his delight.
Further complicating the issue, when the founders talked about character, they were talking not only about their own personal character but about the character of the nation as well. The founders were obsessed by the challenge of how to establish a proper character for the nation. They believed that the success of the nation hinged on these efforts. As George Washington warned in 1783 after the Treaty of Paris had ended the war, "this is the moment to establish or ruin . . . national Character forever. . . . It is yet to be decided, whether the Revolution must ultimately be considered as a blessing or a curse: a blessing or a curse, not to the present age alone, for with our fate will the destiny of unborn Millions be involved."
Eventually, this reliance on character gave way to an acceptance not just of politics but of politicians and even political parties. Character came to be seen as largely dependent on one's actions in private life. And politicians would be rewarded or punished by how well they served the party's interest. Common origins were celebrated, not shunned, and the door to political life was thrown open to all—at least ostensibly.