Benjamin Franklin

by Jr. John T. Morse

Dr. Franklin was not at first elected a member of the deputation from Pennsylvania to the convention which framed the Constitution of the United States. But in May, 1787, he was added in order that, in the possible absence of General Washington, there might be some one whom all could agree in calling to the chair.[95] It was fortunate that even an unnecessary reason led to his being chosen, for all future generations would have felt that an unpardonable void had been left in that famous assemblage, had the sage of America not been there. Certainly the "fitness of things," the historical picturesqueness of the event, imperatively demanded Dr. Franklin's venerable figure in the constitutional convention of the United States of America.

As between the two theories of government which divided that body, Franklin ranged himself with the party opposed to a strong and centralized government endowed with many functions and much power.[96] The simplest government seemed to him the best; and he substantially gave in his allegiance to those democratic ideas which afterward constituted the doctrines of the Jeffersonian school in American politics. It was natural that he should do so; he was a cheerful optimist all his life long, and few men have ever so trusted human kind as he did; so now he believed that the people could take care of themselves, as indeed the history of the past few years and the character of the population of the States at that time indicated that they could. He attended regularly all the sessions, and gave his opinions freely; but they are only dimly revealed in the half-light which enfolds in such lamentable obscurity the debates of that interesting body. What little is known can be briefly stated.

The same theory which he was practicing concerning his own salary he wished to see introduced as an article of the Constitution. The President, he thought, should receive no salary. Honor was enough reward; a place which gave both honor and profit offered too corrupting a temptation, and instead of remaining a source of generous aspiration to "the wise and moderate, the lovers of peace and good order, the men fittest for the trust," it would be scrambled for by "the bold and the violent, the men o£ strong passions and indefatigable activity in their selfish pursuits."[97] In our day such a notion and such arguments would be quickly sneered out of the debate; but they were in keeping with the spirit of that era when the first generation which for ages had dared to contemplate popular government was carried away by the earliest romantic fervor of inexperienced speculation.

It is familiar that the gravest question which perplexed the convention was whether the larger and the smaller States should stand upon terms of equality, or whether some proportion should be established. After a discussion, recurred to at intervals during many weeks, had failed to develop any satisfactory solution of this problem, pregnant with failure, Franklin moved that the daily proceedings should be opened with prayer.[98] But Hamilton said that a resort to prayer would indicate to the people that the convention had reached a desperate pass; and either this or some other reason was so potent that scarcely any one voted yea on the motion. What could be more singular than to see the skeptical Franklin and the religious Hamilton thus opposed upon this question! Franklin next suggested a compromise: an equal number of delegates for all States; an equal vote for all States upon all questions respecting the authority or sovereignty of a State, and upon appointments and confirmations; but votes to be apportioned according to the populations of the States respectively upon all bills for raising and spending money. He was in favor of a single legislative chamber, and his plan was designed to be applied to such a system. Its feasibility would probably have been defeated through the inevitable complexity which would have attended upon it in practice.[99] Nevertheless it was a suggestion in the right direction, and contained the kernel of that compromise which later on he developed into the system of an equal representation in the Senate, and a proportionate one in the House. This happy scheme may be fairly said to have saved the Union.

Upon the matter of suffrage Franklin voted against limiting it to freeholders, because to do so would be to "depress the virtue and public spirit of our common people," for whose patriotism and good sense he expressed high esteem. He opposed the requirement of a residence of fourteen years as a preliminary to naturalization, thinking four years a sufficient period. He thought that the President should hold office for seven years, and should not be eligible for a second term; he should be subject to impeachment, since otherwise in case of wrong-doing recourse could be had only to revolution or assassination; he should not have the power of an absolute veto.

When at last the long discussions were over and the final draft was prepared, Franklin found himself in the position in which also were most of his associates, disapproving certain parts, but thinking adoption of the whole far better than rejection. He was wise enough and singular enough to admit that he was not infallibly right. "Nothing in human affairs and schemes is perfect," he said, "and perhaps that is the case of our opinions." He made an excellent speech,[100] urging that at the close of their deliberations all should harmonize, sink their small differences of opinion, and send the document before the people with the prestige of their unanimous approbation. While the last members were signing, relates Madison, "Dr. Franklin, looking toward the president's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun. 'I have,' he said, 'often and often in the course of the session, and the vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting; but now at length I have the happiness to know that it is a rising and not a setting sun.'"

He did what he could to secure the adoption of the instrument by the people; and when that end was happily achieved he joined his voice to the unanimous cry with which the American nation nominated George Washington as the only possible candidate for the presidency. He said: "General Washington is the man whom all our eyes are fixed on for President, and what little influence I may have is devoted to him."

It was about the time of the election that he himself took his farewell of public life. The third year of his incumbency in the office of president of Pennsylvania expired in the autumn of 1788, and his physical condition precluded all idea of further official labors. Nature could not have committed such an incongruity, such a sin against æsthetic justice, as not to preserve Benjamin Franklin's life long enough to enable him to see the United States fairly launched as a real nation, with an established government and a sound constitution giving promise of a vigorous career. But evidently with this boon the patience of nature was exhausted; for Franklin's infirmities now increased upon him terribly. He endured extreme pain during periods steadily increasing in length and recurring at ever-shortening intervals. He bore his suffering, which too often became agony, with heroic fortitude; but it was evident that even his strong frame could not long hold out against the debilitating effects of his merciless disease. Yet while it racked his body it fortunately spared his mental faculties; and indeed so lively did his interest in affairs remain that it seemed to require these physical reminders to show him how old he was; save for his body, he was still a man in his prime. He once said: "I often hear persons, whom I knew when children, called old Mr. Such-a-one, to distinguish them from their sons, now men grown and in business; so that by living twelve years beyond David's period, I seem to have intruded myself into the company of posterity, when I ought to have been abed and asleep,"—words which should take their place among the fine sayings of the ages.

He was courageous and cheerful. In November, 1788, he wrote: "You kindly inquire after my health. I have not of late much reason to boast of it. People that will live a long life and drink to the bottom of the cup must expect to meet with some of the dregs. However, when I consider how many more terrible maladies the human body is liable to, I think myself well off that I have only three incurable ones: the gout, the stone, and old age; and, those notwithstanding, I enjoy many comfortable intervals, in which I forget all my ills, and amuse myself in reading or writing, or in conversation with friends, joking, laughing, and telling merry stories, as when you first knew me, a young man about fifty."[101] He does not seem to have taken undue credit to himself; there is no querulousness, or egotism, or senility in his letters, but a delightful tranquillity of spirit. His sister wrote to him that the Boston newspapers often had matter in his honor. "I am obliged to them," he wrote; "on the other hand, some of our papers here are endeavoring to disgrace me. I take no notice. My friends defend me. I have long been accustomed to receive more blame, as well as more praise, than I have deserved. It is the lot of every public man, and I leave one account to balance the other." So serene was the aged philosopher, a real philosopher, not one who, having played a part in life, was to be betrayed in the weakness and irritability of old age. He felt none of the mental weariness which years so often bring. He was by no means tired of life and affairs in this world, yet he wrote in a characteristic vein to the Bishop of St. Asaph: "The course of nature must soon put a period to my present mode of existence. This I shall submit to with the less regret, as, having seen during a long life a good deal of this world, I feel a growing curiosity to be acquainted with some other." It was characteristic that in these closing days it was the progress of mankind in knowledge and welfare which especially absorbed his thoughts. When he reflected on the great strides that were making he said that he almost wished that it had been his destiny to be born two or three centuries later. He was one of the few men who has left on record his willingness to live his life over again, even though he should not be allowed the privilege of "correcting in the second edition the errors of the first."

The French Revolution excited his profoundest interest. At first he said that he saw "nothing singular in all this, but on the contrary what might naturally be expected. The French have served an apprenticeship to liberty in this country, and now that they are out of their time they have set up for themselves."[102] He expressed his hope that "the fire of liberty, ... spreading itself over Europe, would act upon the inestimable rights of man as common fire does upon gold: purify without destroying them; so that a lover of liberty may find a country in any part of Christendom." The language had an unusual smack of the French revolutionary slang, in which he seems in no other instance to have indulged. But as the fury swelled, his earlier sympathies became merged in a painful anxiety concerning the fate of his many good old friends.