Brutus 1

Brutus No. 1 was published at a time when Americans were passionately debating whether to ratify the new Constitution. Although its author remains uncertain—most historians point to Robert Yates of New York—whoever wrote it was deeply wary of creating a powerful central government. The piece reflects the broader fears of Anti-Federalists, who worried that too much authority in the hands of a distant national government would erode the hard-won liberties of the people.

In Brutus No. 1, the writer reminds readers that this constitutional debate will shape not only their own lives but the lives of future generations. Power, once granted, is rarely taken back, so any system we adopt must be carefully designed to protect freedom. This caution resonates today whenever Americans debate how much control the federal government should hold over states and local communities. From environmental regulations to public health guidelines, similar questions echo: Should policies be decided by a centralized authority, or is it better for states to tailor their own approaches?

Central to the argument in Brutus No. 1 is the Constitution’s “necessary and proper” clause and the “supremacy” clause, which together seemed to grant Congress limitless reach. If federal law sits above state law, and if Congress can legislate on anything that might relate to its listed powers, then the author fears the states will be overshadowed. Modern disputes over whether the federal government can compel states to follow national mandates—such as certain education standards or gun regulations—show these worries never went away. Even today, states sometimes push back, arguing that a vast central authority can’t be sensitive to local priorities.

Brutus No. 1 also takes issue with the very idea of a massive republic. Drawing on the writings of political philosophers like Montesquieu, the author questions whether a government can remain “free” and representative when its territory is enormous and its population varied. The founding generation, having just ended British rule, was anxious that a government far removed from everyday people would become indifferent, or even hostile, to their needs. While modern technology has changed how officials communicate with constituents, critics still charge that Washington, D.C., can feel out of touch with daily life in small towns and rural areas. The challenge—how to keep government accessible and responsive across vast distances—remains a defining feature of American politics.

Another concern in Brutus No. 1 is accountability. As countries grow, officials gain power that can be used for personal or political gain rather than public service. The essay suggests that, in a large republic, powerful officials will be difficult to remove, and corruption may flourish. Today, many Americans voice similar concerns about lobbyists, special interests, and the complex layers of government. The specter of ambitious politicians manipulating power for self-interest still fuels skepticism of federal institutions, just as Brutus worried centuries ago.

At its core, Brutus No. 1 concludes that forging one “consolidated” government out of the thirteen states poses serious dangers. A single, centralized authority, the author contends, cannot effectively govern diverse communities with unique interests and needs. Instead, Brutus calls for preserving the autonomy of each state to safeguard liberty and maintain closer ties between the people and their representatives. While modern America looks nothing like it did when these words were first printed, the underlying tension between national power and local control has not disappeared. Even with amendments that broadened rights and clarified governmental structures, and despite Supreme Court rulings that balance federal and state interests, Americans still grapple with the fundamental balance Brutus questioned so long ago.

The essay’s warnings illustrate how the Anti-Federalists saw the Constitution as a document that could lead to the very tyranny they had fought to escape. Though the Federalists ultimately prevailed in securing ratification, Brutus No. 1 remains a powerful reminder that freedom requires constant vigilance. As the United States continues evolving, the foundational question persists: how large, diverse, and centralized can a free republic be before the people’s voices are lost amid distant corridors of power? The fact that we still wrestle with that question is a testament to the lasting influence of this early critique.

Federalist Papers No. 10

Federalist No. 10, written by James Madison, is one of the most famous essays arguing in favor of the U.S. Constitution. In it, Madison tackles the issue of “factions,” which he defines as groups of people driven by shared passions or interests that run against the rights of others or the community’s long-term well-being. For Madison, factions were inevitable in a free society, but he believed that a large republic, structured under the proposed Constitution, would be uniquely equipped to limit the harm these factions could cause.

Madison begins with a concern that still resonates today: when like-minded groups gain too much power, they can push agendas that hurt minority voices. In our own era, we often use the word “polarization” to talk about how political parties or special-interest groups sometimes seem more interested in winning battles than in serving the broader public. Madison recognized that people naturally organize themselves according to their interests—whether economic, religious, or ideological—and this tendency can create tensions in a democracy. Unlike some who thought the answer might be to outlaw these groups or stifle differences of opinion, Madison insisted that the freedom to have and express differing views was essential. The question, then, was how best to control the effects when competing factions try to dominate one another.

His answer lies in the structure of a republic, where citizens choose representatives to serve in government rather than governing themselves directly (as they would in a pure democracy). In a direct democracy, Madison warns, the sheer closeness of decision-making can lead a majority faction to quickly impose its will on minority groups, ignoring their rights and interests. History, he points out, shows how direct democracies often collapsed into turmoil or dissolved in factional conflict. Representative government, by contrast, creates a buffer. Elected officials—ideally individuals of high character and discernment—filter the public’s views, which can refine and broaden popular opinion to better match the common good. Of course, Madison concedes that this system isn’t perfect. Corrupt or self-serving politicians can still gain office. Yet, in his view, elections across a large, diverse republic make it more difficult for unworthy candidates to succeed on a national scale.

This leads to Madison’s second point: the more expansive the republic, the more varied the population, and the less likely it is that a single faction can dominate unchecked. Larger societies contain a wider range of interests—farmers, merchants, laborers, educators, innovators—and each group must build coalitions and form alliances, preventing any one interest from easily overrunning all others. When there are many competing viewpoints, it’s harder for a simple majority to quickly form and stomp out minority rights. Madison was convinced this diversity would act as a safeguard against destructive factions because the path to power in a broad republic demands building compromises among different groups.

In modern terms, we see echoes of this logic whenever national policy proposals have to navigate multiple hurdles—committees in Congress, debates in the media, the influence of states and local governments, and so forth. Though some might argue that our political system is too fragmented or slow, it does often force negotiation and compromise. The friction in the U.S. political process can be frustrating, but it’s also part of what keeps power from centralizing in a single faction’s hands.

Another modern parallel is the role of special interests, large lobbying organizations, or political parties that try to steer legislation in their favor. Madison’s insight suggests that while these interests are unavoidable, our expansive republic—further expanded since his time by technology, diverse voices, and a growing electorate—means it’s harder for one interest to completely dominate. On the other hand, critics might point out that access to money or media platforms can give certain groups an edge, raising questions about whether Madison’s vision of multiple competing factions truly ensures fairness. Yet his core argument remains relevant: a sprawling and varied society dilutes the influence of any one faction and makes it more likely that minority perspectives will be heard, even if perfect equity is never guaranteed.

Although Federalist No. 10 was written primarily to defend the Constitution’s creation of a large republic, its themes hold continuing relevance. Madison’s belief in checks against factions shapes everything from our bicameral legislature to the ways local, state, and federal governments share power. The framers hoped that dividing authority—and expanding the range of people who elect their representatives—would reduce the chance of tyranny from a single dominating group. And while the Constitution has been amended, expanded, and tested many times since, those structural features remain.

Ultimately, Federalist No. 10 was part of a broader argument that if the new nation tried to govern through smaller, more direct democracies or remain a loose confederation of states, factions could more easily seize power. By “extending the sphere” of government, Madison believed representatives would have to listen to a multitude of interests, tempering the extremes and finding steadier, more balanced outcomes. We still grapple with faction in today’s politics, but the framework he proposed continues to shape how we negotiate the competing visions that make up the American political landscape.