A Ghostly Conversation on the Meaning of Watergate

By Stanley Cloud

One recent night, two figures, hardly more than shadows, were sitting side by side at the base of the Washington Monument in the nation's capital. It was late, long past midnight. The old city was dark and quiet. The great Mall surrounding the Monument, crowded with summer tourists a few hours earlier, was empty now, and the lighted marble obelisk glowed in towering solitude.

The two figures, dressed for the humid summer in silk shirts, knee breeches and buckle shoes, rested against the Monument wall inside the wide circle of flags. One of the figures was the ghost of Thomas Jefferson, that noble idealist who symbolizes the dream of the American Revolution; the other was the ghost of Alexander Hamilton, who, perhaps more than any other single person, was the architect of the modern American system of government.

While they lived, Jefferson and Hamilton had been the bitterest of enemies. Hamilton, who represented the business interests of New York, advocated a strong central government, and more: a strong presidency. At one point, he had even urged that the President be elected for life, with absolute veto power over Congress. The conservative Hamilton mistrusted the electorate and was not above using questionable tactics to shape policies and institutions in ways that would prepare America for the greatness that was--he was sure--its destiny. In contrast, Jefferson, paragon of the Age of Reason and son of the landed gentry, was a true revolutionary of his time, a passionate apostle of individual liberty who believed that governments are, at best, a necessary evil.

It was Hamilton who spoke first. "I tell you, Tom," he said softly, "these are curious times. The country is everything I always knew it would be: powerful and rich. But so much of the exuberance is gone, the faith. There is so little spirit, so little patriotism, so little dedication abroad in our land."

"Yes," Jefferson said. "Perhaps it is this thing they call Watergate."

"No, it is more than that."

Jefferson was slow to answer. He wore a bemused expression on his face and was not eager, this hot night, for argument. He finally said: "You're right. The country is bigger and richer and more powerful--not greater. The soul of our Revolution has been lost." He paused again, considering his words. "Do you sense the chasm that exists between that place [gesturing toward the White House] and the people who were here today on the Mall, the citizens of 50 states come to see and touch their history, our history? The White House has become a royal palace, inhabited by a new, an American sort of monarch, and the people feel their powerlessness."

"Jacobin nonsense!" Hamilton said. "Will you never lay to rest your fears of a monarchy? President Nixon is not a king. He is the Chief Executive of the Republic as we provided in the Constitution. He is the man with the authority, the responsibility and the power to do what is best for the country. If there is distance between him and the people, well, so much the better."

"Then how do you explain the paucity of spirit in the country?" Jefferson asked. "The President has been given, and has taken, so much power that the people have responsibility for nothing but their own selfish interests--and even in that area the Government increasingly intrudes. Lethargy and moral sloth have followed. The nation has become one man, and everything depends upon his personal and political survival. Mr. John Mitchell--a former Attorney General of the United States, if you please--has proudly informed the country that he tolerated the commission of crimes in the name of Mr. Nixon's reelection. In Mr. Mitchell's opinion, America was Richard Nixon. What more does it take to make a king? Or consider those kingly words with which Mr. Nixon replied to Mr. Ervin and the Senate on this unseemly matter of recordings: The tapes, which have been under my sole personal control, will remain so. None has been transcribed or made public and none will be.' Is that not sceptered arrogance?"

"You tire me, Tom," replied Hamilton. "It is no monarchy but the illadvised, egalitarian democracy advocated by you and your successors--the emotions of the uninspired mob--that plagues America today. That, and that alone, is the cause of the decline in national ardor and patriotism. The President is free to decide and act. But he is hounded ceaselessly by the rabble and the demagogues who claim to represent it. It is intent on destroying the President, the presidency, and the system of government, my system, that has been used to such noble purpose by every President beginning with Washington--including you."

"Yes, yes," Jefferson said. "I know your arguments well; you used them often enough when you were alive, God knows. I recall that you even set the example for your 20th century followers by denouncing those who opposed your 'system' as 'subversives.' To you, the system was more important than the republican ideals that were the solid foundation of the Revolution. Such thinking, I imagine, led to the drafting of the enemies list in Mr. Nixon's White House."

"Our Government, Tom, was not an end in itself, but a means of establishing public order, of fulfilling our national destiny, and of providing for the economic well-being of our people."

"I know. But it was so successful for so long that it inevitably became sacred. The Government evolved into a secret fraternity beyond the reach of the populace. Its greatest beneficiaries were those in the inner circle. Such a system invited corruption almost from the beginning. In our time, many members of Congress drafted legislation to protect their investments. That continues, and much more. Opposition to an undeclared and thus unconstitutional war was regarded as subversive. Private offices were broken into to ensure the succession to power of a single man. A member of the current Senate, Mr. Hubert Humphrey, whom I understand, and who I think understands me, has noted the perversion of the original concept of America: now it is deemed necessary to protect the Government from the people, rather than protecting the people from the Government."

Hamilton became angry. "The people, the people, the people!" he said. "Without the Government, the people are a myth invented by you and Tom Paine as a basis for your foolish notions of an agrarian democracy. The myth became horrifying reality in Paris in 1789. You approved that Revolution, Tom, and I guess you must have approved its ideological successor in Russia in 1917."

"Only in the beginning," Jefferson said weakly. "I was appalled by the later excesses."

"It was too late by then. The ideas you espoused had unleashed the mob; the very fabric of civilization was shredded. At least we were able to protect the system against such total onslaughts in this country." Hamilton had always had a feel for his adversary's philosophical weaknesses. "I fully understand how Mr. Nixon felt," he said. "A mob --not unlike the Paris mob or the St. Petersburg mob--was baying in the streets of America. The President believed there were foreign influences. The newspapers were printing national secrets purloined by traitors. Mr. Nixon seemed to believe that extraordinary methods were called for, and I for one cannot blame him."

A profound sadness came into Jefferson's eyes. "The arguments you use," he said slowly, "are the arguments of tyrants. I do not deny their logic or their force. But they are devoid of a true concern for human rights and dignity. They are George III's arguments. They render our Revolution meaningless."

"They render our Revolution effective."

"The people are sovereign."

"The people are children to be instructed and led."

"So Mr. Nixon has said."

"Precisely so. You say that power was taken from the people. I say that nothing was taken except what they willingly gave. Participatory democracy won't work, Tom, because the people are afraid to participate and know they are unqualified for the task--especially in this dangerous age. They want to be led, and no matter what Mr. Nixon has done or may do, they will cringe from the idea of impeachment and they will support the Government's efforts to root out subversives."

"As they--and you--supported the Alien and Sedition Laws during John Adams' Administration?"

"Yes, if it is necessary--and those laws were necessary."

"No, sir, they were not. The people are not to be instructed or led. They are to be trusted. Their wisdom is always greater than the wisdom of governments."

It was nearly dawn. The two ghostly figures stood and started for their daytime retreats: Jefferson to his monument on the edge of the city, skirted by freeways, engulfed in noise and automobile exhaust, the 18th century man of enlightenment and his lifelong motto --"Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God"--face to face with the 20th century; and Hamilton to his pedestal in front of the Treasury building, facing a lovely green park just across a narrow, shady street from the White House.

As they parted, Jefferson said: "You are right, Mr. Hamilton. Neither of our philosophies has ever totally dominated the other. But yours is the light of the modern age, the cause of much that is good and a great deal that is evil. I think that you are most deserving of the title 'Founding Father' in 1973."

"It is an honor I accept proudly," Hamilton said with a mocking grin.

"Your pride may be swallowed by history," Jefferson replied. "We fought and wrote for more than a mere system of government. Above all, there was the idea that every man should be free and therefore responsible. America rejects that idea at its peril. You and I will see in the years ahead which of us was right, and which wrong." Day was breaking now. Jefferson's voice was weak and distant, and the two ghosts quite suddenly vanished. . Stanley Cloud

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