​In the upcoming commemoration of the 250th Anniversary of American Independence, and in current politics and international relations, secession is an idea that never goes away, but is often misunderstood. The verb "secede" is derived from the Latin "secessio," meaning any act of withdrawal. Originally introduced in the seventeenth century as a concept of ecclesiastical discourse and political theory, secession assumes the existence of the modern state, as well as the possibility of dismemberment of the state. In our rather limited and unrefined context, it has been understood simply as the withdrawal by the Southern states from the Federal Union following the election of Abraham Lincoln to the presidency in November of 1860. A fuller understanding of the vitality of the term requires more exploration.


For example, the structure of the political system, the original intentions of some framers of the constitution, and the citizenry's prevailing understanding of the political order during the Early Republic may have encouraged a diversity of opinions regarding the fundamental nature of the union. Concerns arose in many quarters during the Constitutional Convention and ratification process, especially among the Antifederalists who feared that an overbearing national government would assume the authority of the states. Article Two of the Articles of Confederation had contained explicit provisions for protecting states, initiating a system whereby "each state retains its sovereignty." Various early state constitutions included provisions outlining the primacy of states in the confederal arrangement, often at the expense of a unified political order. The most popular form of amendment requested during the state ratification conventions and proposed to the First Congress concerned a reserved powers clause. The defenders of the Constitution argued such a provision was unnecessary. James Madison suggested in Federalist 39 that each state was "a sovereign body" only "bound by its voluntary act" of ratification. Other Federalists, including James Wilson, Alexander Hamilton, and John Marshall at the Virginia ratifying convention, held that such a proposal was already present in the Constitution and that the new government would only have the powers delegated to it. Opposition to and suspicion of the proposed Constitution on the grounds that it would infringe upon the privileged status of the states was widespread. The defenders of state authority viewed the states as the repository of reserved power, and many believed that states were invested with an equal, and perhaps superior capacity to judge infractions against the federal government. The most significant assurances to this effect came in the Virginia ratifying convention from George Nicholas and Edmund Randolph. As the spokesmen for the committee that reported the instrument of ratification, they noted that the Constitution would only have the powers "expressly" delegated to it.[1] If Federalists disagreed with the stress on state authority, they generally viewed a reserved power clause as innocuous, and Madison included such a provision among the amendments he introduced in 1789.



In the First Congress, Elbridge Gerry, a founder and Antifederalist elected to the House of Representatives, introduced a proposal reminiscent of the Articles, leaving to the states all powers "not expressly delegated" to the federal government. Gerry's proposal was defeated, in part due to concerns about the similarity between the language of his amendment and the Articles. Others who took a states' rights or strict constructionist view of the Constitution, including Thomas Jefferson, persisted in defending state power. Before ratification of the Tenth Amendment, Jefferson advised President Washington that incorporating a national bank was unconstitutional, basing his opinion on the Amendment. Jefferson would later compose the Kentucky Resolutions, which defended the states as the sovereign building blocks of the American nation and noted that the states retained a means of protection when threatened. To describe the process of state action Jefferson supplied a new term, nullification, to note the immediacy and severity of the "remedy" necessary to prohibit the federal government from absorbing state authority.


Defenders of the federal government, sometimes described as nationalists or loose constructionists, argued that the Congress must assume more power if the needs of the country were to be met. Most prominent among the advocates of increased federal authority was Alexander Hamilton. For Hamilton, the explicit protection of state prerogatives, or providing a mechanism


The Supreme Court addressed the controversy in its McCulloch v. Maryland (1819) decision. The High Court upheld the constitutionality of a national bank, even though such an institution was not specified in the Constitution. In dismissing a strict delineation of state and federal authority, the Court under the leadership of John Marshall extended the powers of Congress at the expense of the states. On the other hand, the Marshall Court affirmed the excepted notion that police powers belonged exclusively to the states. Under Chief Roger Brooke Taney (1836-1854), the Court assumed more of a strict constructionist posture.


The emerging defense of state authority, and ultimately secession that emerged in the South, was an interpretation of the American political experience, with an emphasis upon the perceived original dispersion of authority, sovereignty, and restraint within the Constitution of 1787. According to this interpretation, offered by Calhoun and Hayne among others, the original system was predicated upon reserving the states' sphere of authority, while delegating sufficient authority for particular and limited responsibility to the general government. For Calhoun, this original diffusion, buttressed by a prudent mode of popular rule, was the primary achievement of American politics. A necessary corollary to his understanding of the regime's historical evolution was the need to perpetuate the original vision of the Union for posterity's sake: "The Union: Next to our liberty, the most dear; may we all remember that it can only be preserved by respecting the rights of the states and distributing equally the benefit and the burden of Union," urged Calhoun. If, as Calhoun suggested, America had "departed" from its "original character and structure," a recovery of the older design was necessary.



For the defenders of states' rights and secession, the Declaration of Independence initiated the legitimate delineation of state and federal authority and a properly constituted mode of popular rule through first articulating the primary nature of the union. According to this view that was shared by many Southerners, the Declaration illuminated and explained the foundations of the American republic as also resting upon a political compact. In contradistinction to a social compact, a political compact did not unite individuals or governments. Instead, such an agreement formed a republic with the same equality of rights among the States composing the Union, as among the citizens composing the States themselves. The Declaration encouraged a political compact that had developed with "time and experience" into a model of political and social stability. The Declaration preserved the locus of authority within each individual state, and allowed for secession when government "becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it." For many Americans, the Declaration expressed the foundation for popular rule and a territorial republic that came to fruition in the Constitution. While the Declaration appropriately described the status of "Free and Independent States" as intrinsic to the republic, the document also confirmed the conceptional thesis of secessionist political theory: the states' "ordained" or created the republic.


If the Declaration supplied the prologue to the original design for the republic, it was the Articles of Confederation, the first American embodiment of the design, that incorporated this insight into the fundamental law of the regime. For Southerners, the provisions and language of the Articles served as an authentic precursor to the American Constitution. The Constitution of 1787 was incomprehensible without first assimilating the defense of states' rights contained in the Articles. Drafted in stages from 1776 to 1777, the Articles extended and revised the Declaration's ennobling of diffused authority and the delineation of state autonomy, while establishing popular rule based upon the deliberative, decentralized, community-centered participation of the citizenry. As in the case of the Declaration, the Articles perpetuated the original design for the territorial division of the country, into independent and sovereign States, on which the secessionist argument would later rest.


By strengthening the foundations laid by the Articles, the Constitution provided the final and most profound manifestation of the secessionist worldview's defense of popular rule and the diffusion of political authority. While the Declaration and Articles contributed to this evolving discernment, the Constitution presented the definitive maturation from a confederacy to a federal government, resting upon the authentic organic and delineatory manifestations of the states, although the citizenry retained final and complete political authority. Such a Constitution, in Calhoun's view, was most appropriately identified as a concurrent constitution because it served primarily as an exemplification of the states' role in preserving the regime. The Constitution also provided a careful "enumeration" and "specification" of power consigned to the general government. In other words, by forming a concurrent foundation for the political order it was argued that in times of crisis the states should exert their concurrent prerogative and repossess certain delegated power from the federal government if needed and in accord with the Constitution--especially in situations where the federal government had usurped power from the states. Through the adoption of the Constitution, the American people accepted a "joint supplemental government" that retained the states as the primary voice of the people.


In situations where the general government and the states were in conflict, each possessed a "mutual negative" on the other's actions, according to the secessionist argument.


Defenders of secession often cited the record of the Virginia ratifying convention and the Tenth Amendment to the Constitution as primary evidence of the doctrine. The Virginia convention provided, along with its New York counterpart, the most erudite and complete commentary on the interpretation of the fundamental law besides the records of the Constitutional Convention itself. In situations of disputed authority, the states possessed the right of self-protection, with secession serving as the ultimate manifestation of such a response.


Struggles over the basis of the union arose after the ratification of the Constitution, including Jefferson's and Madison's response to President John Adams and the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798. Defenders of state and national supremacy often changed positions depending on their political needs. In an effort to reduce the hardships incurred by the War of 1812, some New Englanders held a convention in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1814, as New England states were threatening secession. The first debate over secession in America took place in New England, not in the South.


The ensuing crises over Missouri statehood (1819-1820) and nullification (1832-1833) would increase secessionist tensions, but these problems would be resolved by compromise. The problem of slavery, compounded by the rise of abolitionism, would intensify the conflict. After Southerners were able to defeat the Wilmot Proviso, the Compromise of 1850 made resolution of the slavery problem more problematic. In 1854, Senator Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, attempting to garner support from southern congressmen for his legislation that would organize the territories of Kansas and Nebraska, reopened the issue of extending slavery into new areas. The passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act unified resistance to slavery in the North, and by 1854 the Republican Party was dominate in the region. The election of James Buchanan to the presidency in 1856 and the ill-fated ruling of the Supreme Court in the Dred Scott case in 1857, widened the sectional divide.


Lincoln's election in 1860 galvanized Southern attitudes in favor of secession. In Lincoln, the South feared its established way of life and fundamental rights would be threatened. The success of a minority political party, the Republicans, in electing a president was a source of some disdain as well. Agitated by the more radical advocates of secession known as "fire-eaters," and the failure of other efforts to ameliorate the tension, South Carolina withdrew from the Union, having passed a secession ordinance on December 20, 1860; South Carolina was followed in quick succession by Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. After the incident at Fort Sumter in April 1861, and Lincoln's call for troops, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina adopted secession ordinances and eventually joined the Confederacy.


In taking a long view, we can see that secession is part of our political vocabulary that is here to stay. Numerous recent books on secession, nullification, and the like are just examples of the continued dialogue. As long as fundamental assumptions about the nature of the American politics are questioned, as in the Election of 2024, and issues of legitimacy continue to arise about our own government and those of other regimes--as well as the failure of the centralization of power--the debate over secession will not go away, regardless of the circumstances.

Perhaps no American thinker has suffered more in recent days than John C. Calhoun, whose work and personage are often dismissed by his critics for a single phrase attributed to him, diminishing the careful and complicated analysis he deserves. Critics of Calhoun simplistically suggest his statecraft and thought, as well as his critique of America, serve a single purpose: the protection of his native South, especially the institution of slavery. 

In our current climate, when all things Southern can be attacked and dismissed regardless of the accuracy of the criticisms, comes Professor Christian Anderson, a professor of education (not an historian or social scientist) at the University of South Carolina, who offers a strangely misguided and inaccurate diatribe against the Great Carolinian.  In his manifesto against all things Calhounian entitled “Dismantling John C. Calhoun’s Racist Legacy,” Anderson essentially credits Calhoun as the source of all the ills of modern America.[1] He is very proud of his article, having submitted and published the article in three different leftist (and “in house”) publications.

While Calhoun offered a moderate defense of slavery, viewing the slavery situation as part of a larger discussion of the evolving nature of Southern society, it was neither the most important nor most consuming aspect of his political thought. In most of the great debates of his lifetime, including a myriad of concerns from nullification to slavery, Calhoun should be understood as a source of moderation amid seas of extremism.

Because of Calhoun’s own complex views and long-standing regional tensions, some of his critics attempt to use slavery as a means of distracting students of Calhoun’s political thought from a more complete examination of his work and its continuing importance to American politics. Defending slavery was not the touchstone of Calhoun’s political thought, but it is also accurate to acknowledge his support of the institution. Calhoun believed that the slavery problem would resolve itself over time, but the need to preserve the Republic and to improve the citizenry’s understanding of the regime’s foundational elements were of greater importance.

Calhoun’s best known depiction of slavery as a “positive good” has provided his critics with a sustained basis for the criticism of his statesmanship and political thought. The comment, and the context of the speech in which the term was used, and the national debate that occasioned the speech, have never received the scholarly attention and analysis that are needed to comprehend what Calhoun was actually attempting to delineate. For the sake of advancing our understanding, the existing institution of domestic slavery was regularly described in a related manner by numerous Antebellum writers. And contrary to popular academic understandings, many colonial and Founding era writers and politicians pioneered the position. In other words, the formulation was neither Calhoun’s creation nor novel in any regard, and he was not declaring that slavery in the abstract was a “positive good” in the social and political environment at the time of his writing.

Another incorrect assumption, among a litany of errors, made by Professor Anderson is that the term was a permanent depiction or formula for slavery in American life. In reality, Calhoun is responding to a particular sect of Abolitionists who possess, he argues, “a systematic design of rendering us hateful in the eyes of the world, with a view to a general crusade against us and our institutions.” In demonstrating the radical nature of the assault on the South and Southern institutions, Calhoun exposed the central tenets of a new Abolitionist movement that had emerged as well as the potential destabilizing influence of such movements on the political order. In other words, as the eminent historian Clyde Wilson observes, Calhoun’s “Remarks” speech was “not launching some great innovation in the Southern attitude toward slavery because most of what he had to say was already a well-developed part of American discourse.”

Ill-timed and ill-chosen, the words gave copious amounts of political ammunition to his enemies ever since. Nonetheless, the statement for Calhoun and his Senate supporters was a statement of fact concerning the relative position of Southern slavery in a global perspective. It was not a political doctrine but an effort to separate the actual function of slavery from the symbolic litmus test issue it had become in Antebellum politics. While seemingly unsuccessful, Calhoun reflected a broader desire across the South and other regions of the United States to de-politicize serious social issues in the wake of what they perceived to be rising radicalism of American politics. It was not merely slavery as an institution that they wished to devolve and “spread out.”

Other divisive issues like internal improvements, banking reform, taxation, even national military service might cease corroding national politics and fueling partisan anger if relegated to states, regions, and localities. Calling slavery a “positive good” was part of a strategy to remove it from national politics, where—Calhoun often argued—no genuine political solution could emerge. Why? Because for Calhoun the breadth and scope of Antebellum politics had long since become too diverse for genuine political consensus. Not every issue was like this. Some things could be solved through national politics because consensus or near-consensus could be reached. Other things, like taxation of international trade, had to be solved through federal action. But the vast array of political issues affecting Congress went beyond the pale of lasting agreement and thus should be relegated to the states, where consensus might still be reached.

​For Calhoun, the need to “de-politicize” was intricately joined with the need to “de-nationalize.” This is why Calhoun’s approach to those issues that troubled him most reflected complicated variations of the same strategy. Whether it was monetary reform, internal improvements, or filling the officer ranks of the United States military, Calhoun’s strategy was to remove these matters from the ill-suited realm of national political solutions. For without the possibility of genuine consensus on these matters, there was only room for hyper-sensitivity, bad feelings, partisan pandering, and occasional, self-righteous rage.  While Professor Anderson’s ideological rigidity does allow for the search for truth, other Americans will be more discerning about the legacy of Calhoun.

​​Amidst the multifaceted and current aftershocks resulting from the national turmoil and tensions our country is experiencing, two NFL stars and Clemson alumni, DeAndre Hopkins and Deshaun Watson, have actively joined an effort to remove the name of American statesman and vice-president, John C. Calhoun, from the school’s honor college. The attempt to rename the honors college at Clemson University may win the day. In the last few days and weeks, many historical markers, statues, and related sites have been renamed or removed. It appears that no historical period, person, or movement is exempt from our current hyper-partisanship and lack of historical discernment.

Of course, colleges and universities have the option to name or rename structures on their campuses. This happens all the time, and sadly is often driven simply by fund raising efforts. But Hopkin’s and Watson’s attempt constitutes nothing less than the tendency of contemporary Americans to demonstrate how we “forget who we are” and engage in what has become known as political correctness.   The advocates of political correctness (an overused term, unfortunately) want to employ history for temporary political gains more than they desire to keep or understand it, and we fear their efforts unintentionally tend to further divide rather than unite the body politic.   Perhaps worth considering is the Yale model: buildings are not renamed unless the original name is at odds with the mission of the institution, or if the overall “legacy” of the namesake is seriously deficient in some regard.   At the end of the day, Calhoun should have passed this test.

Clemson may now join the many operatives of political correctness who have met with great success of late. With Orwellian irony, in the past they succeeded in having a U.S. Navy ship named for a person who hated the Navy (Cesar Chavez) and have imposed “speech codes” (with the actual purpose of restricting speech) on many college campuses–as well as more destructive examples of assaulting First Amendment rights and redefining history. Even former President Obama was not above the fray as demonstrated by his renaming of Mt. McKinley. And, of course, President Trump is famous for renaming things after himself.

The greatest threat to political correctness is an environment in which free and uninhibited discussion and disagreement can take place. In fact, diversity of thought is the opposite of political correctness, and is at the heart of a free society.  The proponents of political correctness–and those who have succeeded in renaming and destroying so much–stand on the side of censorship against free and open discussion. And, in case we have not noticed, they are winning the day.

Calhoun’s “legacy” is indeed complex and subject to debate. However, in denying Calhoun’s vital role in American political life, they have committed a great injustice to the rising generation of Americans. The untold story, now diminished even more by the Hopkins and Watson, is Calhoun’s importance to American political thought and history.

While spending most of his public life in the United States Senate, he was also vice president under both John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson–and he served as secretary of state to John Tyler. He is generally regarded as one of the greatest senators ever, part of the “Great Triumvirate” with Henry Clay and Daniel Webster–and each supported the Fugitive Slave Act.

What Hopkins and Watson do not want you to know is that Calhoun was not only one of America’s greatest statesmen, but also one of its greatest thinkers. His two treatises on American politics, the Disquisition and Discourse (published after his death), demonstrate his hope that America could avoid the pending conflict of the Civil War.

In Calhoun’s interpretation, America’s greatest hope lay in the interposing and amending power of the states, which was implicit in the Constitution. This alone could save the country by allowing for a greater diffusion of authority and undermining the cause of sectional conflict. Calhoun’s purpose was the preservation of the original balance of authority and the fortification of the American political system against the obstacles it faced.

Hopkins and Watson surely have good intentions. We admire their taking a stand for their ideals, and believe Calhoun would respect that as well. However, as Shakespeare warned, “men are men; the best sometimes forget.”  John Calhoun was imperfect, but he remains one of the greatest statesmen in American history. In the world of Hopkins and Watson, neither the past nor the future deserve our attention, and we are only left with the option of muddling through the present.  Our hope is that the entire Clemson community can come together to seek ways to use Calhoun’s legacy for good, much as they have done by transforming his home, bequeathed to them by Calhoun’s son-in-law Thomas Green Clemson who was also a slave owner, into one of the world’s great educational institutions.

As we celebrate American Independence, it is appropriate to reflect upon the foundations of our liberty that the American Founding — especially the Founders’ Declaration of Independence and Constitution — have encouraged. Neither the Declaration nor the American Constitution were accidents; both were rooted in an inherited worldview and an understanding of human nature that is of continuing importance to Americans today.

For the Founders, human nature was defined by its social character, grounded in community, and devoted to encouraging the unfolding of the moral life, so as to enlighten and develop civilization. With the insights of the classical world, Judaism and Christianity under their proverbial belts, the Founders understood human life as essentially social. Moral and spiritual development required interaction and restraint that were most acutely experienced in one’s community and in society. In other words, the ethical life could not be sustained outside of a social framework. While not rejecting a role for self-interest within the community, the Founders recognized a tension between need for some degree of societal unity and the needs of the individual. They suggested that the properly constituted society could assist in lessening selfishness associated with our “brute creation,” and encouraged attachment to the common good as an alternative. Authentic social life required self-denial in some form, regardless of the level of enmity between individuals and the groups that made up society, as humans were naturally drawn to each other.

The Founders also realized that humans were not perfect, so an element of restraint was necessary within society and politics. They rejected the radical individualism often associated with social contract thinkers like Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau. To envision humankind as naturally good was unacceptable. The Founders’ defense of an authentic, moral community was based upon acknowledging that the only natural state was the political and social one to which an actual person was born. Instead of being born free, humans were born subject to parental authority and the laws of the country of their birth.

If the country were to survive, the Founders believed a stable mode of popular rule — or citizen involvement — had to be established, and the community must be protected against efforts to incorporate its stake in society and politics into a political structure that would diminish the various communities’ and states’ most important qualities. The preserving and protecting of an organic, “republican” system of popular rule required accepting the natural diversity of the communities and states that formed the larger society and government, while enjoying the increased liberties that resulted from this dividing of political authority. Today, we call this division federalism.

Having a political system based on the relative autonomy of local communities and the division of political authority was a great accomplishment, but it needed an anchor. The Founders provided such a guide with the American Constitution. The Constitution is more than a written document, it is a collection of customs, charters, traditions and habits of the American people. The aim of the Constitution was to provide for a high degree of political harmony, so that liberty might be maintained through the centuries.

We have been able to preserve social and political liberty because our Constitution provides explicit constraints upon the centralization of political power. As citizens, we are assured that the laws will not change from year to year. The Constitution allows Americans to find some comfort in the fact that if they accept certain restraints, they will experience a great deal of political liberty. Our Constitution divides political power between the national and state governments, as well as between the branches of the national government. This protects citizens, communities, and states from the arbitrary and unjust actions by individuals who have assumed temporary control of the government. The American Constitution also makes those who govern accountable to those who elected them.

On one hand, proposals to extend presidential powers are regularly presented, while on the other, congressional proposals to increase the size and scope of the federal government, like the return of a New (“Green”) Deal abound. Unfortunately, such ideas neglect the great accomplishment of American politics — the diffusion of political power and the limits upon the authority of government. Our continued success is dependent upon a recovery of our appreciation of liberty, the original division of power, and the renewal of personal responsibility for perpetuating the regime. Efforts at revolutionizing our understanding of liberty and political authority only undermine our political order. Our great country can survive, and prosper, if we can refrain from being distracted by our current privileges and circumstances, and remember our duties as American citizens.