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Hello and welcome to the Jefferson Madison Letters. I'm Charlie Jett coming to you from our studio in beautiful downtown Chicago. One letter at a time, we're following the 50-year friendship that helped build a republic. Today, the boldest idea in the whole correspondence. Paris is in revolution. Jefferson sits down and writes his friend a principle that would unsettle every government on earth. The dead have no rights over the living. No debt outlives its generation. No law, not even a constitution. And then he doesn't send it. Well it's september sixth, seventeen eighty nine. Thomas Jefferson is forty six and his time in Paris is nearly done. The home leave he told Madison he was aching for, the Monticello visit they planned in our last letter, has come through at last. Within weeks he will pack five years of a life into crates and start for the coast. He expects to come back. Whether he will, whether anyone in this Paris will be where they expect to be a year from now, nobody can say. Because the city around him is on fire with ideas. The Bastille fell in July. The old order is dissolving. Just weeks ago the National Assembly issued the Declaration of the Rights of Man, and one August evening Lafayette and his colleagues from the Assembly's Constitution Committee arrived at Jefferson's door unannounced, needing a room where they could argue out the design of a new France over dinner. Jefferson would call it one of the most enlightened conversation of his life. He is not a spectator to a revolution. He is sitting inside one, and it has him thinking about first principles. Back home, James Madison is thirty-eight in New York, in the thick of the first Congress, the man doing more than anyone to turn the new Constitution into a working government. He has just shepherded the Bill of Rights through the House. He is Jefferson's one correspondent who sits where ideas become law. And here is what neither man knows yet. Jefferson is about to write down the most radical thing he will ever send across the ocean, and then he's going to hold it. He does not send it now. It will sit for four months and travel enclosed in another letter, and Madison will not read a word of it until the dead of winter. The boldest idea in their fifty years is about to be written into being, and then wait undelivered for its reader. So let's step inside that study in Paris. The revolution running in the streets outside, and watch a man reason his way to something enormous, not knowing his letter will sit in a drawer for a season before his friend ever sees it. A note before I read this is a long, closely argued letter, and much of it is mathematics. Jefferson works through the mortality tables of the naturalist Buffon to calculate exactly how long a generation lasts and runs the numbers against the deaths of the French kings. That arithmetic, I'll summarize. The philosophy, the part that shakes the ground, I'll read. Every word is Jefferson's from the manuscript at the Library of Congress. And listen to how it begins because the letter knows its fate before we do. He writes I sit down to write to you without knowing by what occasion I shall send my letter. He does not know how it will travel or when, but he writes it anyway because the idea will not wait even if the ship must. Then he comes to the question, and I quote The question whether one generation of men has a right to bind another seems never to have been started either on this or our side of the water. Yet it is a question of such consequences as not only to merit decision, but place also among the fundamental principles of every government. Then he lays down the ground he will build on, the sentence the whole letter turns upon. He writes I set out on this ground, which I suppose to be self evident, that the earth belongs in usufruct to the living, that the dead neither have powers nor rights over it. Usufruct, a word from Roman law. It means the right to use something and to enjoy its fruits without owning it, a life tenacity held on trust and handed on. Jefferson's claim is that every generation holds the earth exactly that way, to use for its time and to pass on unencumbered. The dead cannot reach forward and bind the living, and from that single seed he grows the astonishing conclusions. If one generation cannot bind the next, then no debt can be handed down. He writes Then no generation can contract debts greater than that may be paid during the course of its own existence. And here Jefferson stops philosophizing and starts calculating. Using Buffon's tables of mortality, he works out how long a majority of the adults alive at any one moment can be expected to keep living, and arrives at a number nineteen years. That he says is the natural life of a generation, and therefore the natural limit of any debt, any law, any obligation one age can impose on the next. Then he draws the conclusion that goes furthest of all. He writes and I quote Every constitution, then, and every law naturally expires at the end of nineteen years. If it be enforced longer, it is an act of force and not of right. Think about that, because it is nearly the most radical thing any founder ever wrote. The Constitution Madison had just helped to build, Jefferson is saying it should expire. Not this one especially, every constitution, on principle, every nineteen years, or it becomes an imposition of the dead upon the living. Then he gives the principle its legal standing. Between one generation and the next, he says, there is no court, no statute, no judge. There is only nature. He says By the law of nature one generation is to another as one independent nation to another. Sovereign to sovereign, no nation may bind another, and no generation may bind the one that follows. And near the letter's end he names what is at stake if we get this wrong that easy borrowing against the unborn is how despots arm themselves, binding in chains their fellow men. The dead hand is not an abstraction to him, it is the armory of tyrants. The principle reaches everywhere. Jefferson runs it through the whole inheritance of the old world, entailed estates, church lands held forever, hereditary office and title. It reaches all the way down to the smallest things. He even proposes that America's new copyright and patent law grant its rights for nineteen years instead of the English fourteen, the whole cosmic principle applied at the patent office. And then at the end, he does the thing that makes this a letter and not an essay. He hands the whole dangerous idea to his friend and asks him to build it into something that can stand in the world. He writes, and I quote, Turn this subject in your mind, my dear sir, and particularly as to the power of contracting debts, and develop it with that perpiscuity and cogent logic so peculiarly yours. Develop it, he says, with the logic he calls so peculiarly yours. Your station in Congress gives you a chance to force it into public consideration. Jefferson sends the spark across the ocean and asks Madison to build the engine. And then this is the part the calendar makes almost unbearable, he doesn't send it. He sets it aside and waits in Paris through the fall and into the new year, the boldest thought of his life, sitting in a drawer waiting for a ship. So what does Jefferson assume? He assumes that first principles can be reasoned out from scratch and then applied to real governments. This is a man sitting inside the French Revolution, watching a nation try to rebuild itself from the ground up, and then concluding that everything is up for renegotiation, every generation, forever. He assumes that the past has no authority except when the present freely grants it. In its purest distillation of the Enlightenment faith that reason, starting from a self evident ground, can redesign the terms of human society. Notice how much he trusts the argument, enough to follow it all the way to the conclusion that the Constitution itself should expire. So what does Jefferson fear? The dead hand, perpetual debt, perpetual law, perpetual privilege. Read the letter and you can feel what he is looking at. A France crushed under the borrowing of dead kings, a countryside still bound by feudal charges laid down centuries before, a church holding lands in perpetuity, offices and titles inherited rather than earned. He fears a world where the living are the servants of the dead, working to pay debts they never agreed to, bound by laws they never voted on. His nineteen year rule is an axe aimed at that whole inheritance. He wants each generation to arrive in the world free. So what do they take for granted that we no longer do? Well, that you could simply just start over. We live under the oldest written national constitution still in force, a document now more than two centuries old, which we revere precisely because it has lasted. Jefferson is arguing the opposite that endurance itself is the danger, that a constitution's age is not its glory, but its tyranny. We take for granted that the Constitution binds us, and that this is right and good. Jefferson did not take that for granted at all. We know how this argument turns out. We chose permanence, and Madison is about to tell him why. But sitting here in the letter is a genuinely open question whether a free people should ever be bound by a document it did not write. So what's missing? The people the principal forgot and Jefferson's own household. Here is the hardest thing, and the series does not walk around it. Jefferson writes that the earth belongs to the living, that no generation should inherit the debts of the last, and he writes it as the owner of more than one hundred human beings, whom he will pass to the next generation as property encumbered by his own debts when he dies. The man arguing that no one should inherit an obligation they did not consent to held people who would inherit bondage they never consented to generation upon generation. The soaring principle and the enslaved household sat in the same life, and this letter never sees the contradiction. We have to and one more absence Madison's reply. Jefferson sends the spark and asks his friend to build the engine. But Madison, when he finally reads this in the depth of winter, is going to look at the beautiful idea and find the flaw in it. That's for the next time. Well a closing thought for you. It is one of the most beautiful ideas the founding ever produced, that every generation arrives free, owing nothing to the dead. It is also, taken literally, unlivable, and Jefferson's closest friend was about to prove it. But that is what made their friendship what it was. Jefferson could send the idea in its purest, boldest form, trusting Madison to test it to destruction and tell him the truth. The spark crossed the ocean. Now it had to wait for the man who would answer it. Well that's our seventh letter, and it opens a new movement in the correspondence. Jefferson has sent the boldest proposition of his life across the water. The earth belongs to the living. Next time, Madison's reply. The letter many consider the finest he ever wrote to Jefferson, where he grants that the idea is a great one, and then gently, systematically, and completely shows his friend why it cannot govern the world as it is. Today's letter is verified against Founders Online, the National Archives edition of the Founding Fathers Papers, Thomas Jefferson to James Madison, September 6th, 1789, in the Papers of Thomas Jefferson, volume 15. You can read every word of it for yourself. So until next time, I'm Charlie Jett. Stay informed, stay engaged, and stay curious.