George Washington's Farewell Address

Based on Wikipedia: George Washington's Farewell Address

The Letter That Shaped a Nation

In September 1796, Americans opened their newspapers to find something unprecedented: their president was quitting. Not because of scandal, not because of illness, but because George Washington believed that no one person should hold power for too long. The letter he published that day would become one of the most influential political documents in American history, quoted by presidents for centuries and read aloud in Congress every year on Washington's birthday.

But here's what makes it truly remarkable. Washington didn't just announce his retirement. He used this moment—when the entire nation was paying attention—to warn Americans about the forces he believed could destroy everything they had built together.

He was right about almost all of them.

A Retirement Four Years in the Making

Washington had wanted out years earlier. By 1792, after his first term, the sixty-year-old general was exhausted. He'd spent decades in public service—commanding the Continental Army through the Revolutionary War, presiding over the Constitutional Convention, then serving as the nation's first president. He longed to return to his beloved Mount Vernon estate in Virginia.

So he asked James Madison to help him draft a farewell letter. Madison obliged, and Washington tucked it away, ready to use.

Then everything fell apart.

His cabinet was at war with itself. Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton and Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson despised each other. Their personal rivalry had metastasized into something larger: two competing visions for what America should become. Hamilton wanted a strong federal government, close ties with Britain, and an economy built on manufacturing and finance. Jefferson dreamed of an agrarian republic of independent farmers, aligned with revolutionary France.

These weren't polite disagreements. The two men attacked each other through anonymous newspaper essays. Their supporters organized into opposing camps—the Federalists behind Hamilton, the Democratic-Republicans behind Jefferson. The divisions grew so bitter that both men, despite their mutual hatred, agreed on one thing: only Washington could hold the country together.

So Washington reluctantly served a second term. But by 1796, he was done. This time, nothing would stop him.

The Ghost Writer Behind the Words

Here's an irony that history often glosses over: most of the Farewell Address warning against political factions was written by Alexander Hamilton, one of the most partisan figures in American politics.

Washington pulled out Madison's old draft from 1792 and sent it to Hamilton, asking him to revise and expand it. Hamilton threw himself into the project, producing multiple drafts. The two men exchanged versions back and forth, with Washington making corrections and additions. The ideas were Washington's—he'd been thinking about these issues for years—but the elegant prose belonged largely to Hamilton.

Washington never delivered the address as a speech. He never stood before Congress or addressed a crowd. Instead, he sent it to a Philadelphia newspaper called Claypoole's American Daily Advertiser, which published it on September 19, 1796. The headline read: "The Address of Gen. Washington to the People of America on His Declining the Presidency of the United States."

Within weeks, newspapers across the country had reprinted it. Pamphlet editions followed. Americans read it aloud in taverns and discussed it around dinner tables. They sensed they were witnessing something historic: the peaceful transfer of power from one leader to another, something that had almost never happened before in human history.

The Imposter Who Led a Revolution

Washington began his farewell with a confession that sounds almost absurd today. He told the American people that he had never believed himself qualified to be president in the first place.

This wasn't false modesty. Washington genuinely felt this way. He had no formal education beyond elementary school. He'd never studied law or political philosophy. He was a farmer and a soldier, thrust into the highest office in the land simply because everyone trusted him.

But his humility served a purpose. By downplaying his own importance, Washington was making a larger argument: the country didn't need him. It didn't need any single leader. The system of government they had created—the Constitution, the laws, the institutions—these were what mattered. Any success during his presidency, he insisted, came from the people themselves, not from his own abilities.

This was revolutionary thinking. Throughout history, nations had depended on the wisdom and strength of individual rulers. Kings and emperors held power for life. The idea that a leader would willingly step aside, that the system mattered more than the person—this was something new.

The Warning About Unity

With the pleasantries out of the way, Washington turned to what he really wanted to discuss. He had warnings to deliver, and he wanted Americans to take them seriously.

His first and most emphatic warning concerned national unity.

Washington believed that everything good about America—its independence, its peace, its prosperity, its freedom—depended on the states remaining bound together. He wasn't being abstract about this. He'd watched the Articles of Confederation, America's first attempt at a national government, nearly fail because the states refused to cooperate. He'd seen how foreign powers exploited divisions among the states. He knew how fragile the whole experiment really was.

"The unity of government which constitutes you one people is also now dear to you," he wrote. And then, the warning: this unity would be the target of constant attack. Foreign enemies and domestic troublemakers alike would try to convince Americans that their bonds were too weak, that their differences were too great, that separation made more sense than union.

Be suspicious of anyone making these arguments, Washington urged. Question their motives. They might dress up their reasoning in attractive language, but their true goal was to weaken America.

Americans First, Virginians Second

Washington asked something difficult of his countrymen. He wanted them to think of themselves as Americans before anything else—before being Virginians or New Yorkers, before being southerners or northerners, before being farmers or merchants.

This seems obvious now. But in 1796, it wasn't. Most Americans felt stronger loyalty to their home state than to the nation. Virginia was real to them; the United States was an abstraction. People routinely spoke of their state as their "country."

Washington pushed back against this way of thinking. He pointed out that Americans shared the same religion in broad terms, the same language, the same manners, the same political principles. They had won their independence by fighting together. Why should artificial boundaries matter more than these real connections?

He also made a practical argument. The different regions needed each other. The industrial North needed southern agriculture. The coastal states needed interior markets. The Atlantic seaboard needed the western territories for room to grow. No region could prosper as well alone as it could united with the others.

The Military-Industrial Warning

More than 150 years before President Dwight Eisenhower warned Americans about the "military-industrial complex," Washington issued his own caution about military power.

A united nation, Washington argued, could afford to maintain a smaller military. It wouldn't need to worry about defending against its neighbors because its neighbors would be fellow Americans. It could avoid the entangling conflicts that forced European nations to maintain massive standing armies.

And why did this matter? Because Washington saw large military establishments as threats to liberty itself. Throughout history, standing armies had been used by rulers to oppress their own people. The Roman legions that protected the empire eventually destroyed the republic. Washington didn't want America to follow that path.

A country constantly at war, or constantly preparing for war, would eventually become a garrison state. The military would consume resources that could have gone to peaceful development. Military leaders would gain political influence. Civilian government would weaken.

Unity, paradoxically, was the path to being able to afford a smaller army.

The Danger of Sectionalism

Washington reserved particular venom for those who tried to turn Americans against each other based on where they lived. He called these people "sectionalists," and he considered them among the most dangerous enemies of the republic.

The sectionalist's game, as Washington saw it, was to create distrust between regions. Make northerners suspicious of southerners. Make easterners resentful of westerners. Convince each group that the others were taking advantage of them, that the federal government favored different regions, that their interests were fundamentally opposed.

Once people believed these lies, the sectionalist could offer himself as a champion of his region against the others. He could accumulate power by stoking grievances. He could eventually use that power to tear the country apart—or to take it over entirely.

Washington was writing this just a few years after the Constitution had barely been ratified, with fierce opposition from people who thought the federal government gave too much power to some regions over others. He knew how easily these arguments could catch fire.

To counter them, he pointed to recent diplomatic achievements. The Jay Treaty with Britain and Pinckney's Treaty with Spain had secured American borders and won trading rights for western farmers to ship goods down the Mississippi River. These treaties proved, Washington argued, that the federal government was working for all Americans, not just those on the Atlantic coast.

The Constitution Isn't Perfect, But Change It Carefully

Washington loved the Constitution. He'd presided over the convention that wrote it. He considered it a vast improvement over the Articles of Confederation, which had left the federal government too weak to function.

But he wasn't naive. He knew the Constitution wasn't perfect, and he acknowledged that Americans had every right to change it. The document itself provided a process for amendments.

Here, though, Washington issued a careful warning. Change the Constitution only through its own amendment process. Never by force. Never by ignoring laws you disagree with. Never by having some branches of government seize powers that belong to others.

And be cautious about weakening the government through amendments too. Some people, Washington worried, might claim to be making improvements while actually undermining the government's ability to function. They might pass amendments that sounded good but left the government unable to enforce its laws, protect people's rights, or defend the country.

Give the system time to work, he urged. Don't amend based on theories about what might go wrong. Wait until actual experience proves that changes are truly necessary. The Constitution was only eight years old; it hadn't had a chance to show what it could really do.

The Specter of Political Parties

Washington saved his most passionate warnings for political parties. He considered them a grave threat to the republic—perhaps the gravest of all.

This might seem strange today, when political parties are so woven into American democracy that we can barely imagine politics without them. But Washington had watched parties form during his presidency, and he hated what he saw.

He understood why parties emerged. It was natural for people with similar views to organize together. Every government in history had dealt with factions and parties.

But every government in history had also recognized parties as dangerous, Washington noted, and had tried to suppress them. There was a reason for this. Parties sought power above all else. They treated political opponents as enemies to be destroyed rather than fellow citizens to be persuaded. They took revenge when they won elections. They obstructed government when they lost.

Washington had seen this firsthand. The Federalists and Democratic-Republicans had spent years attacking each other, often with vicious personal insults. They accused each other of treason, of wanting to become kings, of selling out to foreign powers. The mutual hatred had nearly paralyzed his administration.

The Road to Despotism

Washington's warning about parties went even deeper than their immediate dysfunctions. He believed they could ultimately destroy democracy itself.

Here was his logic. When parties alternate in power, each side tries to exact revenge for what was done to them when they were out of power. This creates a cycle of escalating conflict. Each side feels justified in going further because of what the other side did first.

Eventually, this "alternate domination of one faction over another" becomes its own form of despotism. The winners abuse the losers. The losers plot to become winners so they can abuse their enemies in turn. Citizens live in fear of which party will control their lives.

And then something worse happens. As the chaos grows, people become desperate for stability. They stop caring about liberty and start longing for someone strong enough to restore order. They seek "security in the absolute power of an individual."

A dictator rises. Democracy ends.

Washington had seen this pattern play out in other countries. Revolutionary France, which had inspired such hope just a few years earlier, was descending into exactly this spiral. The Terror had killed thousands. Now military strongmen were circling. Within a few years of Washington's farewell, Napoleon Bonaparte would seize power and crown himself emperor.

Washington didn't want America to follow the same path.

Checks and Balances

If parties were so dangerous, what could prevent them from destroying the republic?

Washington pointed to the Constitution's system of separated powers. The executive, legislative, and judicial branches were designed to check each other. No single branch could accumulate too much power because the others could push back.

This was essential, Washington believed. Human nature being what it was, people would always try to accumulate power. The only defense was to set power against power, ambition against ambition. The Constitution's machinery of checks and balances made this possible.

But the machinery only worked if people respected it. If a president tried to rule like a king, or if Congress tried to control everything, or if courts stopped enforcing the law—if any branch overstepped its bounds—the whole system would collapse. Americans needed to guard against encroachments zealously, correcting any imbalances through constitutional amendments rather than by letting grabbers keep what they grabbed.

Religion and Morality

One section of the Farewell Address has sparked debate ever since Washington wrote it: his strong endorsement of religion and morality as foundations for political prosperity.

Washington was not a particularly devout man by the standards of his time. He rarely took communion. He avoided explicit references to Jesus Christ in his writings. Some historians believe he was more of a deist—someone who believed in a creator God who didn't intervene in human affairs—than a traditional Christian.

Yet in his farewell, he wrote that religion and morality were "indispensable supports" for political prosperity. He questioned whether national morality could survive without religious principle. He called religion one of the "great pillars of human happiness."

What was Washington getting at? He seemed to be making a practical argument rather than a theological one. Courts relied on oaths. Contracts required trust. Citizens needed to believe that others would keep their promises. Where did this trust come from? Washington believed it came from religion—from people's sense that they were accountable to something beyond themselves.

Without that foundation, he worried, society would descend into a war of all against all. People would lie under oath, cheat in business, and betray their neighbors whenever they could get away with it. The elaborate machinery of republican government couldn't function if the people operating it were thoroughly corrupt.

This remains one of the most contested passages in the address. Some see it as proof that America was meant to be a Christian nation. Others argue that Washington was speaking of religion generally, not endorsing any particular faith. Still others note that many of the Founders, including Washington himself, lived moral lives without being especially religious in private.

The Need for Public Education

Immediately after discussing religion, Washington pivoted to education. He called for "the general diffusion of knowledge" throughout the country. This wasn't a random change of topic—the two ideas were connected in his mind.

Republican government depended on public opinion. The people elected their leaders. The people could change the Constitution. The people were sovereign. But this only worked if the people were informed enough to make good decisions.

An ignorant populace could be easily manipulated by demagogues. They might fall for obvious lies. They might support policies that hurt them. They might elect fools and tyrants because they couldn't tell the difference between wise leaders and dangerous ones.

Education was the remedy. If Americans were educated, they could see through manipulation. They could evaluate arguments on their merits. They could hold their leaders accountable because they understood what their leaders were doing.

Washington didn't spell out exactly what kind of education he meant. He left the details to future generations. But he clearly believed that democracy required an educated citizenry, and that the government had a role in making that education widely available.

Fiscal Responsibility

Washington had strong opinions about money. He believed in balanced budgets, careful borrowing, and paying off debts as quickly as possible.

Part of this was practical experience. He'd watched the Continental Congress struggle to finance the Revolutionary War. He'd seen soldiers go without pay, without food, without shoes—because the government couldn't raise enough money. He'd also seen how debt could become a weapon that foreign creditors used to manipulate American policy.

But Washington's fiscal conservatism wasn't absolute. He acknowledged that sometimes governments needed to borrow money, especially during emergencies. Wars had to be fought. Preparations had to be made. You couldn't always wait until you had cash in hand.

The key was to pay off those debts quickly once the emergency passed. Don't burden future generations with bills for benefits they never received. Don't let debts accumulate until they become unmanageable. Use peace as an opportunity to restore fiscal health so you'll be ready for the next crisis.

Washington also acknowledged an uncomfortable truth about taxes: no one likes them. No matter how carefully the government chose what to tax, someone would always find it inconvenient and unpleasant. This was unavoidable. The best the government could do was be thoughtful about it and explain why the taxes were necessary.

Foreign Entanglements

Perhaps no part of the Farewell Address has been quoted more often—or more selectively—than Washington's warnings about foreign policy. Politicians have invoked these passages for centuries, sometimes to justify isolationism, sometimes to argue against specific alliances, sometimes simply to lend Washington's authority to whatever position they already held.

What did Washington actually say?

He began by advocating "good faith and justice towards all nations." America should treat other countries fairly, honor its commitments, and behave morally in international affairs just as individuals should behave morally toward each other.

But then came the warnings. Washington urged Americans to avoid both permanent alliances and permanent hatreds. Both were dangerous.

Longstanding rivalries with other nations would distort American judgment. If we hated a country, we would blow minor offenses out of proportion. We would look for excuses to fight. We would spend blood and treasure on conflicts that served no real American interest.

Permanent alliances created the opposite problem. If we loved a country, we would let them take advantage of us. We would fight their wars as if they were our own. We would make decisions based on what was good for them rather than what was good for us. We would let them influence our government, bending our policies to serve their interests.

The French and British Problem

Washington wasn't speaking abstractly. He had specific countries in mind: France and Britain.

Revolutionary France had been America's ally during the War of Independence. French soldiers, French money, and French naval power had been essential to victory. Many Americans felt deep gratitude and ideological sympathy toward France, especially as the French Revolution promised to spread liberty across Europe.

But France and Britain were at war, and both wanted America to take their side. The Democratic-Republicans pushed for supporting France. The Federalists pushed for maintaining good relations with Britain, America's largest trading partner. Washington had tried to keep the country neutral, and it had nearly torn his administration apart.

When Washington warned against permanent alliances and urged Americans to avoid taking sides in European conflicts, he was talking about this specific situation. He'd seen how foreign entanglements could poison domestic politics. He'd watched Americans accuse each other of treason based on which European country they preferred. He'd seen how foreign powers tried to manipulate American politics to serve their own ends.

America, Washington believed, should engage with the world from a position of independence. Trade with everyone. Fight only when American interests were directly threatened. Don't get sucked into other people's wars. Don't let foreign nations buy influence over American policy.

The Long Shadow

Washington's Farewell Address has echoed through American history ever since he published it.

Thomas Jefferson, despite his many disagreements with Washington, picked up the warning against foreign entanglements and made it a cornerstone of his own foreign policy. James Monroe extended it into the Monroe Doctrine, warning European powers to stay out of the Americas.

Abraham Lincoln invoked Washington's warnings about sectionalism as the country tore itself apart over slavery. He argued that the Civil War was exactly what Washington had predicted would happen if Americans let regional divisions override their national identity.

The address has been read aloud in the United States Senate every February 22nd since 1862—on Washington's birthday—a tradition that continues today. Senators take turns reading it, alternating by party, a ritual meant to remind members of both parties of their shared heritage.

But perhaps the most powerful legacy of Washington's farewell was the precedent he set simply by leaving. He could have been president for life. No one would have stopped him. Many wanted him to stay.

He chose to go home instead.

That choice established the expectation that American presidents would serve limited terms. It wouldn't become a formal rule until 1951, when the Twenty-Second Amendment limited presidents to two terms. But the norm held for 150 years, broken only once—by Franklin Roosevelt during the crises of the Depression and World War II.

Washington believed that the peaceful transfer of power was essential to republican government. Kings ruled until they died. Dictators ruled until they were overthrown. But in a republic, leaders stepped aside voluntarily, trusting their successors and the system that produced them.

By retiring, Washington proved it could be done. He showed that power could be given up, not just taken. He established a tradition that would define American democracy.

As the man himself wrote, addressing his countrymen as "friends and fellow-citizens" one last time: the experiment was now in their hands.