The concept of “faction” strongly echoes our earlier discussions about social class. In both cases, we’re talking about gross of individuals bound together by shared economic interests and positions within a broader system of inequality. Madison defines factions as groups “united and actuated by some common impulse of passion, or of interest,” which often runs counter to the rights or interests of others. This directly parallels how we understand class: as not just a marker of income but a social position that comes with distinct interests, especially in terms of labor, property, and political power. For example, the capitalist class has an interest in protecting private property and minimizing regulations, while the working class typically seeks fair wages, labor protections, and wealth redistribution. These conflicting interests are the foundation of the class struggle-and they manifest politically as factions. Madison’s fear of factions. Madison’s fear of factions, then, is partly a fear of what happens when the economically disadvantaged begin to organize and assert their collective power.
According to Madison in Federalist No. 10, the root to private property lies in “the diversity in the faculties of men.” The term faculties refers to individuals’ varying abilities, talents, intelligence, and ambitions. Madison argues that because people are naturally unequal in their capabilities, they will inevitably be unequal in their accumulation of property. Those with greater “faculties” are more likely to acquire wealth, while those without them remain in subordinate or improverished positions. Importantly, Madison doesn’t just observe the inequality-he defends it. He insists that a key role of government is to protect these unequal faculties, and by extension, to preserve the resulting disparities in wealth and property. In this view, economic inequality isn’t just tolerated-it’s institutionalized as a core function of political order. What this reveals is the ideology of the Constitution’s framers: class divisions weren’t an unfortunate byproduct of society-they were considered essential to its structure. This helps explain why early U.S. politics were so exclusionary: the protection of property was prioritized over broader democratic inclusion.
While Madison’s perspective might seem rational from a purely individualistic standpoint, it ignores how wealth is often accumulated and maintained not through talent alone, but through structural advantages, such as inheritance, racial privilege, and access to elite education. I don’t fully agree with Madison’s explanation because it simplifies a deeply complex issue. Wealth is not simply a reward for superior faculties-it is also a result of systemic inequality. For instance, someone born into a wealthy family benefits from preexisting capital, social connections, and educational opportunities. Meanwhile, someone equally or more talented, born into poverty, may never have the same chances. Madison’s framework lacks a critical understanding of how institutions-including the very government he’s defending-reproduce these inequalities. Furthermore, his view implies that the wealthy are inherently more deserving of power and influence, which justifies their dominance in political life. That logic has dangerous implications for democracy, as it leads to a society where wealth effectively buys representation, while other are politically marginalized.
Madison makes it clear that the core mission of government is to protect the “diversity in the faculties of men,” which, in practice, means safeguarding inequality in property ownership and wealth. This may be surprising to modern readers, especially given how often we’re told that the government’s purpose is to ensure justice, promote equality, and serve the public good. Today, many of us grow up with the idea that democracy means government “of the people, by the people, for the people.” But Madison’s writings suggest a much narrower view-one where government’s primary function is to shield the interests of property owners from the potential redistributive demand of the broader population. His emphasis on protecting over promoting equality reveals that the early republic was designed more to manage democracy than to fulfill it. This understanding complicated the mythology surrounding American democracy. it reminds us that our political system was not built as an egalitarian project, but as a way to balance the interests of elites while preventing too much influence from the poor and disenfranchised.
Given the framers’ concerns about protecting private property and elite interests, it’s not surprising that Madison was skeptical of pure democracy. In fact, his preference for a representative republic was deliberate and strategic. Direct democracy-where the masses have immediate control over legislation-posed a direct threat to elite power. If the working class, debtors, and landless poor had a direct voice, they might vote for policies that redistribute wealth, cancel debts, or regulate property. From Madison’s perspective, such outcomes were unacceptable. He viewed government as a mechanism to filter popular will, ensuring that only those with a “stake in society”-code for wealth and education-could make key decisions. A republic, with its layers of representation, electoral filters, and institutional buffers, was designed to prevent the majority from enacting radical economic change. In this light, Madison’s rejection of direct democracy wasn’t a philosophical stance-it was a class defense. He feared that if political power were truly accessible to all, the economic structure that privileged property owners would be destabilized. So while Federalist #10 is often taught as a defense of republican government, it’s just as much a manual for elite preservation in a society deeply divided by class.