Results for Early Republic

Robin Hood and Remote Rule

February 28, 2014
Elizabeth Lewis Pardoe

British North America developed from a landscape of religions into a nation of races over the course of the eighteenth century.This process culminated in a hot, locked Philadelphia hall in 1787, but the lessons upon which the drafters drew reached back to the Reformation of the sixteenth century and earlier to Rome.

Americans had, after all, just rejected their inclusion in the British variant. If they failed to grasp the significance of their success, Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of Rome, David Hume’s History of England, and the tales of Robin Hood1 served to remind them of the dangers of remote rule.


Early Modern Europe possessed two empires with established Protestant populations inhabiting borders under perpetual threat.The Holy Roman Empire’s borderland Protestants included the Southwestern Germans of Wuerttemberg and the Rhineland-Palatinate, for whom “cuius regio, eius religio” offered precious little protection from neighboring Catholic armies. The British Empire sent forth Scots to settle among and pacify the Catholics a few leagues away in Northeastern Ireland. These two groups moved away from their fraught locations on Europe’s bloodiest frontiers topopulate the so-called backcountry of eighteenth-century British North America from the Kennebec to the Altamaha.2


The Germans, Scots, and Irish, in a multitude of hyphenated forms, created a cultural and military frontier in the new world as they had in the old. The German Swabs and Ulster Scots had a great deal in common. Both had theological roots in the ‘second’ or ‘radical’ Reformation of the 1570s.  Southwest German’s Lutheranism was heavily influenced by Zwingli3 and Covenanters in Scotland and Ireland derived their beliefs from the Swiss reformer, Calvin, as well as Zwingli, as John Knox interpreted their theology.4 Both came from regions of Europe where radical Protestants lived cheek by jowl with counter-Reformation Catholics. In 1685 Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes. By 1688 French troops bathed the Palatinate in blood.Britain’s ‘Glorious Revolution’ in the same year may have peacefully secured a Protestant succession in England, but its new Protestant King, William, and Catholic claimant, James II, ensured that the Ireland suffered enough for all three British kingdoms combined.5 For both border populations, these traumas were but the latest horrors in litanies of loss wrought during centuries of constant crisis. Seeking escape, both landed on Atlantic shores with dreams of stability guaranteed by land-holding independence.6
 
In Europe, these ill-definied communities buffered their rulers’ borders from attack, but they also attacked their rulers.Luther’s condemnation of the South German’s Peasant’s Revolt of 1525, secured its infamy in historical memory.7 The covenanter’s revolt in Scotland and the Catholic revolt in Ulster cost Charles I his head in 1642.8 The sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries created real and imagined bandits throughout Europe. A few real bandits possessed the noble motives of the fictionalized Robin Hood, whom Wilkesites adopted as their mascot on both sides of the Atlantic.9 

All bandits, Eric Hobsbawm argues, thrived in the unruly borderlands: in the Roman, Holy Roman, and British Empires.10 Martin Luther drew the parallel with bandits in his tirade against the peasants wrecking havoc under the influence of Thomas Muenzer. “Like public highwaymen and murderers,” he raved, “It is right and lawful to slay at the first opportunity a rebellious person….”11 

The linkage between these peoples in Europeans’ corporate imagination dated back at least to the Roman conquest of both “Upper Germany” and Britain. The Romans built their most famous walls to keep out the populations (Der Limes for the Swabs and Hadrian’s Wall for the Scots) that British seaboard colonies invited into their midst.  Those south-west Germans misnamed ‘Palatines’ and those from north-east Ireland ‘With No Name’12 had once shared the label ‘barbarian’ to the civilized rulers of Rome.“All ancient writers agree,” writes Hume in his widely read History of England “in representing the first inhabitants of Britain as a tribe of the Gauls or Celtae, who populated that island from the neighboring continent.” These Celts shared language, manners, government, and superstition in Hume’s estimation.13 Even when a Roman colony, Gibbon thought the empire unable to “guard the maritime province against the pirates of Germany” leaving “independent and divided” Britons to fall prey to “rapine and destruction” when “the Saxons might sometimes join the Scots and the Picts in a tacit or express confederacy.”14 In Hume’s historical framework, after Rome fell, Germany became the prize in the medieval tug-o-war between the Holy Roman Emperor and the Pope, while Scotland and Ireland played a similarly critical role in the Tudor-Stuart era rivalry between the French and English crowns.15
Robin Hood and Remote Rule Robin Hood and Remote Rule Reviewed by Joseph Landis on February 28, 2014 Rating: 5

When Virtù Courts Virtue

February 19, 2014
Elizabeth Lewis Pardoe

I found my way to this topic via a peculiar trajectory that began along the Cam under the tutelage of Quentin Skinner, where the distinction between classical republican virtù and protestant Christian virtue first entered my consciousness.  The hybridized virtù(e) that filled the political treatises of the American Revolution/War for Independence fascinated me but were not the centerpiece of my doctoral research.  When I returned to Jane Austen as my entertainment while my second son nursed, I realized that the hybridization process took place on the pages of Miss Austen’s novels.

The historiography of the American Revolution nearly drowns in examinations of Republican motherhood and patricidal rage. Austen’s heroines need not kill their fathers. They are already dead (Sense & Sensibility) or emasculated by poverty (Pride & Prejudice, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park), frailty (Emma), and vanity (Persuasion).  It takes little imagination to envision Elinor Dashwood, Elizabeth Bennet, Catherine Moreland, Fanny Price, Emma Woodhouse, and Anne Elliot as the republican mothers of a future generation.  In attributes they share much with the ultimate Republican mother as proven in her dual role as the United States’ first wife and mother to (failed) Presidents, Abigail Adams.  They can hold their own in discussions of the lofty but are unafraid to engage in the lowly. Think of Abigail Adams mopping her floors with vinegar while her many children lay sick, and Anne Elliot caring for her injured nephew while his squeamish mother tends to her own nerves not his physical needs.  When the virtùous Captain and Mrs. Wentworth set sail, I suspect their destination is the new republic on the other side of the Atlantic.

Thomas Jefferson obsessed over virtù(e) and corruption in both the public and private spheres.  Jefferson is remembered for his assiduous adherence to the necessity of landholding independence as a prerequisite for political virtù. He never deigned to fight in the colonies-cum-new republic’s wars though famously wrote on the worth of blood spilled for a virtùous cause.   He is also remembered for his utter lapse in private virtue, bedding but never wedding a woman he considered his racial inferior.   Jefferson was a last gasp of  this double standard in the Americas.  The widow’s of New Jersey had already become the first in Atlantic world to cast their votes in a simultaneous demonstration of both their virtù(e)s. 

Finally, I beg leave to indulge in some Whiggish analysis and imagine that William Jefferson Clinton’s presidency would have been very different indeed  had Americans not come to accept Jane Austen’s definition of hybridized virtù(e) and applied it to men and women alike.

____________

Sources: Linda Kerber, Women of the Republic; Mary Beth Norton, Liberty’s Daughters; and Jay Fleigelman, Prodigals and Pilgrims.
When Virtù Courts Virtue When Virtù Courts Virtue Reviewed by Joseph Landis on February 19, 2014 Rating: 5

George Washington Gets a 360

December 10, 2013
Eric Schultz

The annual review can be an uncomfortable event, but a 360-Degree Performance Review (the “360”) is one of the more harrowing proceedings that can befall a professional, business or academic. In a 360 you are asked to grade yourself against a series of attributes, everything from ethics to leadership to
Gilbert Stuart's 1797 portrait of George Washington
listening skills and coaching. Then, everyone in your “ecosystem” gets a crack at you, sometimes anonymously. This means your boss, often your boss’s boss or peers, your own peers and subordinates, and then some sampling of customers and vendors. Scores are averaged, and then you’re ready (or not) to talk with your boss about why you think your “collaboration with others” is an “8” while the 360 consensus shows it’s a “4.”

A good 360—and there is such a thing, when done well—will reinforce your positives and give you additional incentive to fix the things you generally knew were broken anyway. A traumatic 360, however, can disclose huge “holes” in your game, which quite often turn out to be the very things that are keeping you from being effective, or promoted. 360s are not done every year but, like a colonoscopy (not to put too fine a point on it), are appropriate for the occasional gut-check.

A month ago I was asked to meet with a group of senior executives who were about to receive the results of their first 360. This was a strong group who already knew themselves well, but there couldn’t help but be some anxiety. I was asked to talk specifically about my experiences with the tool—I’d been through a few—and try to put the practice in context as just another device that managers use to improve. My 360s were traumatic but positive: I learned that I never shined my shoes (at one extreme), that I was perceived as giving up too quickly on managers who failed (a gaping blind-spot in my game that I tried hard to repair), and that I should “be myself, but not too much myself”—the best piece of advice I ever got, and one I occasionally impart to others.

As I was preparing for my presentation, I was also reading Gordon Wood’s Revolutionary Characters: What Made the Founders Different, and was positively struck by the chapter on George Washington.  The most enigmatic of the Founding Fathers, Washington seemed to me, in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s wonderful description, as having been “born with his clothes on, and his hair powdered, and made a stately bow on his first appearance in the world.” In other words, what could possibly be wrong with the greatest leader in American history? Yet, as I read through the chapter and saw the criticism mount, I began to wonder: What if Adams, Jefferson, Hamilton, and others had reviewed Washington? What would George Washington’s 360 look like?

And more to the point for my audience, how might he have responded to it?

The positives are easy: Washington epitomized everything the Revolutionary generation prized in its leaders. He was internationally recognized as a man of character and virtue. He was known to have inordinate modesty and be a great listener (with “the gift of silence”). He actively sought advice, especially as he tried to define the role of the president. Unlike Jefferson, Washington was a talented general manager of his plantation. He also knew what he did not know, working closely with Jefferson and Knox on issues, but leaving Hamilton to wrestle with the economy. In all, Washington was considered extraordinarily gallant and dignified. When as a victorious general he presented his sword to Congress and retired to Mt. Vernon, Washington stunned the European world, which assumed he would maintain his army and take over the country. This was truly the sign of a classical hero, to act in ways ordinary men did not. (I could not help but compare him these past few days to Nelson Mandela, who also stunned the world by acting unlike an ordinary man.)

Yet, this is a 360, and everyone gets their crack. Some believed Washington’s hesitancy was shyness, not characteristic of greatness. John Adams, known perhaps for his lack of shyness, found Washington to be a little over the top, “the best actor of presidency we have ever had.” He could feel the myth forming before his eyes, writing, “And then Franklin smote the ground and up rose George Washington, fully dressed and astride a horse! Then the three of them, Franklin, Washington and the HORSE, proceeded to win the entire revolution single-handedly!”

Jefferson found his boss, for all of his leadership skills, to be far too thin-skinned, taking attacks to heart “more than any person I ever yet met with.” Worse still, Jefferson did not find Washington to be as intellectually gifted as those around him, saying "His mind was great and powerful, without being of the very first order.” Ouch.

And then there was Hamilton, 5’7” and 26 years old with a hair-trigger temper (and twelve duels to prove it).  Being aide-de-camp to the 6’2”, 45-year-old supreme commander didn’t slow Hamilton down. Early in 1781 Washington expressed some anger at Hamilton’s ten-minute delay in presenting himself, saying ever-so-mildly, “I must tell you Sir that you treat me with disrespect.” Hamilton resigned on the spot. Washington had to work very hard to patch things up, which he eventually did. Still, it would not surprise Washington to find on his 360 the criticism that he was disrespectful of subordinates.

Last came the political attacks, epitomized in the mid-1790s by none other than Thomas Paine, who accused Washington of “cold and unmilitary conduct” during the Revolution. “You slept away your time in the field, till the finances of the country were completely exhausted, and you have but little share in the glory of the final event.” He went on to charge Washington with ingratitude, vanity, and a character that was “chameleon-colored.”

Below is a quick summary of Washington’s 360.

What to make of this? Needless to say, we had a fascinating discussion, arriving at a few tentative conclusions. And, since it is coming up on the season of reviews for all of us, I share them with you here:

1. If the greatest leader in American history could be bluntly criticized by those around him, you will be too. There’s no escape, so don’t even try.

2. Note the positives. Celebrate your strengths.

3. Embrace the negatives. Make something good of every single criticism. “Disrespectful of subordinates?” Undoubtedly Washington would have known who wrote that. He easily could have dismissed it. What he appeared to do, however, was recognize that fiery Alexander needed special mentoring and lots of tender loving care. This Washington provided, and Hamilton was undoubtedly better because of his boss.

When George Washington was described “in his 360” as shy, a good actor and too thin-skinned, he might well have agreed. Hopefully—as I was twenty years ago—our first president would have been blessed with a very perceptive human resources director who might pull him aside and sum it up simply: “George, be yourself—just not too much yourself.”

George Washington Gets a 360 George Washington Gets a 360 Reviewed by Joseph Landis on December 10, 2013 Rating: 5

Memo to America, Re: Welfare in the Olden Days

July 24, 2013
Gabriel Loiacono 
 
One evening, chatting with friends from church, one asked me what kind of history I focused on. I told him: the history of welfare in early America.  He said: what welfare in early America?

"The drunkard's progress, or the direct
road to poverty, wretchedness & ruin," 1826.
Courtesy of the Library of Congress.
I find myself having a conversation like that one more and more these days.  Whether on the left or the right politically, high school grads or Ph.D.s, most Americans I talk to assume that welfare is a creation of the twentieth century: midwifed by Franklin D. Roosevelt or Lyndon B. Johnson.  Those hearty, independent minutemen of the Revolutionary period, they assume, either made the poor find work or relied only on churches for charity. 

Occasionally, this assumption is voiced explicitly in national, political discourse.  For example, in a famous September 12, 2011 Republican Presidential Primary debate, Representative Ron Paul described assistance to the poor in the past thus: “Our neighbors, our friends, our churches would do it.”  Less off-the-cuff, respectable-looking websites will tell you that charity was almost entirely private before FDR, aside from a few dark and dingy poorhouses, which were more effective at driving inmates out than keeping them comfortable.  And it is not only critics of welfare who think this; one can find defenders of welfare describing the U.S.A. as essentially without welfare before FDR.[1]

More often, this assumption is implicit.  You can see this in recent discussions of food stamp policy and the Farm Bill.  When both critics and defenders of welfare policy bring history into the argument, they usually head back to the 1960s.  Occasionally, they reach back to the 1930s.  They almost never go further back in time.  On both sides, the assumption is that prior to the New Deal, there was no welfare to discuss.  Thus, these are the good old days or the bad old days depending on what you think about welfare today. 

It is for this reason that I fantasize about writing the following memo:

MEMORANDUM

TO: The American People
FROM: A Historian
CC: Candidates, Think Tanks, Warriors of the Internet Comment Boards 
SUBJECT: Um, actually there was welfare when the United States was founded

I would go on, of course, to flesh this statement out with some background, evidence, and precision.  I would point out that poor laws came to North America almost with the first British settlers, and that a large welfare state developed in almost every English municipality.  I would cite figures showing that poor relief comprised more than half of most municipalities’ budgets before the 1820s, when school and road costs grew large enough to match poor relief.  I would feel compelled to mention that poor relief could mean a poorhouse, but more often some combination of cash, food, clothes, firewood, doctor’s attention, medicine, or even full-time nursing care.  I would highlight how significant local taxes were to most early Americans, compared with much lower state taxes and almost non-existent federal taxes. 
"Publicly-owned poor houses like the Dexter Asylum
in Providence, Rhode Island did not come cheaply."
Courtesy of the New York Public Library.

This would lead to the obvious comparisons.  Americans spent more than half of their taxes on poor relief when George Washington was president, compared to 12% on the federal “safety net” today, or 55% if you include Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and the Children’s Health Insurance Program.  Unlike today’s contributors to Social Security and Medicare, however, most taxpayers (read: property owners) in 1789 would not have expected to benefit from poor relief in their lifetimes.  They could depend on it, though, if they ever met with a financial catastrophe.  I would almost certainly quote historian Elna Green’s witticism, that so many grocers, doctors, wood-hewers, etcetera made money from the town by helping the poor that the poor law system should be called the “welfare/industrial complex.” [2]

Finally, I would point out one big difference between early America and the present: Today’s welfare is largely federal while early America’s was largely municipal.  In fact, I think the local nature of early American welfare is the reason why so many policy analysts overlook welfare’s past.  They just don’t look at the state and local levels of government. 

My fantasy memo is not a prelude to some specific policy prescription for the present day.  I just wish that when we do bring history to the argument, we use a reasonably correct version.  As an historian writing about pre-Civil War poor relief, I find myself cringing almost every time the history of welfare surges into public discourse.  Usually, there is a 300-year hole in the story.  For colonial American and U.S. history, that is a pretty big hole!

Surely, though, I am not alone among historians.  What about the rest of you? What makes you cringe?  You historians who see your subjects of expertise routinely misrepresented, what do you do?  What is your responsibility?  How do you lend your expertise in a helpful way?

_____________________

[1] On respectable-looking websites, see “The Poor in America Before the Welfare State,” at Intellectual Takeout: Feed Your Mind www.intellectualtakeout.org/library/sociology-and-culture/poor-america-welfare-state.  For a defender of welfare on the non-existent past of welfare, see Charles Michael Andres Clark, “The Truth Deficit: Four Myths About Deficit Spending,” in Commonweal July 12, 2011. 

[2] Elna C. Green, This Business of Relief: Confronting Poverty in a Southern City, 1740-1940, p. 1.
Memo to America, Re: Welfare in the Olden Days Memo to America, Re: Welfare in the Olden Days Reviewed by Joseph Landis on July 24, 2013 Rating: 5
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