Founding Myths (23 page)

But what of those responsible for that other founding document, the “framers” of the Constitution? Not to be left out, the fifty-five men who attended the Federal (Constitutional) Convention crept slowly, almost imperceptibly, onto center stage, for they were the ones who wrote the law of the land. Without conscious design, Americans began to apply the term “signers” to men who affixed their names to either document. This did not happen in a moment, but today, if you hear people talking about the so-called signers, try asking them which of the two documents they are referring to. In fact, these were very distinct groups; only six men signed both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, and only two of these, Benjamin Franklin and Roger Sherman, had been firm advocates of independence. (James Wilson had opposed independence almost to the end,
but wound up voting for it; Robert Morris and George Read actively opposed independence but signed the Declaration later; George Clymer, among several other so-called “signers,” was not a member of Congress when independence was declared.) But in the popular mind, the Declaration and the Constitution have merged into one, and most people don't really care who signed what.

Taken together, however, the signers and the framers amount to over one hundred individuals, most of whom are not household names: James Smith, Jacob Broom, William Few, William Ellery, Daniel of St. Thomas Jenifer, and so on. A tale with so many heroes does not have the immediate, compelling force we expect from a creation myth. We need fewer, certainly no more than a dozen, if we expect every person in the nation to learn their stories and recite them by rote. Americans eventually settled on the small group we honor today as the “Founding Fathers.” It is this elite corps, we say, who conjured the idea of independence, brought the Revolution to its successful conclusion, and then, like Solon or Moses, gave us our laws.

Adulation for the founders has evolved with the times. Today, it is no longer fashionable to be a statue. Posed, formal portraits are out as well. The informality of the late twentieth century has taken its toll on mounted riders cast in stone and the stiff, distant patricians who line up single file on the walls of echoing galleries.

But informality can be seen as irreverence, and the relaxed attitude has proved unsettling for Americans who yearn for the good old days, when the founders were properly honored. “Not so long ago,” writes historian Gordon Wood, “the generation that fought the Revolution and created the Constitution was thought to be the greatest generation in American history. . . . Until recently few Americans could look back at these revolutionaries and constitution-makers without being overawed by the brilliance of their thought, the creativity of their politics, the sheer magnitude of their achievement. They used to seem larger than life, giants in the earth, possessing intellectual and political capacities well beyond our own.” Yes, those were the days—“but not anymore,” Wood bemoans. “The American revolutionaries and the
framers of the Constitution are no longer being celebrated in the way they used to be.”
¹

In fact, the Founding Fathers
are
being celebrated, although not “in the way they used to be.” Popular historians such as Wood, Joseph Ellis, David McCullough, and John Ferling have managed to resurrect America's most respected statesmen by dressing them in more contemporary attire. Like modern celebrities, the founders have been humanized, personalized, and made accessible to the masses. Now, as millions read about the details of their lives, it has become fashionable once again to honor the likes of John Adams, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin despite their human quirks, or even because of them.

The Founding Fathers were “human and imperfect; each had his flaws and failings,” David McCullough wrote in a July 4 op-ed piece for the
New York Times.
In the past, flaws and failings were not to be tolerated in our most venerable public figures, but now these very imperfections work in their favor. Because they “were not gods,” McCullough argues, we can admire them all the more. Were they gods, “they would deserve less honor and respect. Gods, after all, can do largely as they please.”
²

Joseph Ellis captured the modest tone in the title of his bestselling book,
Founding Brothers.
Brothers, unlike fathers, squabble and misbehave—but “their mutual imperfections and fallibilities, as well as their eccentricities and excesses” somehow manage to cancel each other out. Brothers come together in the end, as our founders did when they created a viable blueprint for the United States.

According to Ellis, the young nation's “eight most prominent political leaders” (the first four presidents plus Franklin, Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and Abigail Adams) constituted “America's first and, in many respects, its only natural aristocracy,” one that can only inspire reverence:

[T]hey comprised, by any informed and fair-minded standard, the greatest generation of political talent in American history.
They created the American republic, then held it together throughout the volatile and vulnerable early years by sustaining their presence until national habits and customs took root.
³

There is a troubling phrase—“by any informed and fair-minded standard”—embedded within Ellis's forthright assertion. What, exactly, might such a standard for greatness be?
⁴

The
Random House College Dictionary
lists almost a score of common usages for “great,” many with numerous synonyms: noteworthy, remarkable, exceptionally outstanding, important, eminent, prominent, celebrated, illustrious, renowned, main, grand, leading, highly significant or consequential, momentous, vital, critical, distinguished, famous, admirable, having unusual merit, of extraordinary powers, of high rank or standing, of notable or lofty character, elevated, exalted, dignified. Which of these meanings do we intend when we call a particular historical personage, or a particular generation, “great”? Most likely, we wish to imply some sort of ill-defined amalgamation. We do not intend specific meanings; we hope only to instill some sense of admiration for the heroes of our choosing. The term “great” serves as a grandiose but generic stamp of approval. Every time we use it, we make a momentous declaration—but without any standards, we can affix no claim of legitimacy upon our pronouncement, nor can we discuss “greatness” intelligently. In the absence of definitions and procedures, we are free to apply the term “great” promiscuously to our favorite historical personalities. Any historian or commentator can call any historical figure “great.”
⁵

There is no quicker route to the trivialization of history. A recent book published by American Heritage,
Great Minds of History: Interviews with Roger Mudd
, features “greatness” from three angles: a great newscaster interviews great historians about great personalities. In a chapter titled “Gordon Wood on the Colonial Era and Revolution,” Roger Mudd asks Professor Wood various questions of great import about our nation's founding moment:

“Back to Ben Franklin, did he dress and speak like a gentleman?”

“What more can you tell me about Benjamin Franklin?”

“What about Alexander Hamilton?”

“What can you tell us about James Madison?”

“John Adams?”

“And what do you think about Thomas Jefferson?”

Here's how Gordon Wood responds to these questions:

“Adams was the most lovable of the Founding Fathers because he wore his heart on his sleeve.”

Hamilton was “. . . the brilliant genius. . . .”

Madison was “. . . the most intellectual. . . .”

Jefferson was “. . . the most important. . . .”
⁶

The problem here lies with the questions, not the summary responses they triggered. The posing of such questions leads directly to glib assessments that bear only indirectly upon the major events of the “Colonial Era and Revolution,” which are purportedly under discussion. Real history—in this case, the dynamic process that led patriotic colonists toward independence—is masked by thumbnail personality profiles. Focusing exclusively on stories of allegedly great men produces little in the way of historical analysis.

CENTRAL PLAYERS

There is one use of the term “great” that does not imply adulation. If a historic personage was important and powerful enough, he (rarely she) will warrant the appellation irrespective of any moral qualities deserving of respect. Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Hitler—these people were in one sense “great,” even though we might not approve of what they did.
⁷

Although we would be loath to compare the “greatest generation” of Americans with great but cruel conquerors, Joseph Ellis argues that we must place our founders at the center of the story by sheer virtue of their power and significance:

The central events and achievements of the revolutionary era and the early republic were political. These events and achievements are historically significant because they shaped the subsequent history of the United States, including our own time. The central players in the drama were not the marginal or peripheral figures, whose lives are more typical, but rather the political leaders at the center of the national story who wielded power.
⁸

A key concept here (repeated three times in as many sentences) is “central”—but that notion is entirely dependent on one's field of vision. Characters who appear at the center of one story will be on the periphery of another. Were the “achievements” of Aaron Burr, an ambitious New York politician, really “central” to the “revolutionary era”? Another criterion is “wielded power,” which closes and summarizes the passage. But did Abigail Adams really wield power in any sort of public way that affected history at that time? Clearly, Burr and Mrs. Adams make the list of Ellis's top eight for other reasons, Burr for the story of his duel with Hamilton, and Adams for gender balance.

Further, if wielding power were really the criterion, Ellis would have to include Robert Morris, unquestionably the most powerful civilian in Revolutionary America. Morris ran the confederated government by himself during the winter of 1776–1777 when Congress fled Philadelphia; secured supplies and arranged finances for the Continental Army at several critical moments (Washington's crossing of the Delaware and victory at Yorktown could not have been achieved without him); and assumed unprecedented executive powers, rivaling those of future presidents, during his three-year reign as superintendent of finance at the close of the Revolutionary War.
⁹
Even more significantly, in 1781 Morris bailed out a bankrupt nation by underwriting
government notes, essentially offering his own private credit, which was good, in lieu of public credit, which people would no longer accept. By any reasonable application of Ellis's standards—“central” and “wielded power”—Morris would make the list, but he does not appear there, nor is he featured in most renditions of our nation's birth. A man who made his fortune in large measure by privateering (legalized piracy), cornering markets, and war profiteering, and who ended his career in debtors' prison, is not a top candidate for America's “natural aristocracy,” no matter how much power he wielded.
¹⁰

While promoting the importance of his eight protagonists, Ellis demotes the other three million Americans—also members of the Revolutionary generation—to the secondary status of “marginal or peripheral.” But the
central
theme of the American Revolution was popular sovereignty: all power ultimately resides with the people. How, then, can “the people” be reduced to the periphery of the story? In fact, regular Americans were at the very center of the drama:

       
•
   
Common farmers in Massachusetts, without any help from Ellis's featured players, were the first to overthrow British political authority.

       
•
   
Poor men and boys fought the British army. Without them, the so-called Founding Fathers might all have been hanged.

       
•
   
If it weren't for a popular clamoring for independence, Congress would not have unanimously passed their final declaration.

       
•
   
If the people had not ratified the Constitution, it would have been one more failed proposal.

       
•
   
If it weren't for the labor of hundreds of thousands of “Founding Sisters,” American society could never have survived the war. Whatever the “Founding Brothers” were
able to accomplish in political chambers would have proven futile.

       
•
   
The political history of the American Revolution in the southern half of the fledgling nation cannot possibly be understood without reference to enslaved people and the fears they inspired among whites.

       
•
   
The military history of the war in the West cannot be understood without reference to Native Americans as “central players.”

Without the participation of these people, the American Revolution would have been altogether different—or, more likely, there would have been no Revolution at all.