By Richard Brookhiser
Thursday, July 09, 2020
From Hamilton: An American Musical to rioters
defacing every stone Founder they can find: A lot can flip in a short time,
especially in a country as social-media-addicted as ours. But don’t tear up
your tickets yet. The American founding remains an epochal and admirable event
in political history.
“The Founding” is the period spanning the American
Revolution and the adoption of the Constitution, 1775–89. But the political
backstory begins in Jamestown, England’s first permanent American colony, in
the summer of 1619, with the first meeting of the General Assembly.
The Jamestown colony had been in existence since 1607.
Its early history was checkered. The first settlers arrived on the Virginia
coast during a severe drought, which made it almost impossible for them to
raise crops. In one bleak year, called the “starving time,” they were reduced
to chewing leather and eating vermin (and allegedly corpses). The colony
attempted to recover from that disaster by imposing martial law: Men had to
work in gangs under overseers; anyone who disobeyed was broken on a wheel
(i.e., crushed to death). Meanwhile the leaders of the hapless venture
squabbled among themselves.
Something had to change. In 1618 a new governor, George
Yeardley, was given a mandate for political reform.
The General Assembly, which he convened the following
year, was an innovation in European colonialism. It consisted of Yeardley and
his council of advisers, who were all appointed in England. But they were
joined by 22 burgesses, selected by the eleven boroughs and plantations that
composed the settlement. The burgesses were elected according to the principle
of one man, one vote, and the assembly, when it met, made its decisions the
same way. There were limits —
indentured laborers and women had no vote in the
boroughs, and the governor could veto any measure the assembly passed. But this
was the seed of a representative body.
What topics did it discuss over the four days that it
met? It proposed a standard price for tobacco. It required church attendance,
forbade whoring, and directed that a man who had slandered his employer be
nailed by his ears to the public pillory. It reviewed the performance of one of
the colony’s emissaries to its Indian neighbors. The universal topics of
politics: the economy, morals, foreign affairs.
In the beginning the General Assembly’s resolutions were
advisory: Nothing could be enacted without approval from London. But
persistence in Virginia and inattention in England ultimately gave the
assembly’s decisions the force of law. The House of Burgesses, as it came to be
called, was the first essay in the fundamental American political liberty,
self-rule. This was the other 1619 Project, and it began weeks before
Jamestown’s first purchase of African slaves.
Over the decades, American colonists secured other
rights. Freedom of religion was the fruit of Enlightenment thinking, compromise
(where many religions jostled, it proved easier to let them be), and
Christianity itself (“desiring to doe unto all men as we desire all men should
doe unto us,” as the Flushing Remonstrance put it). Freedom of the press
flourished because colonial juries nullified English laws against sedition. But
liberty, as Burke observed, is power. Undefined and unfiltered, it inevitably
degenerates into the liberty of the strongest, whether in the form of anarchy
or of despotism. American thinking about the right matrix of liberty was
summarized in the Declaration of Independence, the national birth certificate.
Thomas Jefferson, its draftsman, claimed in his old age
that he had not been declaring his own particular thoughts, but simply
supplying “an expression of the American mind.” So he had: The Continental
Congress, which adopted his document, red-penciled his peroration and his
indictment of George III. It left the philosophical statement with which the
Declaration begins — a masterpiece of compression, only half of the second
paragraph — almost untouched. The representatives of all 13 states signed off
on it because it was, as Jefferson said, “the common sense of the subject.”
This half paragraph affirms American liberties in the
most sweeping manner. Self-rule gets mentioned (“Governments . . . deriv[e]
their just powers from the consent of the governed”), as do “Life, Liberty and
the pursuit of Happiness.” Perhaps its most startling word is “among” (“among
these [rights] are . . .”). The Declaration is not a bill of rights, because it
won’t presume to make an exhaustive list.
The source of American liberty is the “Creator” (“endowed
by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights”). Jefferson’s language can be
as elusive as it is ringing. Though he esteemed Jesus as a moralist, he was
personally no more religious than Ricky Gervais. But while he and Congress were
perhaps fudging a theological point, settling on a formula that would embrace
both him and a Calvinist nurtured in the Great Awakening such as Sam Adams,
they were making a vital political point: The rights Americans enjoy come from
outside history, and outside mankind. Thomas Jefferson did not confer them;
neither did Congress. As no one made them, so no one can efface them. Rulers
can trample them, of course (as Congress believed George III was then doing).
But they are as much a part of us as arteries or imagination.
The great half paragraph begins with a clause, the first
of its self-evident truths, that is as practical as it is philosophical: “all
men are created equal.” This is the Declaration’s balance wheel, the limit that
it places on everyone’s liberty. No man’s power may justly annihilate
another’s, because no man belongs to a different, superior order of being than
any other. The one-man–one-vote practice of the Jamestown General Assembly is
rewritten in gold.
The new Constitution, written eleven years later to
replace the Articles of Confederation, confirmed the point. Like the
Declaration, it had a skillful draftsman — Gouverneur Morris, the peg-legged
ladies’ man from the Bronx. (No prole he — Morris was a wealthy elitist, and
proud of it.) But the Constitution was a collective document, argued into shape
by 55 men over four months and then debated nationwide for a year. Four
provisions and one silence established equality in America’s fundamental law.
Article II, Section 1, gave the executive power to an
elected president, while Article IV, Section 4, guaranteed each state a
republican form of government. There would be no royalty in the United States,
neither nationally nor locally.
No lords either — Article I, Sections 9 and 10, prevents
both the federal and state governments from granting titles of nobility.
And while the Constitution wove slavery into American
life and government in several ways — mandating the return from one state to
another of fugitive slaves, partially counting slaves in the calculation of
representatives and presidential electors, allowing states to continue the
slave trade for at least 20 years — it did not use the word “slave,” referring
instead to “Person” or “Persons.” On paper, at least, there would be no classes
in American life.
The prohibitions against royalty and nobility may seem
needless, closing the barn door after the horse has been let go. But the
temptation to look up and exalt was — and is — strong. One of Washington’s
officers during the Revolution, Colonel Lewis Nicola, suggested Washington
become king afterwards; another, General William Alexander, claimed to be a
Scottish earl and was punctiliously addressed as “Lord Stirling” by his
comrades. Elected political dynasties have flourished throughout our history,
from Adamses to Cuomos — to say nothing of the worship Americans accord
athletes, entertainers, and now, it would seem, influencers. The Constitution
wisely prohibited kings and lords because Americans, like any other people, are
so often unwise.
A law passed by the Articles of Confederation Congress in
the summer of 1787 was more forthright than the Constitution on the subject of
slavery. The Northwest Ordinance settled the status of one-fourth of the
country, bounded by Pennsylvania, the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, and the
Great Lakes. The authorship of the Ordinance, unlike that of the Declaration
and the Constitution, is somewhat clouded; Nathan Dane and Rufus King,
congressmen from Massachusetts, usually get the credit. Manasseh Cutler, a Congregationalist
minister and land speculator — what an American type — also gave input. The
Ordinance directed that the Northwest Territory become states, on a par with
the original 13, as soon as it was settled. It also declared that “there shall
be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said territory,” except as
punishment for crimes.
Yet whatever the Northwest Ordinance said or the
Constitution didn’t say about slaves, there were almost 700,000 of them in the
United States when those documents were written (out of a population of almost
4 million). “Why is it,” the Tory abolitionist Samuel Johnson had asked as the
Revolution began, “that the loudest yelps for liberty are heard from drivers of
Negroes?”
Many in the founding generation asked themselves this
question. Their answers were various. Many had never owned slaves (John Adams,
the people of Vermont). Others freed those they owned (George Washington at his
death). Still others passed laws abolishing slavery, immediately or gradually,
in five states by 1789, in two more by 1804. And some Founders who continued to
own human property continued to agonize over the question. In 1835 James
Madison, one of the last Founders left standing, told Harriet Martineau, an
English traveler, that he hoped American slaves — over 2 million by then —
might be freed and sent to Liberia. (Martineau, who knew how few had so far
been sent there, was skeptical: “How such a mind as his could derive
alleviation to its anxiety from that source is surprising.”) Many felt no
anxiety. John Rutledge — whose brother Edward had signed the Declaration of
Independence for their home state, South Carolina — told the Constitutional
Convention, to which he was a delegate, that “religion and humanity” were
irrelevant when considering the slave trade. “Interest alone is the governing
principle with nations.”
Or maybe, when declaring that “all men are created
equal,” the Founders simply meant men like themselves — white men. This was the
argument advanced by racists, south and north, in the 19th century, and oddly
by BLM protesters today. It was answered, in every generation, by those
(Frederick Douglass, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr.) who asserted that
the founding documents were freedom documents, setting a standard against the
day when it might be met.
It is important to get our founding right, for the world
as well as for us. The American Revolution was the first of an era of
revolutions that has not ended yet. So many of them have turned out worse. The
two nearest to ours in time set the pattern. France would not find domestic
tranquility until the Third and Fifth Republics. Haiti is still looking.
We once brought a great thing into the world. Our job is to understand and uphold it.
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