Barbara Clark Smith. The Freedoms We Lost: Consent and Resistance in Revolutionary America.
New York: The New Press, 2010.
In the Preface, Barbara Clark Smith establishes that in many important ways, Americans today enjoy many more--and in many ways, greater--freedoms than colonial and Revolutionary-era Americans did; she assures the reader that "Early America was no golden age." (xi) Her goal here is not to claim that early Americans were better off or "more free" than today, but rather that they enjoyed and believed in different freedoms. Those freedoms were vested in a radically different conception of the relationship between the individual, and both society and government. That understanding provided a context in which a more consensual notion of "governing", based on a sense that a unified "people" provided consent not only to how law was made but also how--and even if--it was implemented.
The world in which these earlier freedoms existed was one in which "the people" were subjects, rather than citizens, a distinction which on first glance would seem to offer little room for any meaningful freedom as modern-day Americans understand them. (3) But while ultimate sovereignty was not vested in the people as a whole, and neither suffrage nor representation were as universal or equitable as contemporary ideals would hold, colonial Americans conceptualized their freedoms in different ways. While their ability to control the reins of government and direct the creation of laws and legal institutions, both common law and custom vested them with an ability to modulate, regulate, and even negate the implementation of law. Through collective public actions, and juries, "the people" participated in the political culture of their society by, in theory at least, embodying and clarifying a unitary sentiment. "The people" did not have direct say in the laws and dictates their government imposed, but they did have the right--even the obligation--to give, or withhold, their consent.
This conception of a collective consensus extended to realms which later Americans would regard as being "economics" rather than "politics." There was a moral dimension to what we call "market relations", in that no transaction was purely a matter between buyer and seller. The community itself had a claim on the terms in which goods and services were produced, distributed, and sold. This consensus, however, would begin to break down during the later years of the Revolution. The sacrifices the Patriot movement required become more and more questionable to many as the war dragged on and the initial enthusiasm for war and revolution abated.
Whether or not this older conception would have survived had the war been shorter is an open question; there were other stresses on the old order. Most importantly, the development of the ideal of popular sovereignty, along with total representation, eliminated much of the rationale for the old ways. The idea that crowds could and should negotiate the terms of compliance with constitutional government became more and more problematic as former Patriots such as Samuel Adams accommodated themselves to the idea that elections were the proper--perhaps the only--arena for political action by "the People." Americans had gained many new freedoms, but they lost others.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Sealed with Blood
Sarah J. Purcell. Sealed with Blood: War, Sacrifice, and Memory in Revolutionary America.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002
This books takes a subject which on first glance may seem limited--the ways in which public remembrance of Revolutionary War heroes changed in the first half-century of American history. However, Purcell explains in the Introduction that "To understand how the Revolutionary War contributed to the earliest formation of national identity is to understand something crucial and long lasting about American political culture." (10) The subsequent chapters support that statement. By tracing how American chose to remember and honor those who had suffered--and especially, particularly in earlier years, those who had died--in the Revolutionary War, Purcell is able to illustrate how early American nationalism was increasingly contested between elite-oriented Republican ideals and emerging democratic norms.
The book is divided into five chapters, covering the era in chronological order. According to Purcell, remembrance went through discrete stages during different periods; first, during the war itself; then, during the Articles of Confederation era; changed again during the Federalist era; evolved towards more democratic norms from 1801 to 1819; and then what was left of the unitary nature of Revolutionary commemoration fractured from 1800 to 1825, on the verge of the Jacksonian period.
In general, the movement was towards greater democratization--in the early chapters, Purcell argues that it was widely accepted by most Americans that it was fitting that elite officers who died in battle should be commemorated in the interests of the greater Republican good. The idea of honoring ordinary soldiers never came up, and would have been regarded as counter-productive; deference was still an important social value during the Revolutionary period. (22)
But while ordinary Americans were not at first fit subjects for commemoration, they had an important role to play in these rituals--the widespread participation of Americans of different strata of society, including women, was both expected and indeed necessary in order for society to be united and proper national feeling derived from such ceremonies, writings, and memorials.
Later, however, events would force the sacrifices and experiences of ordinary Americans to the forefront, and increasingly both the memoirs of middling and working-class participants in the Revolutions, as well as memorials dedicated to the collective sacrifice of ordinary soldiers, would be seen as proper and even necessary functions of national collective remembrance. As a second war with Britain loomed on the horizon in the early 19th century, there was also a new focus on the naval experience in the Revolution. This ultimately led to a recognition of the suffering of American prisoners on British prison ships--a powerful parallel to what impressed sailors were going through as the War of 1812 drew near.
Finally, the return of the Marquis de Lafayette to America allowed for surviving veterans to take a place in the very public, and very national, spectacle of Lafayette's return. The elderly French hero was very welcoming to all former veterans--even, on some very notable occasions, to African-American veterans who otherwise had been written out of the evolving orthodox narrative.
By this point, not only had the deference to great leaders as emblematic of the entire national experience passed, but also the notion that there was one, unified national memory that all Americans could agree on and rally around was little more than a comforting illusion. Americans North and South would continue to insist that the Revolution held a special meaning, but they would disagree more and more strongly about what that meaning was.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002
This books takes a subject which on first glance may seem limited--the ways in which public remembrance of Revolutionary War heroes changed in the first half-century of American history. However, Purcell explains in the Introduction that "To understand how the Revolutionary War contributed to the earliest formation of national identity is to understand something crucial and long lasting about American political culture." (10) The subsequent chapters support that statement. By tracing how American chose to remember and honor those who had suffered--and especially, particularly in earlier years, those who had died--in the Revolutionary War, Purcell is able to illustrate how early American nationalism was increasingly contested between elite-oriented Republican ideals and emerging democratic norms.
The book is divided into five chapters, covering the era in chronological order. According to Purcell, remembrance went through discrete stages during different periods; first, during the war itself; then, during the Articles of Confederation era; changed again during the Federalist era; evolved towards more democratic norms from 1801 to 1819; and then what was left of the unitary nature of Revolutionary commemoration fractured from 1800 to 1825, on the verge of the Jacksonian period.
In general, the movement was towards greater democratization--in the early chapters, Purcell argues that it was widely accepted by most Americans that it was fitting that elite officers who died in battle should be commemorated in the interests of the greater Republican good. The idea of honoring ordinary soldiers never came up, and would have been regarded as counter-productive; deference was still an important social value during the Revolutionary period. (22)
But while ordinary Americans were not at first fit subjects for commemoration, they had an important role to play in these rituals--the widespread participation of Americans of different strata of society, including women, was both expected and indeed necessary in order for society to be united and proper national feeling derived from such ceremonies, writings, and memorials.
Later, however, events would force the sacrifices and experiences of ordinary Americans to the forefront, and increasingly both the memoirs of middling and working-class participants in the Revolutions, as well as memorials dedicated to the collective sacrifice of ordinary soldiers, would be seen as proper and even necessary functions of national collective remembrance. As a second war with Britain loomed on the horizon in the early 19th century, there was also a new focus on the naval experience in the Revolution. This ultimately led to a recognition of the suffering of American prisoners on British prison ships--a powerful parallel to what impressed sailors were going through as the War of 1812 drew near.
Finally, the return of the Marquis de Lafayette to America allowed for surviving veterans to take a place in the very public, and very national, spectacle of Lafayette's return. The elderly French hero was very welcoming to all former veterans--even, on some very notable occasions, to African-American veterans who otherwise had been written out of the evolving orthodox narrative.
By this point, not only had the deference to great leaders as emblematic of the entire national experience passed, but also the notion that there was one, unified national memory that all Americans could agree on and rally around was little more than a comforting illusion. Americans North and South would continue to insist that the Revolution held a special meaning, but they would disagree more and more strongly about what that meaning was.
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Tom Paine's America
Seth Cotlar. Tom Paine's America: The Rise and Fall of Radicalism in the Early Republic.
Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2011.
Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2011.
Cotlar’s provocatively titled book
begins with a moving, and slightly pathetic, account of Tom Paine’s
less-than-triumphant return to the United States, in 1802. The former bard of
Democracy and Revolution was reduced to hoofing it from tavern to tavern in
Baltimore looking for one which would provide lodging to a man now widely reviled
as an atheist and a “Jacobin.” The contrast between this ignominious episode,
and the reference to “Tom Paine’s America” in the title is striking. Thomas
Paine found Americans in the early 1800s to be largely either hostile or
indifferent to his return and his person, a situation which—as the Epilogue
makes clear—would largely continue to this death, and beyond. So what, exactly,
was the “America” which Cotlar claims was his, and what happened to it?
The intervening five chapters illuminate the rise and fall of that now largely forgotten America; one which embraced a trans-Atlantic, radical democracy as its ultimate goal. The ‘Paineites’ in Cotlar’s narrative held a view of democracy which was more expansive, all-encompassing, and radical than the purely suffrage-based model we are more familiar with. They considered themselves part of a larger democratic movement, one which took inspiration from other countries as well as crediting Americans for doing the same; devotees of Paine’s teachings saw democratic revolution as a truly universal phenomenon, one which was defined neither by American exceptionalism, nor by a limitation to what is now considered the “political” sphere.
Indeed, the very notion of what was “political” was contested in the early years of the republic, just as what “democracy” meant was. In both cases, the Paineites advocated a broader conception of those concepts; in both cases, their interpretations—which were influential and important during the Revolutionary era—would eventually be discredited by a new, more moderate consensus.
The intervening five chapters illuminate the rise and fall of that now largely forgotten America; one which embraced a trans-Atlantic, radical democracy as its ultimate goal. The ‘Paineites’ in Cotlar’s narrative held a view of democracy which was more expansive, all-encompassing, and radical than the purely suffrage-based model we are more familiar with. They considered themselves part of a larger democratic movement, one which took inspiration from other countries as well as crediting Americans for doing the same; devotees of Paine’s teachings saw democratic revolution as a truly universal phenomenon, one which was defined neither by American exceptionalism, nor by a limitation to what is now considered the “political” sphere.
Indeed, the very notion of what was “political” was contested in the early years of the republic, just as what “democracy” meant was. In both cases, the Paineites advocated a broader conception of those concepts; in both cases, their interpretations—which were influential and important during the Revolutionary era—would eventually be discredited by a new, more moderate consensus.
But Paineites did not give up without a
fight; for some time after Tom Paine himself left America for France, his
followers continued to advocate his ideals; one of Cotlar’s arguments is that
Paineites existed in a much more intense and active dialogue with—and
understanding of—liberal democratic activism in Europe. It was easy for them to
tie their own cause, whether it took shape in nascent working-class activism or
in the many Democratic-Republican Societies, to the fate of similar groups
espousing similar goals in Great Britain and France. And for a while, this
position was both popular and broadly acceptable to many Americans. So while
there was always a conservative opposition to Paineite ideology, conservatives
such as John Adams felt obligated either to criticize radical democrats
obliquely, or in private.
That would change, however; the rise of Jacobin violence in France, and the supposed influence of the Democratic-Republican Societies on the Whiskey Rebellion, began to put Paineites on the defensive. More and more, they were forced to explain their support for movements which seemed to threaten good government, the new Constitution, and social harmony.
That would change, however; the rise of Jacobin violence in France, and the supposed influence of the Democratic-Republican Societies on the Whiskey Rebellion, began to put Paineites on the defensive. More and more, they were forced to explain their support for movements which seemed to threaten good government, the new Constitution, and social harmony.
The Painites would continue to have a
place in the anti-Federalist opposition for some time, but ironically it was
the victory of Jefferson and the Republicans in 1800 which sounded the death
knell for Paine’s followers as a vital and formidable political force.
Jefferson and his followers quickly disassociated themselves from the radical
democrats—now routinely disparaged by “respectable” Republicans as well as
Federalists as ‘Jacobins’—who had helped them gain power; the Federalist
establishment returned the favor by acknowledging that Jefferson and his
Republican coalition were much more respectable than the Jacobin rabble.
Property was safe, as was respectable political leadership by sober,
respectable men. Questions about leveling, ending slavery, and so forth could
be safely forgotten. In the end, America was able to avoid the trauma of the
French Revolution by taming and restricting the scope of what “democracy” meant
and how far it should go.
Paine himself died a nearly forgotten man, spending his days with a tiny, dwindling band of like-minded artisan deists and radicals, all of whom would strive to keep the flame of radical democracy flickering for future generations to rediscover.
Paine himself died a nearly forgotten man, spending his days with a tiny, dwindling band of like-minded artisan deists and radicals, all of whom would strive to keep the flame of radical democracy flickering for future generations to rediscover.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
The Other Founders
Saul Cornell. The Other Founders: Anti-Federalism & the Dissenting Tradition in America, 1788-1828. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1999.
Cornell argues that while "the structure of American was crafted by the Federalists, the spirit of American politics has more often been inspired by the Anti-Federalists." (1) This is a sweeping claim, which he repeats at the end of the book (where he credits Martin Van Buren for this formulation). As the subtitle implies, Anti-Federalism as a movement was an active, and self-consciously oppositional, factor in American politics for several decades after the ratification of the Constitution. During that time period, a varied group of writers and politicians created a vibrant and varied body of writing based on a broadly-shared commitment to resisting a highly-centralized ("consolidated") national government.
Anti-Federalism during the ratification process included three distinct groups: elite, middling, and plebian. A shared commitment to resisting ratification, and an ability to read different things into similar language (a commitment to "liberty" could mean very different things to a wealthy, slave-owning plantation owner than to journeyman tanner in western Pennsylvania) allowed these three groups to work together to a degree. The same ambiguity in meaning also meant that texts could be used and read by others in a manner neither intended nor understood by the author.
Cornell argues that this diversity has confused historians and scholars, and was part of the reason why the Anti-Federalists were relatively marginalized in American history for so long. But he argues that "Weighting texts according to their influence in their time, however, reveals a clear, consistent Anti-Federalist critique." (10) Such a reading reveals a much more cohesive vision; one which quite consistently claimed to be a genuinely 'federal' ideology committed to a balance of power between more democratic state governments and a strictly and explicitly limited national government. This vision was made of "three components: federalism, constitutional textualism, and support for a vigorous public sphere of political debate." (11)
The book is divided in three parts. Part I considers the original ratification debate. Cornell considers the importance of rhetoric as well as how texts were read and shared, and by whom. He also contrasts the stances of elite Anti-Federalists with those of the middling and plebian sorts. The latter two groups had much common ground, but plebian support for the Carlisle riot (in which Anti-Federalist mobs threatened and harassed local Federalists, destroying property in the process) led to a split which created the possibility of an alliance between middling and elite Federalists--an alliance which in some ways anticipates Van Buren's Republican coalition. Resorts to mob violence, as well as radically democratic rhetoric, would continue to hamper plebian success and mitigate against an alliance with middling Anti-Federalists.
Part II details how the language, rhetoric, and arguments of Anti-Federalism influenced and shaped Jeffersonian Republican politics as the Republican coalition worked out the process of functioning as a loyal opposition. As Madison joined their ranks, he helped craft a "Madisonian" variant of the Anti-Federalism argument. His arguments were less radical and anti-statist than much of Anti-Federalist thought, eventually becoming something of an orthodoxy for the rising Republican Party.
In Part III, the coalition behind Anti-Federalism began to fracture in the wake of Jefferson's electoral success; the challenge of having to govern put new strains on the fractures which had been latent during years of being the party in opposition. Ultimately, some Republicans would move beyond Madison's consensus, while John C. Calhoun would ignore Anti-Federalism entirely, and craft the novel doctrine of nullification from an esoteric reading of Federalist arguments.
Anti-Federalism was finished as a coherent, self-conscious political faction, but it left a body of work which addressed many core facets of American politics and political theory; one which Americans across the entire political spectrum continue to draw on.
Cornell argues that while "the structure of American was crafted by the Federalists, the spirit of American politics has more often been inspired by the Anti-Federalists." (1) This is a sweeping claim, which he repeats at the end of the book (where he credits Martin Van Buren for this formulation). As the subtitle implies, Anti-Federalism as a movement was an active, and self-consciously oppositional, factor in American politics for several decades after the ratification of the Constitution. During that time period, a varied group of writers and politicians created a vibrant and varied body of writing based on a broadly-shared commitment to resisting a highly-centralized ("consolidated") national government.
Anti-Federalism during the ratification process included three distinct groups: elite, middling, and plebian. A shared commitment to resisting ratification, and an ability to read different things into similar language (a commitment to "liberty" could mean very different things to a wealthy, slave-owning plantation owner than to journeyman tanner in western Pennsylvania) allowed these three groups to work together to a degree. The same ambiguity in meaning also meant that texts could be used and read by others in a manner neither intended nor understood by the author.
Cornell argues that this diversity has confused historians and scholars, and was part of the reason why the Anti-Federalists were relatively marginalized in American history for so long. But he argues that "Weighting texts according to their influence in their time, however, reveals a clear, consistent Anti-Federalist critique." (10) Such a reading reveals a much more cohesive vision; one which quite consistently claimed to be a genuinely 'federal' ideology committed to a balance of power between more democratic state governments and a strictly and explicitly limited national government. This vision was made of "three components: federalism, constitutional textualism, and support for a vigorous public sphere of political debate." (11)
The book is divided in three parts. Part I considers the original ratification debate. Cornell considers the importance of rhetoric as well as how texts were read and shared, and by whom. He also contrasts the stances of elite Anti-Federalists with those of the middling and plebian sorts. The latter two groups had much common ground, but plebian support for the Carlisle riot (in which Anti-Federalist mobs threatened and harassed local Federalists, destroying property in the process) led to a split which created the possibility of an alliance between middling and elite Federalists--an alliance which in some ways anticipates Van Buren's Republican coalition. Resorts to mob violence, as well as radically democratic rhetoric, would continue to hamper plebian success and mitigate against an alliance with middling Anti-Federalists.
Part II details how the language, rhetoric, and arguments of Anti-Federalism influenced and shaped Jeffersonian Republican politics as the Republican coalition worked out the process of functioning as a loyal opposition. As Madison joined their ranks, he helped craft a "Madisonian" variant of the Anti-Federalism argument. His arguments were less radical and anti-statist than much of Anti-Federalist thought, eventually becoming something of an orthodoxy for the rising Republican Party.
In Part III, the coalition behind Anti-Federalism began to fracture in the wake of Jefferson's electoral success; the challenge of having to govern put new strains on the fractures which had been latent during years of being the party in opposition. Ultimately, some Republicans would move beyond Madison's consensus, while John C. Calhoun would ignore Anti-Federalism entirely, and craft the novel doctrine of nullification from an esoteric reading of Federalist arguments.
Anti-Federalism was finished as a coherent, self-conscious political faction, but it left a body of work which addressed many core facets of American politics and political theory; one which Americans across the entire political spectrum continue to draw on.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
A Revolution in Favor of Government
Max M. Edling. A Revolution in Favor of Government: Origins of he U.S. Constitution and the Making of the American State. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.
Max Edling examines the ratification debate over the Constitution through the lens of a broader consideration of Federalist literature than most previous studies and scholars had offered. The result isn't just a more complete understanding of Federalist arguments for ratification, but a reconsideration of the larger program and ideology Federalists, in general, advocated for.
Edling argues that orthodox studies of the Federalist position on ratification and the Constitution have been skewed by too heavy an emphasis on the Federalist Papers in general, and the writings of James Madison especially. The Madisonian interpretation is important in American political history, and has been very influential, but "[t]hanks to the publication of The Documentary History of the Ratification of the Constitution, it is now possible to investigate the Federalist side of the debate more inclusively than has previously been the case." (7) In doing so, Edling concludes that the Madisonian argument, rather than either summarizing the main thrust of Federalist thought, or standing in the ideological center of it, was actually in many ways out of sync. While Madison was concerned primarily with structure--such matters as separation of powers, the roles of different branches, etc.--Edling argues that Federalists in general put much more emphasis not on the limits placed on government, but the powers given to it.
Those powers were not general or unspecified--they were the power to tax, and to wage war. The Federalists products of the late eighteenth-century world; a time which saw the rise of the "fiscal-military state" in Europe; according the Edling, the Federalists believed that the only way the new nation could guarantee its safety, prosperity, and continued sovereignty was to adopt the same tools which European powers relied on to create military, diplomatic, and economic power. And they had to do so within the context of a country with a deeply-rooted anti-statist tradition, as well as immature or unformed institutions.
One advantage of looking at Federalism through this interpretive lens is that the broader trends of Anti-Federalist thought actually appears more coherent and consistent than many standard interpretations allow. Edling makes a strong case that both sides were not arguing over "democracy" versus "aristocracy" or other abstract political dichotomies, but rather over the very concrete issues of whether or not the new government under the Constitution would have ultimate power over its citizens through the power to extract resources and commit men to armed conflict.
The bulk of the book considers those two issues--taxation, and a standing army--from both sides of the debate. A debate, Edling argues, which the Federalists wanted to be extensive and deliberate, in contrast to at least some interpretations which picture a well-organized Federalist minority pushing through a little-understand invention before the inchoate opposition could craft a systematic alternative.
Max Edling examines the ratification debate over the Constitution through the lens of a broader consideration of Federalist literature than most previous studies and scholars had offered. The result isn't just a more complete understanding of Federalist arguments for ratification, but a reconsideration of the larger program and ideology Federalists, in general, advocated for.
Edling argues that orthodox studies of the Federalist position on ratification and the Constitution have been skewed by too heavy an emphasis on the Federalist Papers in general, and the writings of James Madison especially. The Madisonian interpretation is important in American political history, and has been very influential, but "[t]hanks to the publication of The Documentary History of the Ratification of the Constitution, it is now possible to investigate the Federalist side of the debate more inclusively than has previously been the case." (7) In doing so, Edling concludes that the Madisonian argument, rather than either summarizing the main thrust of Federalist thought, or standing in the ideological center of it, was actually in many ways out of sync. While Madison was concerned primarily with structure--such matters as separation of powers, the roles of different branches, etc.--Edling argues that Federalists in general put much more emphasis not on the limits placed on government, but the powers given to it.
Those powers were not general or unspecified--they were the power to tax, and to wage war. The Federalists products of the late eighteenth-century world; a time which saw the rise of the "fiscal-military state" in Europe; according the Edling, the Federalists believed that the only way the new nation could guarantee its safety, prosperity, and continued sovereignty was to adopt the same tools which European powers relied on to create military, diplomatic, and economic power. And they had to do so within the context of a country with a deeply-rooted anti-statist tradition, as well as immature or unformed institutions.
One advantage of looking at Federalism through this interpretive lens is that the broader trends of Anti-Federalist thought actually appears more coherent and consistent than many standard interpretations allow. Edling makes a strong case that both sides were not arguing over "democracy" versus "aristocracy" or other abstract political dichotomies, but rather over the very concrete issues of whether or not the new government under the Constitution would have ultimate power over its citizens through the power to extract resources and commit men to armed conflict.
The bulk of the book considers those two issues--taxation, and a standing army--from both sides of the debate. A debate, Edling argues, which the Federalists wanted to be extensive and deliberate, in contrast to at least some interpretations which picture a well-organized Federalist minority pushing through a little-understand invention before the inchoate opposition could craft a systematic alternative.
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