John Quincy Adams
Robert V. Remini
As usual, I've waited a month or two to write in this blog since reading the book, but as I think about my general impression of John Quincy Adams, I think about how the presidency of the early 19th century was actually quite similar to the modern office, in some important ways.
The big thing is, the president is not an island. He certainly gets all the attention, and we have very strict standards about whether a person is 'presidential' or not in appearance and demeanor, but he really can't accomplish anything at all on his own. The interesting thing about Adams is that he was actually old-fashioned even in his own time in his belief that 'public servants' should be above politics, and should pull together the best ideas from any source, rather than sticking doggedly to a partisan agenda, no matter the consequence. Then, as today, that kind of productive, thoughtful and balanced approach did not go unpunished. He was by turns despised and ridiculed by his own party and the opposition.
So then, as now, the president is a manager of a political party, trying to get it to hold together well enough to accomplish something. Some are obviously much better at this than others. Adams wasn't very good.
Interesting, too, that Adams had a long and productive career in the Senate after his one term in the White House. That's a measure of his commitment to public service, and a belief that's probably out of reach in this day in age, that the presidency is just one of several important positions in the federal government, no more or less important than the civic responsibility carried out by tens of thousands of other individuals from clerks to letter carriers.
The term 'president' - the one who presides - is an interesting one, deliberately unimpressive and bureaucratic sounding. This person was meant to be a high level manager and facilitator, not the 'chief American' as we tend to think of him today (to our shame in some cases). It's the Congress that's supposed to be the real 'representation' of our best. We seem by now, though, to have given up on them. In part, I think, it's because may of us have lost a sense of local identity. As a California native I know I certainly never had a regional identity, that I was aware of, the way I imagine Southerners or New Englanders do. Perhaps that is my regional identity - one of national interest. And when it comes down to it, I do take pride in the fact that it's usually California law that the federal government uses as a model for its most progressive efforts.
At any rate, John Quincy Adams... a good man, big eyebrows, liked to swim, and in some ways a model for virtue in the political realm, useless as that may be.
Probably going to be a while before I get back to this blog as I prepare for the GRE, grad school applications and about a zillion other books to read. But I'm looking forward to reading some good, recent examinations of the incredible damage done to the cause of justice by Andrew Jackson - whose face we see every time we visit an ATM, not coincidentally.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
5. James Monroe
James Monroe
by Gary Hart
Gary Hart (former presidential candidate himself) frames his biography of Monroe with the idea that Monroe was the first 'national security' president. While that's a political term we're very familiar with today, the loosely aligned former colonies along the Atlantic Ocean in 1816 were still figuring out what it meant to be a nation, let alone what it looked like to secure such a place.
The Revolution, of course, and the War of 1812 had certainly drawn together resources and interests to a degree, though it seems from my reading that local and regional cultural identity still meant much more to citizens than any national identity. James Monroe is most famous for the Monroe Doctrine, and there's an interesting line in Hart's book from a Latin American political observer of our time, Salvador de Madariaga, who says:
"I only know two things about the Monroe Doctrine. One is that no American I have met knows what it is; the other is that no American I have met will consent to its being tampered with.... I conclude that the Monroe Doctrine is not a doctrine but a dogma, ... not one dogma but two, to wit: the dogma of the infallibility of the American President and the dogma of the immaculate conception of American foreign policy." (p 128)
That's the understanding I've had, more or less, of the principles Monroe outlined in his annual address to Congress in 1823. He essentially said, "Europe, don't mess with the Western Hemisphere, and we won't mess with you." From my vantage point, here in the 21st century, that seems like a plain statement of imperial plans, and I don't think that would be a tough argument to make about the last 180 years of our history.
But Hart quotes Monroe biographer Harry Ammon's defense that "to Monroe (and his contemporaries) the declaration had only a moral character; it was not an assertion of imperial mission." (p 124) The idea being that the point of the statement was as much to assure Europe that the US would not interfere in its internal political and military interchanges, as it was to defend the actions of the people of former Spanish colonies in Latin America who had revolted against their colonial masters, just as the US had shortly before. This concept is complicated, for me, though, by the fact that for Monroe and his contemporaries, there was an emergent "manifest destiny" that (at least) the North American continent was wide open and vacant for the United States to expand as it saw fit.
Even Hart, a 20th century Democrat, lauds Monroe for the hard work of his administration in forming a fledgling "Indian resettlement policy" and keeping the "toxic issue of slavery... caged as the Union added new states" (149) with no apparent irony. Hart spends a good 3 pages defending the notion that Monroe had no plans for empire or conquest - but somehow misses the systematic genocide that had already begun to be practiced on the former inhabitants of the North American continent. Hart does what many contemporary historians seem to do, which is to fully absolve leaders of the past for not acting on behalf of the abused or oppressed, leaning on an ingrained notion we all seem to have that in the past "everybody thought that was OK" so we can't really hold any one of them personally responsible.
This thinking, of course, is self-confirming, and ultimately demands no accountability of anyone, in any time period. It also feeds the common notion that our present moment is perpetually the moment of the most clarity, the most moral integrity in the history of humanity. We've never been better, or more 'developed' than we are now, and we can only get better. It's the sort of thinking that allows us to think that the injustice and legacy of slavery was wiped away in the year 1865; that the larger issue of racism was neatly wrapped up in 1965. That gender equality was forever established in the 1970s, and that capitalism was confirmed by God as His preferred economic system in 1991 with the fall of the Soviet Union. In short, all of history has happened in order to result in this crowning achievement: me, just as I am.
But I digress. I don't intend to hold James Monroe responsible for American hypernationalism in the 21st century. (Hart makes an interesting point, actually, about the twisted assertion of Monroe's principles by George W. Bush in his lead up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq.) But I find myself less than 50 years into American political history and already well into the mythic sense we seem to have of our own value to the world.
I'm perfectly happy to value America! But I'm frustrated by what seems to be an endless supply of writing and perspectives that presuppose a moral superiority in early America.
The stories we tell about ourselves should not be simply inspiring, provoking hope and commitment to continuing our highest common purposes - they should also be true.
by Gary Hart
Gary Hart (former presidential candidate himself) frames his biography of Monroe with the idea that Monroe was the first 'national security' president. While that's a political term we're very familiar with today, the loosely aligned former colonies along the Atlantic Ocean in 1816 were still figuring out what it meant to be a nation, let alone what it looked like to secure such a place.
The Revolution, of course, and the War of 1812 had certainly drawn together resources and interests to a degree, though it seems from my reading that local and regional cultural identity still meant much more to citizens than any national identity. James Monroe is most famous for the Monroe Doctrine, and there's an interesting line in Hart's book from a Latin American political observer of our time, Salvador de Madariaga, who says:
"I only know two things about the Monroe Doctrine. One is that no American I have met knows what it is; the other is that no American I have met will consent to its being tampered with.... I conclude that the Monroe Doctrine is not a doctrine but a dogma, ... not one dogma but two, to wit: the dogma of the infallibility of the American President and the dogma of the immaculate conception of American foreign policy." (p 128)
That's the understanding I've had, more or less, of the principles Monroe outlined in his annual address to Congress in 1823. He essentially said, "Europe, don't mess with the Western Hemisphere, and we won't mess with you." From my vantage point, here in the 21st century, that seems like a plain statement of imperial plans, and I don't think that would be a tough argument to make about the last 180 years of our history.
But Hart quotes Monroe biographer Harry Ammon's defense that "to Monroe (and his contemporaries) the declaration had only a moral character; it was not an assertion of imperial mission." (p 124) The idea being that the point of the statement was as much to assure Europe that the US would not interfere in its internal political and military interchanges, as it was to defend the actions of the people of former Spanish colonies in Latin America who had revolted against their colonial masters, just as the US had shortly before. This concept is complicated, for me, though, by the fact that for Monroe and his contemporaries, there was an emergent "manifest destiny" that (at least) the North American continent was wide open and vacant for the United States to expand as it saw fit.
Even Hart, a 20th century Democrat, lauds Monroe for the hard work of his administration in forming a fledgling "Indian resettlement policy" and keeping the "toxic issue of slavery... caged as the Union added new states" (149) with no apparent irony. Hart spends a good 3 pages defending the notion that Monroe had no plans for empire or conquest - but somehow misses the systematic genocide that had already begun to be practiced on the former inhabitants of the North American continent. Hart does what many contemporary historians seem to do, which is to fully absolve leaders of the past for not acting on behalf of the abused or oppressed, leaning on an ingrained notion we all seem to have that in the past "everybody thought that was OK" so we can't really hold any one of them personally responsible.
This thinking, of course, is self-confirming, and ultimately demands no accountability of anyone, in any time period. It also feeds the common notion that our present moment is perpetually the moment of the most clarity, the most moral integrity in the history of humanity. We've never been better, or more 'developed' than we are now, and we can only get better. It's the sort of thinking that allows us to think that the injustice and legacy of slavery was wiped away in the year 1865; that the larger issue of racism was neatly wrapped up in 1965. That gender equality was forever established in the 1970s, and that capitalism was confirmed by God as His preferred economic system in 1991 with the fall of the Soviet Union. In short, all of history has happened in order to result in this crowning achievement: me, just as I am.
But I digress. I don't intend to hold James Monroe responsible for American hypernationalism in the 21st century. (Hart makes an interesting point, actually, about the twisted assertion of Monroe's principles by George W. Bush in his lead up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq.) But I find myself less than 50 years into American political history and already well into the mythic sense we seem to have of our own value to the world.
I'm perfectly happy to value America! But I'm frustrated by what seems to be an endless supply of writing and perspectives that presuppose a moral superiority in early America.
The stories we tell about ourselves should not be simply inspiring, provoking hope and commitment to continuing our highest common purposes - they should also be true.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
4. James Madison
James Madison
by Garry Wills
I have a tendency to read these books and then put off writing about them for just long enough to forget the details but remember a general impression. I think that makes for less interesting reading for others, and more bizarre pronouncements on my part. But that's what blogs are for, I suppose.
Interesting character, James Madison. I find it fascinating the way the things we associate with 'liberal' or 'conservative' thought so readily these days were really up for grabs in the beginning. There was no short hand for things we take for granted today. Thomas Jefferson, and Madison, were Republicans in some prototypical way, and certainly spoke for states' rights in ways that are similar to today's conservatives. But government wire tapping would certainly offend their sense of personal liberty, as would the suspension of habeas corpus for 'enemy combatants'.
One thing that stood out to me in this story of Madison's presidency is the role of falsified intelligence in the lead up to the war with England in 1812. How striking given the circumstances of our current debacle in Iraq. But it points to a certain human nature - not natural to every human, but common enough to call a human nature - to make up one's mind to attack an enemy, and then see every experience through that perspective. To be so certain you're right that you see evidence confirming your position in everything. The conspiracy theories Madison got ahold of and used to energize the US against Britain were proved fakes before the war was even fully underway, but by then it didn't matter. The 'proof' appealed to the fear and insecurity in people and took hold of their imagination.
After September 11, I certainly felt more vulnerable. I also felt naive for believing that sort of thing could never happen here. And arrogant for thinking we couldn't possibly be harmed by unsophisticated people who didn't have our resources or equipment or intelligence. And a hunt for criminals in Afghanistan seemed to make sense at the time. Now here we are 5 years later, no closer to finding Osama bin Laden, and spending billions of dollars a month destroying and rebuilding a country on the oher side of the planet that happens to have a lot of oil underneath it.
Madison and Jefferson both liked the idea of a weak executive and a weak federal government until they actually sat in the president's seat and realized that if we were to be a unified republic, we needed a unified vision. That vision began leading to western expansion, a theme emerging even more in my next reading on Monroe - but an early American sense of entitlement to the world that has not passed away in the past 200 years.
We seem to be looking for our soul again, and I'm hopeful that this time it might be built less on domination and more on reconciliation.
by Garry Wills
I have a tendency to read these books and then put off writing about them for just long enough to forget the details but remember a general impression. I think that makes for less interesting reading for others, and more bizarre pronouncements on my part. But that's what blogs are for, I suppose.
Interesting character, James Madison. I find it fascinating the way the things we associate with 'liberal' or 'conservative' thought so readily these days were really up for grabs in the beginning. There was no short hand for things we take for granted today. Thomas Jefferson, and Madison, were Republicans in some prototypical way, and certainly spoke for states' rights in ways that are similar to today's conservatives. But government wire tapping would certainly offend their sense of personal liberty, as would the suspension of habeas corpus for 'enemy combatants'.
One thing that stood out to me in this story of Madison's presidency is the role of falsified intelligence in the lead up to the war with England in 1812. How striking given the circumstances of our current debacle in Iraq. But it points to a certain human nature - not natural to every human, but common enough to call a human nature - to make up one's mind to attack an enemy, and then see every experience through that perspective. To be so certain you're right that you see evidence confirming your position in everything. The conspiracy theories Madison got ahold of and used to energize the US against Britain were proved fakes before the war was even fully underway, but by then it didn't matter. The 'proof' appealed to the fear and insecurity in people and took hold of their imagination.
After September 11, I certainly felt more vulnerable. I also felt naive for believing that sort of thing could never happen here. And arrogant for thinking we couldn't possibly be harmed by unsophisticated people who didn't have our resources or equipment or intelligence. And a hunt for criminals in Afghanistan seemed to make sense at the time. Now here we are 5 years later, no closer to finding Osama bin Laden, and spending billions of dollars a month destroying and rebuilding a country on the oher side of the planet that happens to have a lot of oil underneath it.
Madison and Jefferson both liked the idea of a weak executive and a weak federal government until they actually sat in the president's seat and realized that if we were to be a unified republic, we needed a unified vision. That vision began leading to western expansion, a theme emerging even more in my next reading on Monroe - but an early American sense of entitlement to the world that has not passed away in the past 200 years.
We seem to be looking for our soul again, and I'm hopeful that this time it might be built less on domination and more on reconciliation.
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