Founding Brothers - Book Summary

Unlock the untold stories of America's architects.

Stereotypes and clichés often hold some amount of truth, but they also diminish and distort our understanding of complex realities. Just as a single-color painting would fail to capture the richness and depth of a landscape, clichés simplify the multidimensional stories they aim to tell.

Take, for example, the term “Founding Fathers.”

Undeniably, statesmen like Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and Thomas Jefferson played seminal roles in birthing the United States. Yet, portraying these icons simply as omnipotent, wise patriarchs of a fledgling nation narrows our perspective of history.

Enter historian Joseph Ellis with his book, "Founding Brothers," which offers a more nuanced narrative of these pivotal figures. He invites us on a journey where these founding members are portrayed not as infallible patriarchs, but as companions in a volatile quest, one fraught with uncertainty and risk.

Ellis isn't arguing against the brilliance of these men. Rather, he expands their image beyond singular dimensions. They were visionaries, sure, but they were also flawed and human. They made errors, took chances, and trusted their gut. They knew the art of compromise, and yet at times, were relentless. Above all, they held each other to a high standard of performance.

As we embark on this journey through "Founding Brothers," we’ll unravel the tale of a revolution with sky-high stakes, where every decision had the potential to shape the future of humanity. The confrontations and collaborations were deeply rooted in the awareness that they only had one shot to make it right.

So, let's delve deeper and discover:

- The crucial role of virtue in the ethos of America's revolutionary generation,

- The story behind the selection of Washington as the nation's capital, and

- The complex reasons why the torchbearers of the nation didn't abolish slavery immediately.

1776: The audacious gamble

History isn’t simply a static catalogue of facts and timelines. It is a dynamic tapestry that helps us make sense of our present world, a vibrant patchwork of the choices and consequences that shaped our existence.

Yet, the past doesn't inexorably unfold into our present reality. Its path is littered with crossroads, not all leading to the same destination. Each junction presents our ancestors with an array of choices and an uncharted future waiting to be unveiled.

So, let's spin the wheels of time back to 1775.

We're in North America. Thirteen colonies, all subjects to the world's mightiest military force—the British Empire—choose to rise in revolt. They engage in combat. A year on, in 1776, they articulate their reasons in an epoch-defining document—the Declaration of Independence. It's challenging to fully grasp the enormity of this daring gamble with the advantage of knowing the aftermath.

Their confrontation with the formidable British army and navy verged on the suicidal. Though victory was eventually secured in 1783, it was only after the American revolutionaries teetered on the brink of defeat multiple times. Beyond just battling a dominant military force, these revolutionaries saw themselves as defying the trajectory of human history itself.

Let's now narrow our focus to the nucleus of this revolution—our founding brothers. But before we delve into their individual tales, let's first explore a shared philosophy that underpinned their collective actions—the ideal of republicanism.

A republic is a polity where citizens exert sovereignty by electing representatives. They exercise autonomy, possessing the power to change their government—an entity that encapsulates the collective will of the citizens and functions as their custodian. In contemporary parlance, we'd label it a democracy.

Contrasting the republic is the monarchy—an umbrella term for absolutist regimes where citizens are mere subjects. These governing bodies remain unchallenged and demand nothing less than total obedience.

In 1776, monarchies ruled the world, as they had for most of human history. Exceptions, like the ancient Roman Republic, did exist, and these deviations were heralded by the American revolutionaries as beacons of liberty amidst a dark sea of despotism.

Yet, the revolutionaries were confronted with a quandary: why were such free states so uncommon? Why did they invariably dissolve into absolutist regimes? How did potential tyrants manage to dismantle republics like Rome, replacing them with oppressive monarchies? The answer the American revolutionaries found centered around the concept of virtue.

Integrity: The hallmark of republicanism

A tyrant doesn’t necessitate virtue to command loyalty or compliance. After all, he wields absolute authority. Recalcitrant subjects can be thrown into prisons or hanged without the intervention of unbiased juries. A despot’s whims become decrees; the monarch's voice echoes the final judgment.

Neither do the subjects of autocrats require virtue. On the contrary, it's preferable if they are self-centered and unethical. If they are granted profitable lands or exclusive selling rights of plush commodities by the despot, they won't champion equal rights for their compatriots. People lacking strong moral bearings are easily bought off.

But republics? Well, that's an entirely different ball game. In order to earn and sustain the loyalty of its citizens, a republican government has to embody virtue. If they fail to treat everyone justly, abide by their own laws, or act in favor of collective welfare, citizens are justified in replacing them—either through elections or revolutions.

Likewise, the citizens of a republic need to exemplify virtue. If they are excessively selfish or corrupt, they'll prioritize personal gains over community welfare, shattering the mutual trust that underpins power distribution. The fallout? A civil war and the collapse of the republic. This dire consequence can only be averted if citizens are willing to make compromises and place common good above personal interests. In essence, a good republican citizen has to be deeply patriotic.

This delineates why despotic monarchies have predominated human history: republics require exceptionally high standards to endure, not to mention prosper. Republics hinge entirely on the moral temperament of its people. Any lapse in political judgment or moral fortitude can doom a republic. This was the belief held by American revolutionaries, viewing it as the root cause of the downfall of historic republics like Rome.

When Romans upheld virtue, they embodied patriotism—they prioritized communal welfare. They fought for Rome's honor, not to ascend their own status or wealth. However, when consumed by personal ambition and greed, they prioritized personal gains over the republic’s welfare. Corruption and selfishness sowed seeds of internal strife, leading to conflicts and the eventual destruction of the republic.

The takeaway for America's republicans was crystal clear. The nation they were endeavoring to build—a free republic devoted to ensuring the liberty and prosperity of all—was a political anomaly. It was an audacious, daring move to challenge the historical precedent. It could only succeed if the revolutionary generation and its leaders consistently remained alert to any degradation of virtue.

As we'll discover, it was this unwavering commitment to make their experimental nation succeed that led American revolutionaries to adhere to such lofty moral standards. It also elucidates why they found themselves at odds so often. For America's founders, each misstep potentially marked the beginning of their downfall.

The rise of an urban warrior

Against the backdrop of high stakes and the unexpected, the Revolutionary War concluded victoriously. In 1783, the British finally ceded, with King George III signing the peace treaty and acknowledging the new American Republic.

A nation birthed amid the violent throes of war, the question loomed large: how would this newly-formed republic fare during peacetime?

There were no ready-made blueprints. Despite the revolutionary generation’s deep admiration for Rome, they couldn’t rewind history. Their republic was a creature of the contemporary world; they needed to forge their own path. And while the founders were united by their ideals, their common tenets often led them to divergent conclusions.

In the dawn of the republic, for instance, key statesman Thomas Jefferson posited that each generation held its own sovereignty. He surmised that laws should naturally expire after a duration of 20 years. Although he ultimately discarded this notion, deeming it a recipe for anarchy, the fact that he could even conceive of such an idea indicated that the future of the United States was anything but preordained.

Let's now shift our focus to one of the central figures of this open-ended saga. Enter Alexander Hamilton, a vocal advocate of federalism—the principle that the United States needed to be governed by a robust central authority capable of actively managing the economy.

Hamilton was often dubbed the "little lion of federalism." The term "little" was an affectionate nod to his height—a modest five foot seven. The epithet "lion," however, underscored his fiery disposition.

Hamilton distinguished himself as a brave and cunning soldier during his tenure as a general in the Revolutionary Army. As a politician, he exhibited similar grit and tenacity, refusing to back down, and facing his political adversaries with the same fervor he'd exhibited on the battlefield.

Hamilton's unyielding spirit earned him lifelong respect from his allies and, unsurprisingly, the detestation of his adversaries. One such opponent was the future president and fellow founder, John Adams. Adams disparagingly referred to Hamilton as the "bastard brat of a Scotch peddler." It was a derogatory remark, but it held a ring of truth. Born on the Caribbean island of Nevis as the illegitimate son of a failed Scottish merchant notorious for his heavy drinking, Hamilton had humble beginnings. This explains his relentless ambition to outdo himself in all endeavors. However, it was his journey from the insular confines of Nevis that truly shaped his identity.

Hamilton ascended the societal ranks when he was offered an opportunity to display his talents in the New York offices of commercial powerhouses—merchants, bankers, and industrialists—the metropolis's business elite. Unlike the many Revolutionary leaders hailing from the aristocratic planter class, these men lacked pretentious snobbishness. They were creators, not preservers. Hamilton admired them deeply, but, more importantly, he saw them as the harbinger of the future. This conviction—that America's destiny would be charted in its bustling cities, the cradles of industry—was the cornerstone of Hamilton's federalism.

Hamilton meets a formidable opponent

There is an enduring belief in the world of politics that crises can transform into opportunities, provided politicians make the most of them. Alexander Hamilton strove to do just that in the midst of a crisis that shook the United States in the 1780s.

The United States was facing a financial crunch. The long-drawn eight-year-long war had exhausted its resources. The Republic had resorted to heavy borrowing to finance its soldiers and weaponry. By 1789, the debt had swelled to a whopping $80 million, contrasting sharply with the revenue collection of a little under $3 million. If the United States failed to clear its debts, its credibility in the financial world would crumble, making future borrowings a lot more difficult.

But the responsibility for debt repayment was divided: each of the thirteen states was to take care of its own debt. States such as Virginia managed to repay their debts, while others like Rhode Island teetered on the brink of bankruptcy.

Hamilton feared that this scenario threatened to split the United States into separate economic zones. Investors might have faith in Virginia, but Rhode Island could potentially stagnate. This posed a grave threat to national unity. The question was how could investors be persuaded to place their capital in the fledgling United States as a whole? Hamilton proposed a solution called assumption.

Under this scheme, the federal government would assume, or take over, the debts of all thirteen states. Instead of thirteen individual financial accounts, there would only be one. Since the central government had access to more resources than individual states, lenders would feel more assured about repayment. Less risk would translate into lower interest rates, easy access to credit, and increased investment. It was a potential win-win situation, or so it seemed.

Hamilton, being a staunch advocate of the industry, strongly endorsed this strategy. However, there was opposition from a representative of Virginia's plantation-owning aristocracy, a man named James Madison.

Madison was a small, fragile man weighing merely 140 pounds and prone to illnesses. He had a gentle and clear manner of speech and shunned the lofty revolutionary jargon of his contemporaries. Far from charismatic, his unpretentious demeanor and physical appearance belied a sharp and astute mind. Despite the absence of rhetoric or a strong personality, Madison's convincing arguments had a knack for getting accepted.

Madison was an adversary not to be underestimated. Regarding debt, he was adamantly against Hamilton's scheme. He pointed out that Virginia had already cleared its debts and it would be unjust to make the state shoulder the burden of other states' debts. This pragmatic economic argument, however, was masking a deeper disagreement about the political future of the United States.

Hamilton's plan would grant the federal government overriding control over the individual states' economies. Madison saw echoes of the British rule that treated America as a tax colony, transferring American taxes into their treasury across the Atlantic. Similarly, under Hamilton's proposal, taxes collected from states like Virginia would go into funding a government centered in distant New York, over which they had no control. Could this also be a form of dictatorship? Madison and many southerners thought so.

From dinner-table diplomacy to a historical compromise

Hamilton and Madison were at loggerheads, each accusing the other of playing Judas. While one was seen as jeopardizing the survival of the revolutionary republic, the other was cast in the role of a tyrant-in-making. At this critical juncture, Thomas Jefferson stepped onto the stage.

Jefferson towered over both Hamilton and Madison in both stature and seniority. Standing at six feet two inches, he was the tallest of the trio. A decade older, he commanded the respect of Hamilton and Madison, who treated him as an elder brother.

Jefferson was a man of few words but great integrity. During his tenure as the Governor of Virginia during the war, British forces seized the state capital, leading to its destruction. Though absolved of any misconduct, a chastened Jefferson retreated from public life and took on a diplomatic role in France. It was only in 1789 that he heeded the call of President George Washington to return to the political arena.

In 1790, Jefferson justified Washington's faith in him by defusing the situation between Hamilton and Madison — a conflict that risked shattering America's political experiment.

Seeking to broker peace, Jefferson invited both gentlemen to a summer dinner. His time in France had made it clear to him that Europe would not treat the United States as a credible entity until its foreign debts were settled. But he realized that Madison could not be won over by monetary reasons alone. A political compromise was necessary.

The pivotal issue that had fueled several debates across the country was the location of the future capital of the United States.

Every state and city had its own reasons for claiming this honor. The Pennsylvanians asserted that the capital should be situated in the geographic heart of the nation, conveniently located in Pennsylvania. New Yorkers, Bostonians, and Philadelphians all had their unique, self-serving arguments.

Virginians, including Madison, advocated for their state based on a loftier reasoning. They claimed that the river Potomac connected with the Mississippi, making Virginia a gateway to the massive continental interior. They argued that as the future of the United States lay in the west, establishing the capital on the banks of the Potomac would symbolize the nation's divine mission to conquer the interior.

Geographically, this was a fallacy — the Potomac doesn't merge into the Mississippi — and Virginians were ridiculed by many Americans for their regional romanticism. As one northern senator sarcastically put it, Madison had mistaken the Potomac for a "Euphrates flowing through paradise." By 1790, Madison had almost given up. His last hope was a stroke of luck. Then came an invitation to dine with Alexander Hamilton at Thomas Jefferson's residence.

This dinner changed the course of history. Madison agreed to the federal government absorbing the states' debts. In return, he secured the capital on the Potomac, the present-day Washington. The federal government could now enforce its taxes, but it would remain accessible to Virginians. This was the 1790 Compromise. An existential crisis threatening the young republic had been thwarted. The grand experiment could continue.

The immortal advocate of the revolution's true ideals

"All men are created equal" - this phrase encapsulates the very essence of the 1776 Declaration of Independence, announcing the American revolution. This historic document proclaims that every man possesses inalienable rights — rights that can never be forfeited or violated. These include the right to life, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness.

Yet revolutions seldom completely discard the past. Detested institutions and notions persist, tainting the revolutionary ideals. For Benjamin Franklin, a luminary of the American revolution, slavery epitomized such a detestable compromise. This brutal practice starkly contradicted the fundamental principles of freedom and equality.

Franklin, like Hamilton, didn't boast of a noble lineage. His remarkable talent, however, more than compensated for his lack of affluent connections. Born in 1706, Franklin made a name for himself in diverse fields. By the 1780s, he was lauded as America's leading scientist, diplomat, and wordsmith. His radiant eyes and signature gray, shoulder-length hair framed his bald head like a halo — a familiar image to American newspaper readers.

Franklin was the oldest among the revolutionaries, and arguably the wisest. He was present at every crucial juncture in the country's history. He was one of the authors of the Declaration of Independence, he represented the republic in France during a critical wartime treaty, and he was present when Britain signed the peace treaty of 1783. He also contributed to the drafting of the Constitution in Philadelphia in 1778. However, Franklin's role wasn't limited to being a participant; he was also the moral compass of the revolution, leading to his final outstanding act.

In the spring of 1790, the 84-year-old Franklin, despite being close to death, made one last revolutionary contribution. He signed a petition to Congress, demanding an immediate end to slavery. In his eyes, the assertion that all men are free and equal was not simply rhetoric; it was a factual statement. Slavery, he believed, was fundamentally at odds with the republic's ideals.

Although Franklin was not the first American to condemn slavery — religious communities like the Quakers had been decrying it for years — his voice commanded attention. As one contemporary noted, Franklin was fluent in the language of America, and his words summoned the nation back to its founding principles.

Franklin died that spring, but his final act sparked a nationwide debate on slavery, an issue that had been swept under the rug for too long. Although the abolition of slavery would take several more decades, Franklin's last stand forced the nation to confront this deep-seated issue head-on.

The unforgivable silence

As he breathed his last, Franklin imparted a powerful message to the Americans — slavery was a stark betrayal of the revolution. His final words resonated throughout the nation, piercing through the disturbing silence.

There were several causes behind this silence. Personal gain played a significant role. Many of the founding members, like their fellow affluent Americans, were slave owners. Pride also factored in, as no one wanted to confront their own hypocrisy. Additionally, the question of the country's future seemed more conveniently settled when the topic of slavery was avoided.

When the Constitution was drafted in 1787, it exposed a rift between the northern and southern states. The northern states were gradually moving toward abolishing slavery. The southern states, on the contrary, were intensifying their reliance on slavery, especially in their cotton plantations. The Constitution had to tread a precarious path — endorsing abolition would lead to southern states refusing to ratify it, while validating the rights of slave owners would alienify the northern states. The only solution to this deadlock was to sidestep the issue entirely, which is why the word "slavery" is conspicuously absent from the historic document.

In other words, the existence of the budding republic relied heavily on a tacit agreement to avoid this divisive subject.

Franklin's audacious intervention threatened this unspoken pact. From Madison's perspective, Franklin had endangered the survival of the United States, a fear that seemed justified when southern states began contemplating secession.

According to Madison, there was no merit in instigating disagreement over slavery. The practice had already been abolished in the northern states, and he believed that it was only a matter of time before the southern states followed suit. His assurance was based on his conviction that slavery would eventually prove to be economically inefficient and unprofitable. Comforted by this belief, Madison endeavored to persuade northern abolitionists to let the matter rest, while reassuring southern politicians about the security of their interests. When petitions like Franklin's were finally debated, Congress agreed to cede its right to intervene in slavery-related matters until 1808 at the earliest.

While this compromise managed to preserve the unity of the nation politically, it extracted a high cost. The notion that slavery was on the decline proved to be a misconception. Slave plantations became more efficient and consequently more lucrative, leading to an influx of slaves into the southern states. As the slave population swelled, the prospect of abolishing slavery became increasingly daunting, especially considering the consensus that slave owners deserved compensation. The source of such funds remained a mystery, leaving many abolitionists at a loss.

Madison proposed that the ideal time to eradicate slavery was on the horizon and pleaded for patience from abolitionists. However, it was Franklin's perspective that proved accurate: by 1790, the window for eliminating slavery was swiftly closing.

There was one prediction that Madison got right. As he had anticipated, the process of abolishing slavery generated profound discord, leading to a violent civil war. This gruesome conflict claimed over half a million American lives, but the United States survived. Would it have weathered a similar crisis in the 1790s? That remains a matter of conjecture.

The final takeaway

The essential lesson from all this is:

From our contemporary standpoint, history often appears straightforward, as if there was an unwavering path from the American revolution to the modern-day United States. However, for those who laid the foundation of the nation, nothing was assured. Their daring political experiment was filled with high risks and potential failure. Every step of the way was characterized by sharp disagreements and grueling concessions. Their ultimate success isn't a testament to some supernatural intelligence, but rather their fiercely human resolve and determination.