Washington the Great – Religion & Liberty Online

What made George Washington so great? This is the question asked by H.W. Brands in the last chapter of his new biography, American Patriarch: The Life of George Washington. If one made a list of qualities that make an effective leader, Washington would check a lot of boxes: He was brave, diligent, resourceful, and inspiring. But these qualities are often found in tyrants as well. No, what truly made Washington great was his character, says Brands. Undoubtedly, his strategic and administrative skills were vital to his success, but more importantly for the young republic, Washington could be trusted not to usurp power or abuse the power he already had.

It’s not exactly a new observation. Everyone knows that what made Washington great was his willingness to give up power. Even the king of England agreed. When told about Washington’s decision to go back to private life following the end of the American Revolution, George III reportedly responded, “If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.”

The unique thing about Brands’s biography is how well he demonstrates Washington’s greatness by simply laying out the bare facts of his life. Aside from a brief reflection at the end of the book, Brands doesn’t offer many of his own thoughts about Washington or why his character made him so special. Perhaps it’s because so much has already been written about the father of our country that Brands felt that there was little left to be added by modern biographers.

So instead of peppering the book with his own analyses and opinions, he lets Washington and his contemporaries tell the story. Generous quotations fill the pages. Brands keeps his authorial presence to a minimum, offering comments and context when necessary but ultimately letting primary sources drive the narrative. It’s a highly immersive history that helps the reader feel connected to Washington in a more visceral and personal way. One might speculate that if Washington could read every biography about himself, this might be his favorite.

Washington didn’t spring out of the womb with heroic virtues; he had to form them through the painful forge of experience. He got the opportunity when the French and Indian War broke out—a war that Washington inadvertently helped to trigger when the 22-year-old militia officer met a French force in the contested Ohio territory and inadvertently killed a French diplomat.

Despite his ignominious surrender at Fort Necessity in 1754, Washington went on to serve in various capacities in the colonial militia and the British army. He learned a great deal about how to manage interpersonal conflict within a military structure. “He discovered the importance of tone in getting his messages across,” writes Brands. “To his subordinates he was authoritative but not imperious. To his superior, the governor, he was respectful but not uncertain.” Respect for civil authority would be a recurring theme in Washington’s military career.

While his conduct was virtually impeccable, as a colonist Washington found little opportunity for advancement within the British army. He retired from military life in 1759, an act Brands subtly uses to foreshadow Washington’s retirement from the Continental Army in 1783. Upon his departure, 27 of his subordinate officers wrote a letter praising Washington’s courage, patriotism, and “steady adherence to impartial Justice.” Brands observes that the letter betrays a sense of abandonment. “How rare is it to find those amiable Qualifications blended together in one Man,” the officers lament. “How great the Loss of such a Man?”

In the eyes of those who served with him, Washington was indispensable. Even during the lowest points of the Revolutionary War when, as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, Washington suffered defeat after humiliating defeat, his continued leadership was considered essential.

Part of Washington’s appeal was superficial: He was tall, strong, stately, and carried himself with a sense of dignity and natural authority. But God looks on the heart, not the outward appearance. If the American experiment in self-government was going to be successful, then the country needed a leader who wouldn’t betray its ideals even when the temptation was strong.

Washington’s commitment to his principles would be tested several times during his eight years as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army. Though he has received most of his laurels for resigning his commission after peace had been achieved, Washington arguably deserves more credit for the restraint he exercised during the war. With the British threat gone by the end of 1783 and most of the army disbanded, Washington wasn’t really in a position to stage a coup and set himself up as a dictator or a king. But there were several times during the war when—if he had chosen to—he could have done exactly that. Liberty is precarious during times of crisis.

Throughout the war, Washington witnessed his perpetually undersupplied troops often go without food or adequate clothing. During the famously bitter winter at Valley Forge, some soldiers had to sleep sitting up by campfires because there weren’t enough blankets. For all their suffering, they weren’t even being properly paid. Soldiers who had sacrificed so much to make America free would go home with empty bellies and emptier pockets. At any time, Washington could have chosen to lead a coup. But no matter how difficult things got, he refused to countenance any challenge to the authority of the Continental Congress. 

Still, he was not beyond criticizing that authority. Washington had written scores of brutally honest pleas to Congress for more assistance, complaining that while they sat by comfortable fires drafting remonstrances, his soldiers were freezing. But by the spring of 1783, with the end of war in sight, it looked like the soldiers would be sent home empty-handed. Some, like Washington’s former aide and now congressional delegate Alexander Hamilton, thought Congress was simply unwilling to fulfill its obligations but that the delegates could be persuaded by some light intimidation. Like a little devil on Washington’s shoulder, Hamilton urged him to march his troops on Philadelphia. “If they once lay down their arms,” Hamilton mournfully predicted, “they will part with the means of obtaining justice.”

Washington would not hear of it. “God forbid we should be involved in it,” he wrote back. “The predicament in which I stand as Citizen & Soldier, is as critical and delicate as can well be conceived.” He would not let even the most dire circumstances sway him from his deference to civil authority. He resolved to “pursue the same steady line of conduct which has governed me hitherto.”

In March of 1783, when a group of officers met together in Newburgh, New York, to discuss a similar scheme, Washington stepped in to dissuade them. He began his address by chastising them for their “unmilitary” and “subversive” behavior. But he softened his tone later by sympathizing with their plight and implored them to have more patience. “Like all other large Bodies, where there is a variety of different Interests to reconcile, their [Congress’] deliberations are slow.” To hurry Congress along by use of force would not only tarnish the army’s reputation; it would also “open the flood Gates of Civil discord, and deluge our rising Empire in Blood.”

Most other historians leave this address out when chronicling the Newburgh Conspiracy, but Brands quotes it almost in its entirety. The reader is then, like the army officers, emotionally prepared for the crescendo—when Washington put on his spectacles and told them that he had not only grown gray but blind in the service of his country.

Washington took a big risk making this speech. Had the conspirators refused his pleas for moderation, he could have been cast as a traitor to their cause. A lesser man would have put his scruples aside and led the coup himself. But in that moment, Washington became more than just a beloved superior officer: He became the very embodiment of America’s loftiest ideals. Loyalty to him became a practical way in which Americans could demonstrate their loyalty to their principles.

Washington was aware of the role he was taking on. As a living symbol of national unity, he knew his every word and action was immensely important. His support for or against a particular policy—especially when it came to drafting and adopting the Constitution—was often the deciding factor for those in a position to vote on it. But he couldn’t simply do whatever he wished. Brands notes on several occasions that Washington always “calculated how his action would be viewed by others.” Like any public role—be it religious, military, or political—Washington was constrained by what people expected of him. And what they expected was an American Cincinnatus.

Cincinnatus was a Roman statesman who, though retired to his farm, was called back into service when the Republic needed him. But when the danger was past, Cincinnatus went back to that farm.

This idea of the citizen soldier and the elected magistrate who serve (not rule) and do so out of a sense of duty, rather than by right, became popular in the early republic. Washington was as much controlled by this political culture as he was responsible for creating it. Washington is sometimes credited for refusing a crown, but even had he wanted to, he could hardly have become king of the same country as that of fierce republicans like Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams.

Duty often dragged Washington where he did not want to go. In 1788 and again in 1792, he was all but conscripted as president, despite his heart’s desire to permanently return to private life. Without that intense political pressure, Washington probably would have remained at Mount Vernon, “the asylum of my declining years,” as he yearnfully called it. But having already achieved greatness, the nation was again forcing greatness upon him and only relinquished him when the country could reliably get along without him.

We might then return to Brands’s original question and append a fuller answer: Washington was great because America made him so.