The House of Adams
Richard Brookhiser, a senior editor of National Review, is the author of America's First Dynasty: The Adamses, 1735-1918 (New York: The Free Press, 2002). His book focuses on one outstanding member of the Adams family in each of four successive generations. The first subject is John Adams (1735-1826), who labored at both the first and second Continental Congress, served as a diplomat during and after the American Revolution, and was elected the first vice president and second president of the United States. Brookhiser's second subject is John Quincy Adams (1767-1848), diplomat, senator, secretary of state, the sixth American president, and, from 1831 until his death in 1848, a member of the House of Representatives, where he was a conspicuous opponent of the expansion of slavery. The third Adams is Charles Francis (1807-86), who is remembered principally for his successful effort to persuade Great Britain not to enter the American Civil War on the side of the South. The last of Brookhiser's Adamses is Henry (1838-1918), involved in political life and commentary, but most acclaimed as the author of a nine-volume history of America during the administrations of Jefferson and Adams; of an autobiography (for which he won the Pulitzer Prize); and of a work on medieval history, Mont-Saint-Michel and Chartres.
Richard Brookhiser's earlier works include: Founding Father: Rediscovering George Washington (New York: The Free Press, 1996) and Alexander Hamilton: American (New York: The Free Press, 1999). In its June 2000 issue, Navigator printed an exclusive interview with Brookhiser regarding these latter two works. This interview was conducted for Navigator by Richard Chew, a visiting professor of history at Bucknell University.
Navigator: You write a lot about the idea of greatness and about which of the Adamses qualify for that epithet. In the end, you conclude that four of the Adamses—John, John Quincy, Charles Francis, and Henry—did indeed achieve greatness. Why are the near-great Adamses—people like Abigail or Samuel or even Brooks—excluded?
Brookhiser: Well, I don't think that any of the other Adamses achieved anything we can look back on and judge to have been great, nor did their contemporaries think so. Brooks has his fans, as an historian, but to me he seemed like a bright, crotchety eccentric with a system that no one believes in anymore and that has proven to be wrong. Henry was equally crotchety, but he is a great writer and does achieve some great insights. Abigail Adams is a wonderful woman, and studying her career or studying her letters to John and other people, including Jefferson, is a fascinating exercise. But, partly because of the role that women played in her day, partly for limitations of her own, she herself doesn't become great. The letters are wonderful, but I would not say that they are great works of literature.
Navigator: Everyone has heard the line from Twelfth Night: "Some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." If you had to use Shakespeare's formula, which of these factors would you use to explain the greatness of the four Adamses you discuss?
Brookhiser: I think that, for all the Adamses, it is a combination. Obviously John Adams was not born to the elite, but he is born with talents and abilities that are the foundation of his greatness. I think particularly of his speaking abilities and a certain kind of writing ability. He also achieved greatness by his tremendous hard work over decades as a patriot. Was it thrust upon him? "Thrust upon him" in the sense that the Revolution came, that the British Empire was being run in such a way that American patriots felt there was no alternative but to seek their own independence. If Britain had had a different imperial policy, maybe we wouldn't have heard of him or some of the other patriots.
With John's descendents, I think that the part of greatness thrust upon them becomes larger and larger, precisely because they are his descendents. They have to measure up to him, and then in the third and fourth generations, they have to measure up to him and John Quincy. But they all are born great in the sense that they have talents, and they all achieve greatness by their labor and by their application.
Navigator: John Adams wrote voluminously on a number of subjects, particularly on politics and political institutions. Do you think he made any original contribution to political philosophy or the history of ideas?
Brookhiser: It is hard for me to say what it would be. He has his fans, but I don't see what the shouting is about. I find his extended political ruminations almost impossible reading. They're complex. They're rambling. He is constantly arguing with sources and other philosophers. He argues with himself. Reading him is like wandering in brambles.
The one contribution that you could say he makes, though it hardly qualifies as political philosophy—it is not in the same league as the Federalist Papers— is that he is mindful of the potential for human beings to deceive themselves, even if they have the best intentions. That is a useful warning.
Navigator: That seems similar to what Russell Kirk wrote about Adams: that he believes in human failings and believes the shortcomings of leaders and governments are more often the result of human weakness than human wickedness. On that basis, Kirk calls him the founder of true conservatism in America. Would you agree?
Brookhiser: I wouldn't go that far. I hope that is not all there is to true conservatism.
There is very little that is constructive in John Adams's thought. There is very little that you could use to build your own policies. There is very little to inspire you to be a Washington, to be a Hamilton, to be a Lincoln. What he gives you is a caution and a warning—and that is useful. But I think that there has to be more to a political project.
Navigator: I thought your depiction and David McCullough's depiction of Adams shared some features. In both books, Adams is practical without being pragmatic; he is willing to engage his contemporaries without necessarily collaborating with them; and he seems to welcome confrontation more often than he welcomes compromise. Yet, there are differences. McCullough's Adams is much more religiously sentimental and quite a bit more extroverted. Your Adams appears more introspective and maybe even brooding. Do you think that is a fair contrast?
Brookhiser: Yes, I think so. I like McCullough's book. It is a great read, and every historical figure deserves one love letter, just as you get one phone call after you're arrested. McCullough's book is John Adams's phone call. Therefore, I don't have to be John Adams's lawyer, and I think my view ends up being a little bit more critical, certainly more critical of Adams's presidency. I also think that there is a dark side to Adams's personality. He could be very exhilarated and then very depressed. To be sure, many of these mood swings are caused by events to which he is reacting. I am not saying that he is bipolar. But he is a guy who can turn on you very quickly or can turn on himself in guilt or self-criticism.
Navigator: You mentioned in the book that you didn't consider Adams to be a successful president. I am wondering: If Washington had died of pneumonia in his first term, which he almost did, Adams would have become president much earlier. What would have happened in terms of the Adams presidency? Would he have done better? Would he have done worse? And what would have happened to the presidency itself? In your work on Washington, after all, you credit him with defining, to a very great extent, the idea of the presidency.
Brookhiser: Well, I think the presidency would have taken longer to establish an emotional hold on our minds and also would have taken longer to draw power to itself. In much of the nineteenth century, presidents didn't do a hell of a lot. John Quincy's administration is a good example of that. He spends a lot of his time sitting around, and he has a lot of time to do it. Madmen come in to discuss biblical prophecies with him. Now, how do they get to do that? I mean, it is obvious that he has a problem of door control, lack of a gatekeeper. But he also has the time to listen to these guys. You couldn't imagine Teddy Roosevelt doing such a thing. It is inconceivable.
What I am trying to say is: The presidency as we know it was not something present from day one. It took a long time to grow into its present role. But I think the two full terms of Washington did establish it in the popular mind as being the head of state. Formally, the president is the head of state, but Washington really added to the presidency almost the aura that a monarch has. And that would not have happened had Washington died after only a few months and Adams succeeded him.
Navigator: Well, your book is not just about John Adams, of course; it is about four generations of Adamses, and they deserve their due here. One of the central events in the career of John Quincy Adams, at least as it appears in textbooks, is the so-called Corrupt Bargain. It is an interesting episode in terms of how you view John Quincy. His actions are usually passive, yet in the 1824 election you seem to have assigned him a far more active role, assuming that a "quid pro quo" did exist with Henry Clay. [Because no presidential candidate had a majority of electoral votes in 1824, the House of Representatives had to choose from among the top three contenders. The fourth-place contender, Speaker of the House Henry Clay, backed the second-place contender, Secretary of State John Quincy Adams, much to the chagrin of the first-place contender, General Andrew Jackson, and the third-place contender, Secretary of the Treasury William H. Crawford. Adams soon appointed Clay secretary of state, thus bringing charges of "bargain and corruption."—Editor]
Brookhiser: I think that John Quincy is active in his ascent, but he can never admit that to himself, because he has the view, which the Founders espoused, that you must never run; you must never campaign; you can only stand for office; and then the people may choose you. That is the view that he inherits from his father and his father's peers.
At the same time, he is a much better politician than his father was. He is constantly positioning himself and does it very effectively. Here is a man that jumps parties. He starts off as a Federalist, and then he sees they are going down the tubes, although he also disagrees with them on matters of principle. So he leaves them, and he does it very competently. It is not the easiest thing to do, and yet he manages to pull it off. And he ingratiates himself with the establishment of the other party, the Republican Party. So he is a good politician. But he can never let himself know how good he is.
The relevance of this to 1824 and the Corrupt Bargain? I think he had an understanding with Henry Clay, and why shouldn't he? Clay was the man to go to. If he hadn't come to a deal with Clay, Jackson or Crawford would have. That is just the way politics works. Well, he was the person that Clay was willing to deal with, so they came to an understanding. He makes Clay secretary of state, and why not? Clay is a pretty good diplomat. He has already shown that. The only two people in America who think this is bad are Andrew Jackson, who has been screwed by it, and John Quincy Adams himself, who cannot let himself know that he has done a political deal. And that, I think, is the source of the paralysis of his administration. He sits there for four years, being mercilessly attacked by his enemies, and he cannot defend himself. Why not? Because he doesn't believe that he deserves a defense, because he has done a bad thing. He's reached out his hands for political office. So when people attack him, he doesn't fight back.
Navigator: You said that John Quincy Adams was a much better politician than his father. But good politicians need to carve out constituencies. Henry Clay tries to do that with his American system and westward expansion. John C. Calhoun does it by becoming a defender of slavery in the South. Daniel Webster becomes the voice of nationalism. What did John Quincy Adams do?
Brookhiser: He starts off as the voice of nationalism, and then, after his presidency, when he returns to Congress, he becomes the scourge of slave owners and their allies.
Navigator: So he speaks for the abolitionist cause?
Brookhiser: There is almost a theological difference there, because he is never quite an abolitionist. He never quite crosses that line. It is less a matter of what he is for than who he is against. He is against the Southern slave owners and the Northerners like Van Buren and Daniel Webster who are willing to make deals with them. It is also a nice outlet for his aggression, which all the Adamses have. He finds the perfect safety zone. It's great. All his virtues and all his vices can be united for one task.
Navigator: Which seems to be perfect for an Adams.
Brookhiser: Perfect for an Adams, yes. If they can pull that off, then they are firing on all cylinders.
Navigator: When I was in graduate school, the professor held that John Quincy Adams ought to be considered the greatest secretary of state in American history. But many members of the class held out for others. Where do you stand on that? Do you believe that John Quincy Adams ought to be considered our greatest secretary of state?
Brookhiser: Well, look, John Quincy Adams is certainly in the running. He is one of the great exponents of realism as an American foreign policy. I think Hamilton was an earlier one, but of course he was never secretary of state. In practice, Washington was a practitioner of it, but he was not an intellectual and a formulator. John Quincy Adams both had the assignment of secretary of state and also put it into words, first with the Monroe Doctrine and then with his Fourth of July oration, where he says that America is the friend and well-wisher to freedom everywhere, but the guardian and the vindicator only of its own. That is really the founding text of American foreign-policy realism.
Now, one's judgment is affected by whether you agree with that or not. I think everybody has to admit that Adams was very intelligent, saw a lot of implications of realism, and applied it truly to the situations that faced him, which were the revolts in Latin America and in Greece in the early 1820s. If you are a Wilsonian, you won't like him because you disagree. I am not, so I tend to like him.
Navigator: In light of all his achievements in diplomacy—and not only his, but his father's as well, because they were both diplomats—do you think that either of them could have succeeded as brilliantly as Charles Francis Adams did during the Civil War in Great Britain?
Brookhiser: Maybe not. And the reason is that Charles Francis was calmer than his father or his grandfather.
Navigator: It seemed that the one trait he did lack as an Adams was restlessness…
Brookhiser: …and wrath, an uncontrollable wrath. You know, the calm of Charles Francis Adams is partly his reaction to being an Adams and his resistance to the burden of being an Adams. He hated his father's politicking. He hated it growing up and watching it, and he wished the old man would let it alone, just go back to Quincy and retire and write history. Of course, he never did. So his calm is a withdrawal; it is a limitation on much of his public life. There were opportunities for him to run for this or that, and he either does so in a lackadaisical fashion or he doesn't do it at all. But in this particular assignment—being in London during the Civil War and making it plain to the Brits that they should not get involved—his calmness helped him enormously, and I wonder whether his father or his grandfather could have pulled it off.
Navigator: By the time the story reaches Henry, a family trait seems to be apparent. All four generations of Adamses supported people who advocated their policies—until those people actually gained power.
Brookhiser: Right.
Navigator: In Henry's case, it's Grant and then TR. I am wondering if this is a long-term, nagging symptom of a Court-Country split that plagues the Adamses throughout the entire nineteenth century. [The Court Party and the Country Party are designations for two political factions that arose in seventeenth-century Britain. The former supported the central government; the latter suspected it of tyranny and corruption.—Editor]
Brookhiser: Yes. I think that they are Country Party people at heart. Even though their roles occasionally thrust them into the Court Party, at heart they are Country Party people, at heart they are suspicious of those in power, and Henry is the great theorist of this. You read his history of the Jefferson and Madison administrations, and nobody is left standing, nobody at all, nobody in the whole Western world, which is what he is writing about: not the Americans, not the French, not the British. They don't know what they are doing. They are grasshoppers in a flood, borne along by the tide of events. And that is the theoretical expression of Country Party beliefs. Politicians don't know what they are doing, and they are wicked, too. Henry doesn't always believe that they are wicked, however.
Also, there is envy, never to be ignored in the Adamses. When someone else achieves something, they're always looking at him with evil eyes. How can he really be pulling this off? Can it really be true that he is succeeding? And there is always a wish that the other person not succeed. Because, of course, if he does succeed, then he may be better than you are. So that's always a factor.
Navigator: It seems that they are what today we would call "Washington insiders," but ones who are continuously railing against Beltway politics.
Brookhiser: Right. Although to do the Adamses justice, they don't—except for Henry, who moves to Washington—spend their lives there, apart from when they are in power. Henry is closest. But what saves him from being some pundit on Washington Week in Review is that he writes about other stuff. He writes about history—about American history and about the Middle Ages. That is his intellectual safety valve.
Navigator: Another trait that seemed to emerge in the first three generations, and tangentially in the fourth, is that arguably the Adamses' greatest achievements come in the realm of foreign policy: the Adamses advance the interests of Americans, but to non-Americans. With their fellow Americans, in the realm of domestic politics, the Adamses seem to face their greatest disappointments. Is this an indication that the family members were never quite in step with their own times?
Brookhiser: I think that is true, and, curiously, the one Adams who does feel an emotional and an intellectual connection with ordinary Americans is Henry, at the very end of the line. This is curious because Henry is not an average Joe, by any means. He is a rich man. He is an heir. He is from this elite family. No one else has a lineage like him, because there is no other father-son pair of presidents. He is peculiar in all sorts of ways; all sorts of aspects of birth and temperament make him an outsider and a loner. And yet, in the astonishing opening of his history of the Jefferson administration, he really understands what America promised and offered to ordinary people and why ordinary people responded to that promise and why they flourished under it. It is an amazing act of mental generosity, of putting himself outside himself, and it allows him to grasp all that about America and to state it at the beginning of his book.
Navigator: You have done books now on Washington, Hamilton, the Adamses. What comes next?
Brookhiser: I am working on it right now. It is about Gouverneur Morris. We are just about to the Constitutional Convention. Of course, he is the draftsman of the Constitution; he ends up on the committee of style. He is a very different man from Adams—equally quotable, but just a totally different temperament, a temperament that is sunny and confident.
Navigator: Is it because of his role with the Constitution that you chose him as your next project?
Brookhiser: That is one of the reasons, but the main reason is that I just love the guy. He is just a delight to be around. He is the only Founding Father, apart from Franklin, who is funny. The subjects of all my other books are important because of what they did in the public realm. So those books are about their great deeds. Morris does at least one great deed, but the interesting thing about him is the way he lives his life. He is a gentleman, and my book is about what that meant to him and how he navigated his life. He was very rich in a lot of ways. He was prosperous; he was talented; he had the love of women. He had it all. But he also had many bad things happen to him, and he saw many bad things in the American and the French revolutions. And yet he was able to move through all the scenes of life with great equanimity and great magnanimity. That is why I love the guy.
Navigator: All four of your subjects—Washington, Hamilton, the Adamses, and Morris—tend to be on the more conservative side of the spectrum. There isn't a Tom Paine or a Thomas Jefferson.
Brookhiser: I am a Federalist Party flack, what can I say? Well, actually, Thomas Paine comes into Morris's story, because their careers overlap at a number of points and they end up falling out rather bitterly. But they do work together, and I have to do justice to Paine in this book.
I think there are terrific things about Thomas Paine. The United States will always owe him for the first American Crisis. [That is, the first of sixteen tracts Paine wrote between 1776 and 1783. It opens with the famous words, "These are the times that try men's souls."] That is his claim to immortality. When we needed that written, when we needed that particular piece written, he wrote it. And I would put it at the level of Shakespeare. I mean, that is the equivalent of the speech that Shakespeare gives to Henry V before the Battle of Agincourt. And it is better, because it is not in a play—it is in real time.
Navigator: Actually, I was wondering whether your choice of the more conservative figures from the Founding era was undertaken by design, or whether it was just a manifestation of your intellectual predilection.
Brookhiser: I suppose the latter. I didn't sit down with a party list and figure it out ahead of time.
Will I do Jefferson at some point? The thing that has always held me back from Jefferson is not disagreement; it is that he is so hard. Joe Ellis wrote a great book about that very quality [American Sphinx], and I am not sure that he got it all. I don't think that he liked Jefferson quite enough. I think it is a terrific book, but I think that you have to have a little more sympathy with Jefferson than Ellis showed. But Jefferson is just very complex. He is like a nautilus—he is many chambered. How do you write about such a man? I don't know.
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