The Spectacles

I do not understand why this story is not part of every High School history class on the Revolutionary War. I do not believe you can understand anything about history, much less theorize, until you have an understanding of the actors in history. This is one such instance.

Ides of March 1783. To be a nation or not was the question about to be decided by a meeting of Washington’s officers, many teetering on the verge of mutiny, the rest sympathetic to their rebellious cause. In addition to not receiving pay for over a year and a half, many had lost their fortunes in the service of the idea of this country. They had petitioned Congress for their backpay but that had gotten bogged down on who was going to provide the funds—the figment of the new nation, the Confederation of States through national imposts, or the states who were very jealous of their rights.

The agitators published the Newburgh Address laying out their grievances and threatening:

“But faith has its limits, as well as temper; and there are points beyond which neither can be stretched, without sinking into cowardice, or plunging into credulity.”

It continued: “…let us take a review of the ground upon which we now stand, and from thence carry our thoughts forward for a moment, into the unexplored field of expedient.” 

And: “…can you then consent to be the only sufferers by this revolution, and retiring from the field, grow old in poverty, wretchedness, and contempt?... if you can, go — and carry with you the jest of tories, and the scorn of whigs — the ridicule, and what is worse, the pity of the world! Go, starve, and be forgotten!”

So: “… awake! — attend to your situation, and redress yourselves … and suspect the man (meaning Washington) who would advise to more moderation and longer forbearance.”

Conclusion: “If peace, that nothing shall separate you from your arms but death; if war, that courting the auspices and inviting the directions of your illustrious leader, you will retire to some unsettled country, smile in your turn, and à ‘mock when their fear cometh on.'”

In other words, if peace came, refuse to disband, keep your weapons to get your due; if the war went on, refuse to fight.

They set up a meeting in a large common building called the Temple. Washington, sympathetic to the grievances of his officers, asked for a summary, so it was assumed he wouldn’t appear.

Washington, however, had learned a thing or two about tactics and the value of surprise in the arena of combat over the last seven years. Before the meeting got underway, he entered through the side door and asked to speak.

The most impressive intellectual trait of Washington was his ability to integrate a command of details into the big picture. I am unaware of a succeeding president that was this equal. More than anybody in that meeting room or the Confederation Congress or the entirety of the squabbling semi-independent, semi-united former colonies, Washington was aware of the stakes, the great historical stakes, as you will see.

The officers knew Washington well, and they could guess what he was going to say, and they had hardened their hearts in advance to his appeals. Nothing he could say would convince them.

And nothing he said did convince them…

Washington was famous for his self-control, although I think people around him were always aware of the volcanic anger under his stony demeanor. He once jumped into a melee between Yankee and Virginia troops during the siege of Boston and with help of his servant stopped it. 

Washington utilized phrases in his impassioned appeal like “I spurn it” “sheep to -slaughter” “toils and dangers” “sacred honor” “floodgates of civil discord.”

The faces of the officers remained grimly set. They did not expect this display of emotion, but their minds were made up and their hearts hardened.

Washington concluded: “Had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.”

We have fallen short of this impossible standard, of course, yet Washington was envisioning the United States at the center of events of the world’s future. In an interview, Bernard Lewis, the great historian of the Middle East, said the best place to live on earth in 1800 for the average guy was Turkey. I believe him. In 1820 despite all its flaws and failings and the general brutality of life in the nineteenth century, the best place for the common man was the United States.

Back to the story. Washington had done his best to little effect.

Washington then stated he was going to read a letter from a congressman, telling the officers about positive steps Congress was taking to address their grievances. He started reading haltingly, stopped, fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and put on glasses that very few had ever seen him wear. “Gentlemen,” he continued. “You will permit me to put on my spectacles for I’ve not only grown grey but almost blind in the service of my country.”

The hardened hearts shattered. Officers wiped away tears. Some wept openly. Washington finished reading the letter, then left. The mutiny was broken.

We all love stories. History is an inexhaustible source of them, but incidents like this do not fit easily into theories, paradigms, ideologies. Human nature is too chaotic, too hard to quantify. Did at Newburgh, the future of the modern world pivot on a pair of spectacles, tears from veterans hardened by seven years of war, and the understanding of human nature that George Washington, the greatest actor in the fullest sense of the word in American history, possessed?

Much of the material for this blog comes from The Perils of Peace by Thomas Fleming—one of our great historians.