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WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

miQ 1988

Volume XI

n.!:^S!i^' ! ^om

June, 1972

[ATS

GEORGIA

AND

NINETEENTH CENTURY

TRADE EXPANSION

Published by

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

A Division of the University System of Georgia

CARROLLTON, GEORGIA

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XI June, 1972

GEORGIA DIPLOMATS

AND

NINETEENTH CENTURY

TRADE EXPANSION

Robert Sellen

National Interests and the Diplomat's Role

in Nineteenth Century United States Foreign Policy 1

Thomas A. Bryson

William Brown Hodgson's Mission to Egypt 10

James E. Southerland

John Forsyth and the Frustrated 1857 Mexican Loan

and Land Grab 18

William M. Gabard

John Elliott Ward and the Treaty of Tientsin 26

Osmos Lanier. Jr.

'Paramount' Blount: Special Commissioner
to Investigate the Hawaiian Coup, 1893 45

Copyright 1972
Division of Social Sciences

West Georgia College
Carrollton, Georgia 301 17

Printed in the United States of America

FOREWORD

With the exception of the essay by Dr. Osmos Lanier, Jr., the papers
herein printed were read before the annual meeting of the Georgia
Historical Society at West Georgia College on October 30, 1971. The
theme and arrangements were coordinated by professors Thomas A.
Bryson as committee chairman, MoUie Davis, T.B. Fitz-Simmons and
J. David Griffin, all of the Department of History at West Georgia
College. President Ward B. Pafford welcomed members and visitors
to the day-long proceedings.

The Studies in the Social Sciences is an organ of the Division of
Social Sciences at West Georgia College. Upon request, copies of this
journal are provided free of charge to institutions of higher learning
throughout the United States and abroad. The regular distribution is
to all institutions of higher learning in Georgia, the five largest uni-
versities in each southern state, and approximately one hundred high
schools throughout Georgia.

Eugene R. Huck, Editor

Roald Mykkeltvedt,
Assistant Editor

NATIONAL INTEREST AND THE

DIPLOMAT'S ROLE IN NINETEENTH

CENTURY UNITED STATES

FOREIGN POLICY

By ROBERT W. SELLEN*

Four articles dealing with nineteenth century American diplomacy
leave one with a thought which would be horrifying to traditional his-
torians: William Appleman Williams may be right about something.

Williams, mentor of many of the "New Left" historians now teaching
and writing, has written of America's combination of aggressiveness
and noblesse oblige, its "mission to defend and extend democracy" while
simultaneously seeking new markets.^ and expansion (Williams" italics)
as central to American history and expressed in agrarian zeal for new
markets. This agrarian zeal, says Williams, gave us an imperialist out-
look that carried us even to the present Vietnamese crisis in foreign
affairs. 2 Williams' message is clear: examine the motives behind our
deeds and examine the implications of those deeds. It is also clear that
most Americans in every generation since the "founding fathers" have
avoided such self scrutiny.

But what is so strange about Americans having "sordid" economic
drives along with nobler goals? European statesmen and savants of the
eighteenth century understood the concept of national interest and ex-
plained that such interest arose from a state's geographic position, size,
character of its people, mercantile or agrarian economy and the condi-
tion of neighboring states. Motives in foreign affairs might be as much
the expansion of trade as purely political. Prime Minister Sir Robert
Walpole asserted in the House of Commons in 1739, "This is a trading
nation, and the prosperity of her trade is what ought to be principally
in the eye of every gentleman in this House. "^

"Diplomacy," says Charles Thayer, an American professional, "medi-
ates not between right and wrong but between conflicting interests

^Professor of History, Georgia State University, Atlanta, Georgia.

^ William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New

York, 1962), pp. 162-72.

^ William Appleman Williams. The Roots of the Modern American Em-
pire (New York, 1969), pp. xii-xxiv and passim.

3 Felix Gilbert, To the Farewell Address: Ideas of Early American Foreign
Policy (Princeton, 1961), pp. 23, 89-104.

4 Chades W. Thayer, D-piomat (New York, 1959), p. 252.

[and]. . . national aspirations.""* Hans Morgenthau, patron of the "real-
ist" school among political scientists and historians, puts it this way:

Diplomacy must determine its objectives in the light of the
power actually and potentially available. . . Diplomacy must
assess the objectives of other nations and the power actually
and potentially available. . . . Diplomacy must determine to what
extent these different objectives are compatible with each other.
Diplomacy must employ the means suited to the pursuit of its
objectives. Failure in any one of these tasks may jeopardize the
success of foreign policy. . . .^

If one considers the United States between the War of 1812 and the
Civil War one comprehends some of the changes in its foreign policy.
It was a nation of phenomenal growth; population rose from 8,419,000
to 31,513,000, the labor force from two and a half million to ten and a
half million; the number of farm workers quadrupled, but non-farm
workers increased almost nine-fold; the nation built 30,000 miles of rail-
roads; ships in foreign trade went from 854,000 tons to 2,379,000 tons;
exports rose from $53 million to $400 million; exports of manufactured
goods, including manufactured foodstuffs, rose from $18 million in 1820
to $88 million in 1860; banking assets rose from $400 million in the early
1830's to $1 billion by 1860;^ foreigners held, in the early 1850's, some
$200 million of American securities corporation and government
stocks and bonds, but Americans themselves held another $900 million
worth. '^ The United States was on its way to becoming a modern nation.

It is not strange that the United States behaved as a nation becoming
modern. It had great pride in itself, paraded its nationalism on holidays
and all other possible occasions, sought more territory as ravenously
as any nation has done in recorded history, acquiring half the Republic
of Mexico within a dozen years, and ventured abroad to claim such spots
as Midway Island and to find commerce to assist an already rising na-
tional wealth and standard of living.

The elitist press in North and South had commented for generations
on "advantages of opening a trade to Japan. "^ on a railroad across the
continent or one across the Isthmus of Panama to increase our advan-
tages in Pacific trade, for, after all,

A thrifty, trading people are the Yankees. . . . We, ourselves,
have "put a girdle round about the earth," and we have never

^ Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations (New York, 1960), pp. 539-40.

^ U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Historical Statistics
of the United States (Washington, 1961), pp. 7, 72, 427, 445. 545, 624.

^ Reginald C. McGrane, The Economic Development of the American Nation
(Boston. 1950), p. 279.

8 The American Museum (Philadelphia). IX (April, 1791), 186-89; 1 (March,
1787), 194-97; Vll (March, 1790), 126-28.

2

sailed on any sea, nor visited any people . . . where there was
not to be found some enterprising, trading son of brother Jona-
than's, with his ships, his schemes, or his notions. ^

There were 600 million people living on the shores of the Pacilic
and the opportunities for America in Asia were enormous:

The islander will cease to go naked the Chinaman will give
up his chopsticks . . . the moment they shall find that they can
exchange the productions of their climate and labor for that
which is more pleasing to the taste of fancy.

Do you suppose that the laboring classes of China would live
and die on the unchanged diet of rice if they could obtain meat
and bread ?^o

One would expect that in De Bow's Review, but one finds it in the Soiiih-
ern Literary Messenger.

At the end of the century, John W. Foster, grandfather of the late
John Foster Dulles and a slightly stuffy specialist in international law
rather than a Marxist-revisionist, began his book on our relations with
Asia by commenting on our "notable spirit of commercial and maritime
adventure. "1^

Combined with this commercial motive was an American attitude
of superiority to other peoples. In the era of Manifest Destiny we brand-
ed Mexicans as degenerate, vice-ridden, superstitious, filled with bandi-
try and people too lazy to use the resources around them.^^ ^t the time
of our war with Mexico an American army officer described that coun-
try's condition as the result of "an unscrupulous love of gain: and bigotry,
superstition, and most arbitrary tyranny. . . .'"^^ Egypt was not only poor
but full of indolent, ugly and malodorous people. ^"^

As to China, rare indeed was the missionary who could be as realistic
as President George B. Smyth of Foochow College:

It must always be remembered that China is a civilized coun-
try with a history and tradition of its own, with a national life of
unexampled length, and all based on the teachings of a sage
whom fhe whole nation honors. . . . Preaching the gospel in such
a country as this is a very different thing from preaching it . .

9 The Southern Literary Messenger (Richmond), XV (May, 1849), 259-66: XV
(August, 1849), 441-57; V (January. 1839), 26.

10 Ibid., XIV (April, 1848), 246-54.

11 John W. Foster, American Diplomacy in the Orient (Boston, 1903), p. 1.

12 Southern Literary Messenger, I (February, 1835), 276; II (December, 1835).
10-11; XII (December, 1846), 755-62; VII (May and June, 1841), 398-421.

13 Roswell S. Ripley, The War with Mexico (New York, 1849), I, 27.
1'* Southern Literary Messenger, XX (February, 1854), 106-108.

3

among South Sea savages where there are no obstacles of an
old civilization. . . . All prophecies, therefore, including those
of our globe-trotting Bishops, are utterly worthless. ^^

Americans before 1860 generally dismissed China as a land in which
"the mind itself has been at a dead stand-still during a thousand years
and more" and whose people were "curious, cunning, demi-civilized. . . ."'
Very often, travellers' accounts of China dwelt upon the curious: tea-
tasting, the rules of begging, Buddhist temples and harems. ^^

Even S. Wells Williams, labeled "an astute and knowledgeable China
expert," wrote harshly about the Chinese. His book. The Middle King-
dom, went through many editions between 1847 and 1900 and probably
shaped American views of China more than any other book. It included
this description of Chinese character:

With a general regard for outward decency, they are vile and
polluted in a shocking degree, their conversation is full of filthy
expressions and their lives of impure acts.

By pictures, songs, and aphrodisiacs, they excite their sensual-
ity. ... As long as they love to wallow in this filth they cannot
advance. . . .

More uneradicable than the sins of the flesh is the falsity of the
Chinese, and its attendant sin of base ingratitude; their disre-
gard of truth has perhaps done more to lower their character in
the eyes of Christendom than any other fault. ^'^

This passage remained substantially the same in all editions, though,
as Williams wrote in his preface, China had changed greatly since his
book's first edition. ^^

Such missionaries' views fitted basic American perceptions of for-
eign lands. We know something of these perceptions from the press and
something more from an exhaustive study of nineteenth century Ameri-
can schoolbooks. The mode of instruction in that day of less learned
teachers was "letter-perfect memorization" without any critical faculties
being brought to bear. American children learned and recited that Mexi-
cans were cheerful, indolent and "averse to serious thought. . . ." China's
civilization might be ancient, but, as a geography book published in 1897
put it, ". . . we cannot say that the Chinese are a civilized people ac-
cording to our standard, for they are not progressive . . . [and] their way

15 George B. Smyth to Rev. George T. Lemmon, May 11, 1898; Albert Shaw
MSS, New York Public Library.

16 Southern Literary Messenger, XVIII (July, 1852), 403; XIX (July, September.
October, 1853), 419, 425-28, 532-33, 615.

1'^ S. Wells Williams, The Middle Kingdom (New York, 1879), II, 96.

18 S. Wells Williams, The Middle Kingdom (New York, 1895), I, ix, 834.

of doing things and thinking about things is to-day just as we find it ... to
have been 2,500 years ago."i^

American attitudes toward the rest of the world are crucial to under-
standing our diplomacy, especially its tendency to reach beyond reason-
able goals. Theodore Geiger, in his recent study, The Conflicted
Relationship, points to the United States as the extreme case of western
man in relations between "civilized" nations and the "third world" or
whatever one wishes to call the region of Africa-Asia-Latin America,
which includes the countries dealt with by Hodgson, Forsyth, Ward,
and Blount.

Says Geiger, "One of the most widely held convictions in the United
States is that American society is a unique creation significant not only
for the American people but also for all mankind." This notion is derived
from "the Puritan conception that America's mission was to serve as a
moral paradigm for the rest of the world" and from our belief that our
political, economic and technological successes made America "a model
that others naturally aspire to imitate." Many Americans have believed
that the lack of progress by Asians, Africans or Latin Americans toward
our "American way of life" stems from their inadequate efforts rather
than inadequate American teaching or aid or flaws in us as a model. Our
history has also "fostered an overly rationalistic and voluntaristic view
of the nature of social change" and Americans believe that "individual
and local group initiative and cooperation . . . can be readily adopted
and applied in any society once their merits have been rationally explain-
ed." Because Americans do not study "third world" societies they do
not understand the kind or magnitude of problems there, or why change
is so slow. Frustrated in dealing with Asians, Africans and Latin Ameri-
cans, we have tended "to dismiss them as morally deficient and incom-
petent and hence not likely to accomplish very much."2o

American diplomacy in the nineteenth century bore the burden of
such attitudes. Small wonder that the Buchanan administration could
assume that Mexico would sell us part of itself, for neither Presidents
Pierce and Buchanan nor Secretaries of State William Marcy and Lewis
Cass understood Mexican feelings toward the United States.

American diplomacy between 1820 and 1890 also bore the burden
of American attitudes toward diplomacy itself. There was decreasing
concern with international politics, decreasing grasp of national interest,
decreasing levels of skill among our diplomats, increasing use of diplo-
matic posts in playing the patronage game, and no general attempt to
professionalize the foreign service. America may have agreed with Enro-

ll Ruth Miller Elson, Guardians of Tradition: American School Books of the
Nineteenth Century (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1964), pp. 1-11, 156-65.
20 Theodore Geiger, The Conflicted Relationship: The West and the Transfor-
mation of Asia, Africa, and Latin America (New York, 1967), pp. 35-43.

peans in believing that the United States was not a great power but
failed to grasp important European behefs: the great powers were re-
sponsible for peace among the small nations, a professional diplomatic
service was essential, and "'sound negotiation must be continuous and
confidential. "21

Consider how most men entered the foreign service in the nineteenth
century. Though some wanted to pursue a career in diplomacy, most
were political appointees and Warren Ilchman says, bluntly, '"The one
qualification in force throughout the period was a 'connection' . . . with
the party in power. "^2 Hodgson alone of the men in this volume was
chosen for his linguistic expertise; the others had a partisan connection.
This was hardly unusual. Indeed, two of our later professional diplomats
began in similar ways. John W. Foster as a young lawyer in Indiana as-
sisted so effectively in the election campaign of 1872 that Senator Oliver
P. Morton told him, in effect, to pick any federal job that he wanted.
Foster and his wife thought it would be nice to give their children ex-
perience abroad and he asked for the legation at Bern, Switzerland. He
was offered Mexico and took the post, somewhat to his own surprise. ^3
Joseph C. Grew, of a wealthy Boston family, having graduated from Har-
vard and travelled widely, did not want to enter business, thought diplo-
macy a pleasant life and applied for an appointment. He almost failed
to be appointed until Alford Cooley, Assistant Attorney General and a
close friend of the Grew family, told President Theodore Roosevelt of
Grew's having shot and killed a tiger in south China. Said Roosevelt,
"By Jove, I'll have to do something for that young man," and the next
day named Grew Third Secretary of the Embassy in Mexico City. 24 If
Foster and Grew did well despite their political or felicidal entry into
diplomacy, many others served us ill. One thinks of Pierre Soule, who as
Minister to Spain behaved more like a matador than a diplomat, wound-
ing the French ambassador in a duel. 25

What makes a good diplomat? Francois de Callieres, a renowned
French envoy of Louis XIV's era, explained it all in De la maniere de
negocier avec les Soiivemins. published in 1716, which we may call,
"how to deal with princes." The diplomat, he wrote,

should remember that open dealing is the basis of confidence;
he . . . will never rely for the success of his mission either on bad
faith or on promises that he cannot execute.

21 Harold Nicolson, The Evolution of Diplomacy (New York, 1966), pp. 100-103.

22 Warren F. Ilchman, Professional Diplomacy in the United States, 1779-1939
(Chicago, 1961), pp. 3, 11. 41-42, 50-51.

23 John W. Foster, Diplomatic Memoirs (Boston, 1909), I, 3-5.

24 Joseph C. Grew, Turbulent Era (Boston, 1952), I, 12-13.

25 William Barnes and John Heath Morgan, The Foreign Service of the United
States (Washington, 1961), pp. 94-95.

The use of deceit in diplomacy is by its very nature limited, since

there is no curse that comes quicker to roost than a lie that has

been found out.

Menaces always do harm to negotiation, since they often push

a party to extremes to which they would not have resorted but

for provocation.

The good diplomatist must have an observant mind, a gift of

application . . . , a sound judgment which takes the measure of

things as they are. . . .

The good negotiator must have the gift of penetration such ns
will enable him to discern the thoughts of men and to deduce
from the least movement of their features which passions are
stirring within.

The good diplomatist must be quick, resourceful, a good list-
ener, courteous and agreeable.

Above all [he] must possess enough self-control to resist the
longing to speak before he has thought out what he intends to
say.

He must be able to simulate dignity even if he does not possess
it. . . . Courage also is an essential quality, since no timid man can
hope to bring a confidential negotiation to success. The negotia-
tor must possess the patience of a watch-maker, and be devoid
of personal prejudices. He must have a calm nature, be able to
suffer fools gladly, and should not be given to drink, gambling,
women, irritability, or any other wayward humors. . . . [He]
should study history and memoirs, be acquainted with foreign
institutions and habits, and be able to tell where, in any foreign
country, the real sovereignty lies.

Everyone who enters the profession . . . should know the Ger-
man, Italian and Spanish languages, . . . also have some knowl-
edge of literature, science, mathematics, and law. Finally he
should entertain handsomely. A good cook is often an excellent
conciliator. 26

Charles Thayer lists a good diplomat's quahties as: honesty, avoiding
"localitis" or the belief that his spot is the center of all world affairs,
political sensitivity, the ability to remain calm, acceptance of foreign
peoples' ways, discretion, courage, wit if it is well controlled, and train-
ing in history, geography, economics and languages. ^'^

Applying these criteria to our four diplomats insofar as we know
them and their abilities, how do they measure up? Hodgson was obvious-

26 Quoted in Nicolson, Evolution of Diplomacy, pp. 88-90; for the full text see
A.F. Whyte, trans., On the Manner of Negotiating with Princes (Notre Dame,
1963).

2'^ Tliayer, Diplomat, pp. 240-49.

ly the best prepared of the four in languages and study of the region
he dealt with; he had an observant mind, worked hard at his job, had
political sense, accepted foreign ways, and was uncommonly successful
in his mission in that he provided solid information upon which policy
could be based.

Forsyth had political sense and knew Mexico, but he knew it as a
hostile army officer and as one who wished the United States to domi-
nate it. He had too little self control, far too much personal prejudice
and inadequate background for his mission. Overreaching what his own
government wished and then instructed to ask what Mexico would never
do, he failed in his mission.

Ward had no specific preparation for his diplomatic task, knew no
Chinese, knew little of Asian culture or history, but was evidently a
superb negotiator in general. He possessed an observant mind, applied
himself to his job, had dignity, self-control, patience, courage, calmness;
and was willing to accept foreign ways up to a point. He was evidently
prejudiced in that he shared the usual American attitude of superiority
to Chinese. He accomplished the one specific requirement of his mis-
sion, exchanging ratifications of the Treaty of Tientsin, and did write
reports somewhat inferior in quality to those of Hodgson on the Near
East. By nineteenth century diplomatic standards he was over-sensitive
about kneeling to an enthroned sovereign.

Blount was honest, calm, observant, patient and a hard worker in
accululating evidence, courteous and agreeable to both sides of the
Hawaiian annexation question without accepting favors from either,
wrote a report which affected presidential policy making, and handled
himself with dignity and courage before a hostile Senate Foreign Rela-
tions Committee. While his recommendation to restore the Hawaiian
monarchy did not ultimately prevail, he was one of few nineteenth cen-
tury Americans who had respect for "native" governments. His attitude
was noticeably more enlightened than that of Allan Nevins, who fifty
years later dealt with Hawaii in his biography of Grover Cleveland and
dismissed its culture in these words: "What civilization existed there
was Anglo-American in origin. "^s

Forsyth's experience is a microcosm of nineteenth century American
diplomacy. The Buchanan administration, in seeking to acquire more
Mexican territory, aroused lively suspicions toward the United States,
souring relations which had been improving. Forsyth's own treaty went
beyond what Mexicans would have preferred in American influence,
and he appears to have had so much concern for American interests
that he neglected Mexican feelings and interests. Thwarted, Forsyth
took out his frustrations on the Mexican foreign minister.

28 Allan Nevins, Grover Cleveland (New York, 1941), p. 551.

The United States has too often looked only at its own interests and
desires, has sought only those and has sent agents abroad who had too
little knowledge of and sensitivity toward other nations and peoples.
Too often, it had ignored the limits of our power to achieve our goals
and has failed to estimate the strength of opponents. Our often bitter
relations with Mexico, our dogged support of Chiang Kai-shek in the
face of Chinese realities, and our embittered attitude toward Mao's
China are but a few examples of the results.

At least, in the cases dealt with in this volume, our nineteenth cen-
tury political appointees served the United States better, on the whole,
than one had any right to expect.

WILLIAM BROWN HODGSON'S MISSION
TO EGYPT, 1834

By THOMAS A. BRYSON*

Scholars of United States diplomatic history have long been con-
cerned with the westward thrust of pioneers to fill out the continental
hmits of the United States and with the subsequent push across the
Pacific Ocean in pursuit of the lucrative China trade. But recendy some
historians have turned their attention to the pioneers making up the
procession of American merchants, missionaries, and mariners who
ventured into the Near East in the nineteenth century. ^ Indeed, James
Field has observed that Frederick Jackson Turner's standing at Cumber-
land Gap ia 1893, looking west as American settlers pushed the frontier
toward the Pacific, gave a definite direction to the writing of American
history. Field suggests that had Turner stood instead at Gibraltar looking
east, he would have observed an "equally distinguished procession" of
American pioneers making their way toward the Levant. The American
penetration of the Middle East, Field asserts, has been an almost for-
gotten saga in the annals of United States history.^ William Brown
Hodgson was one of the early American pioneers who made his way
to the Middle East in the early nineteenth century.

During the period following the War of 1812, many Americans
turned from shipping to industry. This departure, brought on by British
maritime policy during the war, required that the government provide
a high tariff for the protection of infant industries and search out new
markets for American merchants. Although Jacksonians eschewed the
high tariff, a primary goal ot National Republicans, they did look out-

*Associate Professor of History, West Georgia College, Carroll ton. Georgia.

^ See Roy F. Nichols, Advance Agents of American Destiny (Philadelphia,
1956); A.L. Tibawi, American Interests in Syria. 1800-1901: A Study of Educa-
tional. Literary and Religious Work (Oxford. 1966); James A. Field, Jr.. America
and the Mediterranean World, 7 77(5-i56'2 (Princeton, 1969); L.C. Wright, United
States Policy toward Egypt. 1830-1914 (New York, 1969); Robert L. Daniel,
American Philanthropy in the Near East, 1820-1960 (Athens, O., 1970); and
Joseph L. Grabill, Protestant Diplomacy and the Near East: Missionary Influence
on American Policy. 1810-1927 (Minneapolis, 1971). For a survey of work in
progress in American-Middle Eastern relations, see John A. DeNovo, "Research-
ing American Relations with the Middle East: The State of the Art, 1970," a
paper delivered on June 17, 1969, at the National Archives Conference on the
Archives of the United States Foreign Relations and soon to be published by
the Ohio University Press.

2 Field, Mediterranean World, 422-23.

10

ward in quest of new markets. In pursuing a policy of overseas commer-
cial expansion, Jackson's Department of State was able to negotiate
trade treaties with the British and Turks in 1830 and with Russia in 1832.
Some Jacksonians even considered the possibility of obtaining the right
to dig a canal through Nicaragua. While the latter was only a fond dream,
diplomats during the Jacksonian era did push into the Far East and
obtain the right to trade with Muscat and Siam.

Unfortunately, the American passion for overseas commercial ex-
pansion did not bear fruit in the Near East in the years following the
negotiation of the Turco-American Treaty of 1830. In 1833 the Depart-
ment of State decided to explore the possibility of opening new avenues
of trade with Egypt.

Egypt had long been an integral portion of the Ottoman Empire,
but by 1833 her position in the Empire was doubtful. Mehemet Ali, the
Turkish Pasha or viceroy in the Land of the Nile, had established him-
self as virtual dictator in the early 1830's. Although the American treaty
of 1830 with Turkey gave American merchants the right to trade
in Egypt, Mehemet All's defiance of the Sublime Porte made it question-
able whether the right to trade still held good. Desiring to ascertain
the relationship between the Pasha and the Porte, and hopeful of find-
ing new commercial opportunities in Egypt, the Department of State
decided to send William Brown Hodgson to Egypt as a secret agent.

Hodgson was born in Georgetown, District of Columbia, on Septem-
ber 1, 1801, the eldest son of Joseph and Rebecca Hodgson. He attended
the Georgetown School of the Reverend James Carnahan, a Presbyterian
clergyman who later became president of Princeton. Young Hodgson,
taking the classical course, had liberal doses of Latin and Greek. Al-
though he never attended the university, Princeton awarded him an
honorary A.M. in 1824. ^

In that same year of 1824 Hodgson made application on April 29
to Secretary of State John Quincy Adams for a position in the Depart-
ment of State. His application carried the endorsement of Francis Scott
Key, who said that he had known Hodgson since boyhood and that he
possessed "excellent talents and an uncommon faculty in acquiring
languages. . . ."'* In 1825, Adams, now President, appointed Hodgson

^ Sqq Dictionary of American Biography. (1st Supplement), 412-13 and Leonard
L. Mackall, "William Brown Hodgson," Georgia Historical Quarterly. XV (De-
cember, 1931). 324-45.

^ DepaitmenL of State, Letters of Application and Recommendation, Monroe
Administration, 1817-25, File of Wm. B. Hodgson, No. 0073, Record Group 59.
National Archives.

11

as the Department of State's first language officer^ for the purpose of
acquiring training in Oriental languages in order to facilitate the con-
duct of the nation's diplomacy with states in the Middle East. Henry
Clay, Adams' Secretary of State, duly assigned Hodgson to William
Shaler, the American Consul-General near the Barbary States at Algiers.^

A brief survey of Hodgson's diplomatic career prior to his departure
for Egypt indicates that he achieved the high degree of professional
expertise that John Quincy Adams had attempted to infuse into the De-
partment of State during his tenure as Secretary of State. Hodgson
served faithfully at Algiers between 1826 and 1829. Working under
Shaler, he made admirable progress in the study of Arabic and Turkish.
Ultimately, he was able to use the latter tongue to translate the 1816-
Algerian-American treaty from Turkish into English. Following Shaler's
departure from Algiers. Hodgson served as Charge' d'Affaires, 1827-29.
While so serving, he submitted a number of excellent reports to the
Department of State on the French blockade of Algiers, precursory to
French conquest of that state in 1830."^

The young diplomat returned in late 1829 to Washington, where he
took a post with the Department as a clerk. But in 1831, Secretary of
State Martin Van Buren ordered him to proceed to Constantinople,
there to deliver dispatches to Commodore David Porter, the new Ameri-
can Charge d'Affaires and to assist in the exchange of the ratification
of the 1830 treaty between Turkey and the United States. Hodgson re-
turned from his mission in the winter of 1832, but not for long; spring
found him returning to the Turkish capital to assume the position of
dragoman* in the legation. He arrived in June and all went well until
December when he began to complain about the unprofessional conduct
of Commodore Porter. Hodgson lamented his superior's practice of
nepotism, reporting to the Secretary of State that Porter had virtually
excluded him from his duties in order to make place in the Legation for
Porter's two nephews. For the remainder of his stay at Constantinople,
the young career diplomat plied the Department with complaints about
the Commodore's conduct, and begged for a transfer to some other

^ Charles Francis Adams, ed., Memoris of John Quincy Adams: Comprising
Portions of his Diary from 7795-7545 (New York, 1969), VIII, 170-71.

6 Adams, ed.. Memoirs. VII. 106-07.

'^ With respect to Hodgson's career at Algiers, I have consulted Department
of State Dispatches, Algiers, RG 59, NA; 'the William Shaler MSS, Historical
Society of Penna., Philadelphia: the Peter Force MSS, Library of Congress;
Barbary," Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography. LXXIV (January,
1950), 113-41.

*Interpreter. This term is commonly used in the Middle East.

12

post, preferably one of those on the Barbary coast. The feud culminated
with Midshipman David Dixon Porter, the Commodore's son, giving
Hodgson a beating.^

Unknown to Hodgson or Porter, word was on the way ordering the
former detached from the post at Constantinople. The detachment came
about in this manner. In June, 1833, Captain David Patterson, U.S. Navy,
advised Secretary of State Edward Livingston that Mehemet Ali was
virtually independent of Turkey and quite willing to make a commercial
treaty with the United States. Patterson expressed the wish that he be
given the task.^ This note apparently stimulated the Department's in-
terest in Egypt, because on October 10, 1833, Secretary of State Louis
McLane, successor to Livingston, advised Hodgson that he was with-
drawn from the legation at Constantinople and was to proceed immedi-
ately to Egypt as a "confidential agent" to determine if Mehemet Ali
of Egypt were free to make commercial treaties with foreign powers.
The Secretary also requested Hodgson to "ascertain the Pasha's dis-
position towards the United States," to estimate the extent of commer-
cial intercourse between Egypt and the other powers, to furnish an
evaluation of the state of the European consulates in Egypt, to collect
data that might be useful to American merchants in trading with Egypt,
and to discover the best means for improving commercial relations
between Egypt and the United States. ^ Needless to say, Hodgson was
overjoyed, because he had feared that Porter's malice toward him, as
expressed in frequent recriminations to the Department of State, had
wrecked his promising diplomatic career. Writing to McLane, the young
dragoman acknowledged his gratitude "for this expression of the un-
diminished confidence of my government. . . ."^^

Hodgson kept the Department informed of conditions in the Near
East and on the course of the progress of his mission. He wrote an ex-
cellent summary of events in the Levant, indicating a keen grasp of the
complicated facets of the Near Eastern Question that had plagued Euro-
pean chancelleries for many years. ^2 With respect to relations between

^ For Hodgson's career at Constantinople, I have consulted Department of State
Dispatches, Turkey, RG 59, NA; the David Porter MSS, Library of Congress;
David Porter, Constantinople and its Environs, by an American (2 vols.. New
York, 1835); David Dixon Porter, Memoir of Commodore David Porter of the
United States Navy (Albany, N.Y., 1875); James E. DeKay, S/ietches of Turkey
in 1831 and 1832, by an American (New York, 1833); Archibald D. Turnbull,
Commodore David Porter, (New York, 1929); and Finnic, Pioneers East and
Field, Mediterranean World.

^ Patterson to Livingston, June 19, 1833, DSD, Turkey.

10 Dept. of State, Special Missions, Inst., #1 to W.B. Hodgson, October 10. 1833,
103.

11 Hodgson to McLane, June 4, 1834, DSD, Turkey.

12 Hodgson to McLane, June 10, 1834, Ibid.

13

Mehemet Ali and the Porte, he advised that "opinion is entertained here
that a rupture ... is as inevitable as is his independence sure.''^^ in an-
other note, the young diplomat wrote that he had read in the Alexandria
Arabic Gazette that Mehemet AH was defiant and making warhke pre-
parations.^'* With regard to his mission, Hodgson, aware that he must
keep his purpose confidential so as not to engender the ill will of the
Turks, advised McLane that he would depart Constantinople on July 7
and travel as a "private gentleman." He said he would communicate
with the Department by means of cipher when necessary. He told of his
intention to travel to Syria, recently brought under Egyptian hegemony
by force of arms, and also to the agricultural regions of Egypt. So as not
to arouse Turkish suspicions, he said that he planned to travel overland
to Smyrna where he hoped to charter a small vessel to carry him
to Egypt.

Hodgson's journey to Egypt was uneventful. He arrived at Alexandria
on July 2i, having touched at the islands of Stanchio, Rhodes,
and Cyprus, and made a brief visit to Beirut, the Syrian port of entry.
At Alexandria, Egyptian authorities compelled him to endure a rigorous
2i-day quarantine.

In the process of fulfilling his instructions, Hodgson submitted a
preliminary report and two intelligence reports. In these he dealt, in
large measure, with the relationship between the Egyptian Pasha and
the Turkish Sultan, but he also provided a profile of the Egyptian eco-
nomic picture, giving some emphasis to the development of an Egyptian-
American trade. He advised that the Pasha was still viable, had only
recently put down a revolt in Palestine, and was then awaiting an attack
by the Sultan's forces on Aleppo with a view to restoring Syria to the
Ottoman Empire. Hodgson observed that "Mehemet Ali presents the
phenomenon, not uncommon in the Ottoman annals, of a prince de
facto independent, and de nomine subject, to the Sublime Porte, paying
no assessed tribute, and yet making large voluntary presents." ^^ He
advised that the condition of quasi independence that now obtained
would soon become full independence whenever the Pasha asserted
himself to the fullest.

Hodgson also devoted considerable space in his reports to Egyptian
economic production. In fact, he devoted himself almost wholly to com-
merce in the preliminary report. He noted that interviews with Mehemet
Ali and Boghos Bey, director of external commerce, disclosed "that a
more intimate connection might in future subsist betv'een the two coun-

ts Hodgson to McLane, July 7, 1834, Ibid.

14 Hodgson to McLane. July 7, 1834, Ibid.

15 Hodgson to McLane, August 25, 1834, Ibid.

14

tries." Hodgson also interviewed Habib Effendi, the Lieutenant Gover-
nor, who gave him a thorough survey of the resources of Egypt. Tne
American agent concluded that Egyptian produce was very similar to
that of the United States. He compared that country to the plantation
South, saying that it was a land of "agricultural wealth beyond measure."
He stated that the Pasha, as in Pharaonic times, took responsibility for
seeding the crops and inspecting their progress. Despite Egyptian eco-
nomic similarities, Hodgson suggested that the modest, existing com-
merce might be augmented. He stressed that a number of Egyptian
products could be exported to meet American demands, and listed such
items as opium, gum Arabic, henna, incense, salt, saltpetre, flax-seed,
dates, sesame, linen, and ostrich feathers as examples. Hodgson recom-
mended that American merchants make their purchases in the winter,
because this was the season when Arabs conveyed their products to
market. In return, he suggested that the United States might export to
Egypt such items as coal, tar and pitch, resin, turpentine, mahogany,
lignum vita, dyes, rum, tobacco, pepper, pimento, cloves, sugar, candles,
cotton goods, copper, lead, iron, lumber, staves and oars.^^

Having inspected the important agricultural regions, talked to hi^h
government officials, studied the country's customs records, Hodgson
departed Egypt in early November. He traveled via Malta and reached
the United States in late February, 1835. He promptly filed his report to
Secretary of State John Forsyth on March 2.^'^

Hodgson first addressed himself to Mehemet All's treaty-making
power. He pointed out that the Pasha "exercised all the attributes of
sovereignty" but that he had never "asserted his independence" and
still acknowledged himself as a "vassal" of the Sultan. Hodgson stated
that the Pasha's condition vis-a-vis the Sultan was one of "de facto in-
dependence and nominal subjection," a fact disclosed in an earlier re-
port. He observed, however, that Mehemet Ali had neither exercised
his treaty-making power nor had he entered into any commercial
arrangements with any of them. He indicated that Britain and France,
pursuing their respective national interests, were encouraging Mehemet
Ali to assert his independence of the Sultan.

Regarding the second subject of his inquiry, a description of consular
activities in Egypt, Hodgson furnished the Department with a remark-
able account of diplomatic usage in the Near East. After listing the vari-
ous consuls, he delineated the organization of the British consular
organization, maintaining that it was the standard of diplomatic excel-
lence and efficiency in the Near East. He declared that several of the

16 Hodgson to McLane, August 25, 1834 and September 28, 1834; Hodgson to
Forsyth, December 2 and 13, 1834, Ibid.

1'^ Hodgson to Forsyth, March 2, 1834, Ibid.

15

powers employed students to study Oriental languages with a view to
becoming trained for the office of dragoman. Recalling Commodore
Porter's replacing him with two totally unprepared nephews, Hodgson
warned that language students should not be chosen from among the
"nephews and relatives of consuls'" but rather from among university
graduates, well versed in language study. Moreover, he stated that all
legations employed a chancellor, because the capitulatory regime al-
lowed the legations the right of exterritoriality over its subjects, a right
requiring the services of a man trained in the law. He cautioned that
Mehemet Ali hoped to end the capitulations and bring Europeans under
an Egyptian law code modeled on the Code Napoleon.

The third topic of his report, an assessment of Egyptian commerce
and industry, Hodgson had covered partially in his previous communi-
cations. He declared that Egyptian commerce amounted to approxi-
mately $17 million in 1832. The United States enjoyed no direct com-
merce with Egypt at that time, although some indirect trade was carried
on by American merchants in the Red Sea. He said that the Pasha re-
spected all treaties existing between the Sublime Porte and foreign
powers and that the commercial regulations of Turkey obtained in
Egypt. He said that trade between Egypt and other lands was based on
the most-favored-nation principle with all paying 3% import tax.

Finally, Hodgson suggested that in order to facilitate trade it would
be necessary for the Department to appoint a Consul-General in Cairo
to protect American interests. In all probability, Hodgson asserted, such
an official would have strength and prestige to further the sale of Ameri-
can ships, naval stores, and military supplies, which the Pasha badly
needed. He concluded with the admonition that a treaty between the
United States and Egypt would not be necessary because the Pasha ac-
cepted the 1830 Turco-American treaty as having the force of law in
Egypt. But even though a treaty was not desirable, Hodgson advised
that the Pasha very definitely wanted to further commercial and diplo-
matic relations.

Inasmuch as Hodgson's mission resulted in no treaty with Egypt and
produced no marked increase in trade, what can be concluded about
the mission? During the 1830"s the United States was still a young nation,
no longer enjoying the benefits of the British Empire with its far-flung
commercial and diplomatic network. It was necessary to dispatch agents
to the remote corners of the earth to advance American commercial
and diplomatic interests and bring back vitally needed information. In
this respect Hodgson provided a valuable service because like John
Ledyard, Luther Bradish, William Shaler, and a host of merchants, mis-
sionaries, and naval officers he provided a fund of knowledge con-
cerning commercial practice and diplomatic usage in the Middle East.
Subsequently, Hodgson wrote a lengthy "Biographical Sketch of Mo-
hammed Ali, Pacha [sic] of Egypt, Syria, and Arabia," which Peter
Force published in 1837.

16

The Department did follow Hodgson's advice and elevate the Ameri-
can consular agent at Alexandria to the rank of Consul-General. Hodg-
son's mission also served as a model for other such missions sent out
later in the century. To the extent that he created a feeling of amity and
respect between the Pasha and the United States, he laid the foundation
for closer relations and greater trade between the two nations in the
post-Civil War era.

Hodgson's Egyptian mission ended on a happy note for both himself
and for his former superior Commodore Porter. As the Commodore
wrote his wife, "my mind is more at ease, for I have not that puppy Hodg-
son to vex me."^^ Hodgson was greatly relieved to know that Secretary
of State Forsyth quashed the Commodore's request for the Department
to censure Hodgson. ^^ The young diplomat continued in the Foreign
Service for about seven more years. The Department sent him on a
mission to Tangier in 1835. In 1836 he was posted to London, to Wash-
ington in 1837, and finally to Tunisia as Consul-General in 1841. He
resigned from the service in 1842 when he married Miss Margaret Tel-
fair in London, and settled down in Savannah, Georgia to a life
of scholarship and business, ^o

18 Porter to Evelina Porter, March 20, 1835, David Porter MSS

19 Forsyth to Porter, September 10, 1835, Dept. of St. Instr.

20 Following his death in 1871, his wife donated to the Georgia Historical Soci-
ety the building known as Hodgson Hall. The building was dedicated in 1876
and has served since that time as the Society's archive. Hodgson's manuscript
collection is held in this archive.

17

JOHN FORSYTH AND THE FRUSTRATED
1857 MEXICAN LOAN AND LAND GRAB

By JAMES E. SOUTHERLAND*

Traditionally, historians have distinguished between American ex-
pansion before the Civil War and that which emerged in the decades
following that great American struggle. Professor Albert K. Weinberg
refers to the former as agricultural Manifest Destiny, and the latter as
commercial Manifest Destiny. The first type of expansion involves the
direct acquisition of new territory for agriculture, while the second in-
volves trade expansion.^ This traditional interpretation of American
expansion was challenged in the 1950's by such revisionist historians as
William Appleman Williams and Norman Graebner who feel that the
expansion prior to the Civil War was due to demands for increased trade
and commerce as well as agriculture. ^ John Forsyth, Minister to Mexico
in the late 1850"s, espoused a policy designed to dominate that country
economically and commercially. Unwittingly, he was a precursor of
the brand of expansion that became increasingly noticeable after 1865.
Forsyth's project also helps document the view of the revisionists and
is the more remarkable because the South was supposed to be the center
of land acquisition while the North espoused commercial expansion.

Forsyth, a native Georgian, was the son of the distinguished poli-
tician, John Forsyth senior, who was Minister to Spain, member of Con-
gress. Secretary of State under Jackson and Van Buren, and Governor
of Georgia. The younger Forsyth displayed an early talent in editorial
writing, serving as editor of the Columbus (Georgia) Times and the
Mobile (Alabama) Register. His editorials were dedicated to preserving
the Southern institutions and way of life. Forsyth, throughout most of
his career, was a staunch supporter of the Democratic Party since he
felt the Northern Democrats were the true allies of the South. As a re-
sult of this support, Forsyth assumed a responsible role in the Alabama
delegation to the 1856 Democratic nominating convention in Cincinnati.
He and the Alabama delegation favored Franklin Pierce and continued

*Assistant Professor of History, Brenau College, Gainesville, Georgia.

^ See Albert K. Weinberg, Manifest Destiny: A Study of Nationalist Expan-
sionism in American History (Chicago, 1935).

2 See William A. Williams, "The Age of Mercantilism: An Interpretation of
American Political Economy, 1783-1828," The William and Mary Quarterly.
XV, 1958, 419-437, and The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York, 1962),
pp. 18-19; Norman A. Graebner, Empire on the Pacific (New York, 1955), and
his other writings on expansion.

18

to vote for the incumbent after his chances were hopeless. Six weeks
later, Pierce appointed Forsyth Minister to Mexico in recognition of
his support at the convention. ^

Forsyth had served in the Mexican War and was a rabid disciple of
the doctrine of Manifest Destiny and southern expansion at the expense
of Mexico. The following statement indicates his views on expansion
and White supremacy:

I am of course a believer in what ... is termed "Manifest Des-
tiny." In other words I believe in the teachings of experience and
history, and that our race 1 hope our institutions are to spread
over this continent and that the hybrid races of the West, must
succumb to, and fade away before the superior energies of the
the white man.^

Despite his open espousal of expansion, there was to occur in the
first months of Forsyth's term a change in the character of American
policy toward Mexico. The American Minister attempted to de-empha-
size the territorial aspects of Manifest Destiny while stressing a United
States policy of the 1900's in the Caribbean known as "Dollar
Diplomacy."^

Affairs in Mexico were in the usual state of disarray when Forsyth
arrived in October, 1856. Two years earlier, the Liberals had ousted the
egotistical dictator Antonio Lx5pez de Santa Anna. They hoped to build
a nev/ economic and social order in Mexico by curtailing the traditional
power and privileges of the Church, army, and aristocracy. But the
moderate Liberal Ignacio Comonfort, provisional president, found it
a difficult task to carry out this program because of internal and exter-
nal difficulties. On the domestic scene, Comonfort was constantly har-
rassed by the Conservatives and radical Liberals the eternal dilemma
faced by politicians who occupy the middle way. British economic and
diplomatic pressures were the source of his external problems.^

3 David R. Chesnutt, -John Forsyth: A Southern Partisan (1865-1867)" (Un-
published M.A. Thesis, Auburn University, 1967), pp. iv-vi, 6-11.

4 John Forsyth to William L. Marcy, April 4, 1857, No. 29, Dispatches from the
U.S. Ministers in Mexico to the U.S. Secretary of State, 1823-1906, Vols. 21-22,
Records of the Department of State, Washington, National Archives. (Hereafter,
Dispatches).

5 J. Fred Rippy, The United States and Mexico (New York, 1931, pp. 212-213;
Donathan C. Olliff, "John Forsyth's Ministership to Mexico, 1856-1859" (Un-
published M.A. Thesis, Auburn University, 1966), p. 20.

6 Jose' M. Vigil, La Reforma, Vol. V of Mexico a Traves de los Sighs, ed.,
Vicente Riva Palacio (5 Vols.; Mexico, 1962), pp. 56-62; Walter V. Scholes,
Mexican Politics during the Juarez Regime, 1855-1872 (Columbia, Missouri,
1969), p. 3.

.<* 19

Forsyth noted with chagrin the British domination of Mexico and
the relatively weak position occupied by the United States. In view of
this, the new Minister felt his instructions from Secretary of State Wil-
liam L. Marcy were innocuous. He was primarily supposed to allay the
impression that the United States had "sinister views" regarding Mexico
and stress the "friendly regards and fair purposes of the United States."
He was also to work toward the betterment of American commercial
relations with Mexico, particularly in the direction of more favorable
tariffs. 7

Forsyth immediately learned that there were radical Liberals in the
Mexican government, notably the Minister of Finance, Miguel Lerdo
de Tejada, who favored an alliance with the United States which in ef-
fect would amount to a protectorate. These officials felt that only the
intervention or guarantee of the United States could secure a stable
government in Mexico and preclude European intervention.^ The radi-
cals, no doubt, wished to use their neighbor to the North to enhance
their own power and entrench themselves in office.

According to the contemporary Mexican historian Jose' Fuentes
Mares, Miguel Lerdo, prompted by the fact that Mexico was financially
destitute, initiated the idea of Mexico becoming an economic protec-
torate of the United States. Fuentes Mares further contends that For-
syth was greatly influenced by Lerdo's thinking.^ Whether this is true
or not is a matter of conjecture. The evidence seems to indicate that
both men contributed to the formulation of the economic protectorate
concept. Each saw it in view of his own individual interests.

Regardless of who initiated the idea, Forsyth was anxious to nego-
tiate a treaty which would effect an American economic protectorate.
He was very optimistic in mid-November 1856 when his good friend Ler-
do was named Minister of Relations. Forsyth looked on the change as
fortunate for the interests of the United States. Almost immediately
upon assuming his new office. Lerdo formally opened the question of
an American protectorate with the American Minister. Lerdo asked that
a treaty with provisions for a loan and for the settlement of all outstand-
ing questions be concluded as quickly as possible, "owing to the fre-
quent changes of cabinet officers" in Mexico. i

'^ Forsyth to Marcy, November 8, 1856, No. 5, Dispatches; Marcy to Forsyth,
August 16, 1856, No. 2, Instructions of the U.S. Secretary of State to the Ameri-
can Minister in Mexico, 1823-1906. Vol. 16, General Records of the Depart-
ment of State. Washington, National Archives. (Hereafter, Instructions).

^ Forsyth to Marcy, November 8, 1856, No. 5, Dispatches.

^ Jose' Fuentes Mares, Juarez y los Estados Unidos (Me'xico, 1964), pp. 58-59.

10 Forsyth to Marcy, November 14, 1856, No. 6, Dispatches; Copy of the Report
of an interview between Forsyth and Lerdo, National Palace, December 16,
1856, enclosed with Forsyth to Marcy, December 19, 1856. No. 14, Dispatches.

20

President Comonfort initially opposed the proposed treaty but in
early February, 1857, driven by "hard necessities", he directed Lerdo
to resume negotiations. In Forsyth's opinion, the "hard necessities" were
of a financial nature. The rumor that a British fleet was on its way to
Veracruz to enforce payment of debts by intervention undoubtedly in-
fluenced Comonfort. 1^

The result was that agreements, consisting of three treaties and two
conventions, were signed on February 10, 1857. The first was a routine
postal convention; the second, a reciprocity treaty based upon that be-
tween Great Britain and Canada and providing for free trade in certain
commodities between the two countries across land and river frontiers;
the third, a treaty for the adjustment of outstanding claims; the fourth,
a treaty under which the United States would lend Mexico $15,000,000
in return for trade concessions; while the fifth was a general convention
which stipulated that rejection of one involved the rejection of
the whole. With the exception of the loan treaty, all the agreements
signed by Forsyth were covered by his instructions. In this he acted en-
tirely on his own initiative. He had earlier requested instructions on the
loan possibility but the situation in Mexico, however, forced him to act
before they arrived. Forsyth justified his independent action on political
and economic considerations. There were constant rumors that warships
were arriving at Veracruz, and it seemed that such intervention would
result in the establishment of a puppet government in Mexico. He felt

that the United States should help the Liberal government meet such a
challenge. ^2

The American Minister further felt that the loan would be of great
economic benefit to the United States. Forsyth had been greatly dis-
turbed by the fact that Great Britain controlled such a large share of
Mexico's trade. The loan would mean that this situation would be alter-
ed with the United States replacing Great Britain as the leader in Mexi-
co's foreign trade. ^^

By the terms of the loan treaty, the United States would lend Mexico
fifteen million dollars. Three million dollars would be kept by the Unit-
ed States Treasury to be used to settle American claims against Mexico.
Four million dollars would be used to liquidate Mexico's debt to Great

^^ Alberto Maria Carrerio, La Diplomacia Extraordinaria entre Mexico y los
Estados Unidos, 1789-1947 (2 Vols; Mexico, 1951), II, 142-44; Forsyth to Marcy,
February 2, 1857, No. 23, Dispatches.

12 Ibid, February 10, 1857, No. 24.

13 Ibid.

21

Britain. 14 These seven million dollars would be repaid with four per
cent interest. 15 The remaining eight million dollars would go directly
to the Mexican government, and would be repaid indirectly thru a re-
bate. This money would purchase commercial advantages, thus enabling
the United States to dominate Mexico's economy, i*^

The rebate would apply to all American goods and to all European
goods imported via the United States or in American vessels with the
exception of cotton textiles. Only American manufactured cotton tex-
tiles would enjoy the rebate; French printed calico and English clothes
would thus be excluded from the Mexican market. Mexican goods ex-
ported via the United States or in its ships would also be subject to re-
bates. Forsyth predicted that the loan would more than double American
commerce with Mexico and would turn the major portion of the Mexi-
can-European trade through the United States. American manufacturers
of cotton fabrics would be able to compete with those of Great Britain
"for a series of years to come, instead of being, as now absolutely ex-
cluded from the Mexican markets." The combined treaties, in Forsyth's
opinion, would increase the United States' share of Mexico's foreign
trade almost ten-fold. ^'^

In one of his many later statements justifying the loan, Forsyth said
that he considered the loan as a purchase of commercial advantage to
support a "political end that being to sustain Mexico and keep her from
falling to pieces, perhaps into the hands of Foreign Powers, until such
time as we were ready to "Americanize' her." He looked on the loan as
a "species of floating mortgage upon the territory of a poor neighbor,
useless to her of great value to us," which in the end could be repaid
by a "peaceful foreclosure with her [Mexico's] consent. "^^

The United States State Department and President Pierce did not
see the treaties in the same light as did Forsyth. Partly because of the

1"* This would prevent any British excuse for intervention and eliminate the
"greatest lever of British political influence" on the Mexican government. For-
syth to Marcy, February 10, 1857, No. 24, Dispatches.

15 As a guarantee of repayment, thirteen per cent of all revenues taken from
Mexican import duties would be assigned to the United States. Ibid.

16 Ibid. Article 6 of the loan treaty specified a rebate of twenty i^er cent on all
customs duties levied on trade between Mexico and the United States until such
time as the total of the rebates equalled the eight million dollars plus four per
cent interest.

1'^ Forsyth to Marcy, February 18. 1857, No. 28, Dispatches; New York Times,
March 11, 1857.

18 Ibid., April 4, 1857, No. 29.

22

unorthodox method employed by Forsyth in negotiating the treaties'
they were never submitted to the Senate for ratification. Forsyth had
acted outside of the usual procedure by introducing a new element into
American diplomacy with his novel loan treaty. The treaties reached
Washington on February 26, 1857, just seven days before the expiration
of Pierce's term as President. The outgoing President expressed "weighty
objections" to some of the treaties, primarily the unique loan treaty,
and decided to take no action on them.^^ He simply left the matter to
his successor, James Buchanan.

Buchanan, a rennsylvanian with pro-Southern leanings, had been
Secretary of State under President Polk during the hey-day of American
expansion. He was a firm believer in further American expansion into
Latin America as attested to by the fact that he had helped draw up the
Ostend Manifesto which recommended the acquisition of Cuba by force.

The new President, however, disagreed with the reasoning behind
the proposed treaties. Adhering to the more traditional forms of Mani-
fest Destiny, he favored the acquisition by purchase of all or part of the
northern Mexican states and territories of Baja California, Sinaloa, So-
nora. Chihuahua, Durango, Coahuila, Nuevo Leo'n, and Tamaulipas.
To Buchanan, Forsyth's treaty was a radical and dangerous departure
from traditional American commercial policy based on reciprocity and
the most-favored-nation principle. 20

Forsyth felt that he had not risked any great responsibility in meeting
the situation as he did. He had simply taken advantage of the "'golden
opportunity" offered to him. He knew of the general feeling of many
Americans who favored the further acquisition of territory in Mexico.
But he expressed confidence that his government did not desire the grat-
ification of this "public appetite" at the expense of the honor, dignity,
and justice of her neighbor. Forsyth admitted that when he had begun
negotiations the subject of territory had been fully in his thoughts; but
it was one that could not have been broached directly to Mexico with
any show of prudence. In the plan of Ayutla which brought the Comon-
fort government into power, the alienation of national territory was
depreciated as an act little short of treasonable. Comonfort pledged
against ever consenting to it and publicly stated that he would sooner
die than alienate a foot of Mexican soil. In short, Forsyth found it im-
possible to acquire territory immediately and so he did the next best
thing, which was to "pave the way for the acquisition hereafter
of Mexico . . . ."21

1^ Marcy to Forsyth, March 3, 1857, No. 11, Instructions.

20 Ibid. Cass to Forsyth, July 17, 1857, Nos. 27 and 28, and March 11, 1857, No.
12; James M. Callahan, American Foreign Policy in Mexican Relations (New
York, 1967), pp. 245-46.

21 Forsyth to Cass, April 4, 1857, No. 29, Dispatches.

23

Ignoring Forsyth's arguments, the Buchanan administration instruct-
ed him to begin negotiations for an outright purchase of the provinces
of Baja CaHfornia, Sonora and the portion of Chihuahua north of the
thirtieth parallel. He was also directed to reaffirm by treaty the United
States' transit rights in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Buchanan was in-
fluenced in this by two Southern friends, Judah P. Benjamin, the former
Whig senator from Louisiana, and Robert Toombs, senator from Geor-
gia. Both men had a special interest in the Tehuantepec transit route,
and also in plans for a charter of a railroad from the Rio Grande to
Tiburon preparatory to the purchase of Sonora. Toombs recommended
Benjamin as a replacement for the Mexican mission, but Buchanan, des-
pite his disagreement with Forsyth, decided to retain the latter as Min-
ister provided he forget about the February 10 treaties. 22

Impeded by the domestic upheaval in Mexico. Forsyth was unsuc-
cessful in carrying out these instructions and was severely reprimanded
by Secretary of State Lewis Cass in November for his failure. The Ameri-
can Minister was in the process of negotiating with Mexican authorities
at the time of the reprimand, and these talks continued until the spring
of 1858. In March, President Fe'lix Zuloaga, the Conservative general
who had ousted Comonfort a few months earlier, agreed to sell the de-
sired territory. Shortly thereafter, however, there was a reversal of this
decision. The exasperated Forsyth urged his government to use force
to induce Mexico to meet her obligations, and incidentally to enable
the United States to secure territory: "You want Sonora? The American
blood spilled near its line would justify you in seizing it . . . You want
other territory? Send me power to make ultimate demand for the settle-
ment of the several millions Mexico owes our people . . . ."^3

Shortly after this dispatch to Washington, Forsyth engaged in heated
correspondence with Luis Cuevas, the Mexican Minister of Relations,
ostensibly over Americans being compelled to pay a tax which in For-
syth's view amounted to a "forced loan." The real reason for Forsyth's

22 Cass to Forsyth, July 17, 1857, Nos. 27 and 28, Instructions; Robert Toombs
to W.W. Burweil, March 30, 1857, in U.B. Phillips, ed., "The Correspondence
of Robert Toombs, Alexander H. Stephens and Howell Cobb," Annual Report
of the American Historical Association for 1911 (2 Vols; Washington, 1913),
II, 399.

23 Cass to Forsyth, November 17, 1857, No. 33, Instructions; Forsyth to Cass,
April 8, 1858, No. 73, and April 15, 1858, private letter. Dispatches. According
to Buchanan's most recent biographer, this undiplomatic language reflected
American reaction to the execution of the Henry A. Crabb expedition, the slay-
ing by Mexicans of a group of Americans [allegedly] inside the United States
border, and a "host of less spectacular executions, arrests, property seizures,
and studied insults to official American agents." Philip S. Klein, President James
Buchanan: A Biography (University Park, Pa., 1962), p. 322.

24

undiplomatic stance toward Cuevas was the former's disappointment
at tiie failure of his negotiations for territory. This friction culminated
in suspension of diplomatic relations by Forsyth on June 21, 1858. The
Administration sanctioned Forsyth's actions and ordered the embittered
Minister home^^ an ignoble end to a frustrating term in Mexico.

The February 10 treaties and Forsyth's other ideas for an American
protectorate signalled the approach of a new type of imperialism which
was to be prevalent in the United States' foreign relations after the Civil
War. Forsyth was unaware of his role as a pioneer in the field of foreign
affairs. He was a dyed-in-the-wool Southerner, as evidenced by his edi-
torials in the 1840"s and 1850's, who had an unyielding faith in "King
Cotton" and the Southern way of life. Agriculture, not trade and com-
merce, was important to him and his beloved South. He did, however,
understand the realities of political power in the United States and how
this power was shifting and following the commercial North. It is highly
probable that Forsyth wanted the United States to dominate Mexico
much the same way as he saw the North increasingly dominating the
South.25

Forsyth also understood the realities of Mexican politics, and there-
fore was thoroughly convinced that no Mexican President would sell
territory to the United States. The only choice left was an economic
protectorate. Through this indirect device, the United States could dom-
inate Mexico's trade and commerce without exerting formal political
control, thus avoiding the responsibilities that are concomitant with
annexation. This latter idea, rather than being farsighted, was no doubt
a mere reflection of Forsyth's often-expressed sense of Anglo-Saxon
superiority.

Regardless of his motives, Forsyth unwittingly was in tune with the
tenor of the times. The United States was in the midst of a great change
from an agrarian to an industrial nation in the decades just prior to the
Civil War, and Forsyth's actions in Mexico were a reflection of this
change.

24 Forsyth to Cass, June 1, 1858, No. 77 and June 25, 1858, No. 49, Dispatches;
Chesnutt, "Southern Partisan," p. 15.

25 See Olliff, "Forsyth," pp. 121-22.

25

JOHN ELLIOTT WARD AND
THE TREATY OF TIENTSIN

Bv WILLIAM M. GABARD*

Expansionism was a way of life to Americans of tiie mid-nineteenth
century who had pushed their frontier to the Pacific Ocean. The China
Trade, inaugurated in 1784 and popularized by the sleek Yankee Clip-
pers, excited the imagination of Americans of vision. Protection for and
development of this Asian commerce, along with other considerations,
prompted America's Treaty of Wanghia with China in 1844. The astute
Yankee Caleb P. Cushing negotiated the treaty which followed China's
humiliating defeat by England in the First Opium War. Cushing insisted
on the "most favored nation"" principle, thereby obtaining all privileges
for the United States granted to the British and other powers and, in
addition, the right of extraterritoriality. ^

Missionaries, naval personnel, merchants, and politicians soon made
Americans aware of the Celestial Kingdom; some argued for a more
forceful and imaginative policy toward China. For example, a South
Carolinian in 1849 believed that "the future history of the world must
be achieved in the East. . . . The United States," he wrote, "are upon
the coast of the Pacific, looking over the ocean with all the recklessness
of adventure and thirst for gold.""^ America, he contended, was as much
concerned with Asia as any nation in Europe; its Eastern commerce and
Pacific settlements gave it the "privilege of neighborhood. '"^

In the Congress Northerners and Southerners were joined by the
Californians in seeking improved commerce and communication with
the East. Most Americans hoped for a transcontinental railroad and
expansion in the Pacific area; all agreed that the United States had an
excellent chance to challenge England's supremacy in China. ^

*Professor and Head Department of History. Valdosta State College, Valdosta,
Georgia.

^ See John King Fairbank, et al. East Asia: The Modern Transformation (Bos-
ton, 1965). p. 146; Thomas A. Bailey, A Diplomatic History of the American
People. (8th ed., New York, 1969), pp. 299-305; Paul H. Clyde and Burton F.
Beers. The Far East: A History of the Western Impact and the Eastern Response,
1830-1970 (5th ed., Englevvoo'd Cliffs, N.J.. 1971), chap. 6, passim.

2 William Henry Trescott, Thoughts on the Foreign Policy of the United States
(Chadeston, 1849). p. 9.

^ Ibid., pp. 10-12.

^ Huan Ma Wen, American Policy Between China and America as Revealed
in the Debates in Congress (Shanghai, n.d.), pp. 22-37.

26

Embroiled in domestic questions of the gravest concern during the
decade of the 1850's, the United States nonetheless followed a surpris-
ingly active, if erratic, foreign policy which included a growing interest
in the Far East. In 1854, Commodore Matthew H. Perry "opened" Japan
where he established American preeminence. When the British and
French in 1856 became engaged in the Second Opium War with China,
the United States refused to participate because of her long policy of
nonentanglement. President James Buchanan, himself once Secretary
of State, formulated a China policy largely predicated upon a neutrality
during the Taiping Rebellion which shook the very foundations of the
Celestial Empire; a refusal to join the Anglo-French expedition and,
consequently, a cooperation with Russia; and a settlement of America's
diplomatic and consular problems arising from increased trade and
involvement.^

Buchanan sent William Bradford Reed as minister plenipotentiary
and envoy extraordinary to China in 1857 as a political reward. Reed
showed diplomatic skill in obtaining from the Chinese further conces-
sions in the Treaty of Tientsin of June 18, 1858, a liberal extension and
revision of the 1844 treaty. In sum. the treaty, along with those granted
the European nations following the Second Chinese War, eventually
opened China to the West. Particularly significant were those articles
which granted toleration and protection of Protestantism and its con-
verts, legalization of the opium trade, free access to China's interior,
settlement of American claims, the reduction of tariff rates, and the
right to maintain in Peking a diplomatic residence.^

Against the background of America's interest and involvement in
China, a prominent Georgian, John Elliott Ward, served a term as Amer-
ican envoy from December 15, 1858, to December 15, 1860. Born in
1814 in Liberty County, Ward studied at Amherst College. A Democratic
Unionist, he became a resident of Savannah and was admitted to the
bar. He served as Solicitor-General for the Eastern District of Georgia,
United States District Attorney, member and Speaker of Georgia's
House of Representatives, and Mayor of Savannah. The Democratic
National Convention which met in Cincinnati in 1856 selected him as

5 See the appropriate selections on Lewis Cass in Samuel Flagg Bemis, ed.,
The American Secretaries of State and Their Diplomacy (18 vols.. New York,
1963- ), VI, 297-304, 305-23, and 369-^5; Philip Gerald Auchampaugh. James
Buchanan and His Cabinet on the Eve of Secession (Lancaster. Pa., 1926), pp. 11-
12.

^ For the complete text of the treaty see Document No. 198 in Hunter Miller,
ed., Treaties and Other Internationa! Acts of the United States. VII, (Washing-
ton, 1942). pp. 793-805.

27

its presiding officer.'^ Ward's selection suggested "tlie connecting link
between the past and the present," one newspaper observed; the same
journal later reported that a "dozen outbursts of applause" welcomed
Ward when he spoke at a party rally in New York, attesting to his gen-
eral popularity among Democrats, North and South. ^ Ward's enthusi-
astic support endeared him to Buchanan, elected President in
1856. Although Ward enjoyed political success on a national level, his
talent did not go unnoticed by his constituents in Georgia.

Ward had been elected in 1857 to the Georgia Senate, which body
elected him president. ^ While serving in that position in 1858, he ac-
cepted President Buchanan's offer of the American Mission to China,
which a Savannah newspaper called "the beginning of a new era in the
history of American commerce." ^o He resigned his Georgia Senate
post in late November. 1858, and on December 15 the United States
Senate confirmed his appointment. ^^ In general. Ward's selection for
the China mission met with approval. Although he had not held a nation-
al office, he was widely known as a moderate and as a conciliator be-
tween North and South. Ward's "wonderful tact. . . wonted sagacity. . . .
kindness and conciliation" broke down, a state historian believed, the
traditional antagonism between coastal and up-country Georgians. ^^
One newspaper praised Ward's "dignity, courtesy, and ability, alike just
and creditable" in his legislative leadership and noted with apparent
pleasure that a "Southern man, from a cotton State" who was "deserved-
ly esteemed, ... a public servant, honest, faithful, and well qualified"
was selected to head the China mission. Another state newspaper ob-
served that, "His deeds, his worthy deeds alone, have rendered him im-
mortal. "^^ When the New York Journal of Commerce endorsed Ward,
it noted that he enjoyed a "reputation extending far beyond the borders
of his own State." ^^ A few weeks before his appointment. Ward par-

'^ For information on Ward, see "John Elliott Ward," in Allen Johnson and Du-
mas Malone, eds., Dictionary of American Biography (22 vols.. New York, 1928-
1958), XIX. 426-27. and United States Diplomatic Officers, 1789-1939 (3 vols.)
I, p. 1027.

8 Louisville Courier, June 4, 1856; ibid.. June 18, 1856.

9 W.W. Gordon to Nelly Kinzie. October 5, 1857, in Gordon Papers, Southern
Historical Collection, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. N.C.; Journal
of the Senate of the State of Georgia . . . (Columbus, 1857), p. 6.

10 Savannah Daily Morning News, November 5, 1858.

11 Ibid.. November 28, 1858; Boston Daily Eyening Transcript, December 16,
1858.

12 I.W. Avery, The History of the State of Georgia from 1851 to 1881, . . . (New
York, 1881), p. 51.

13 Federal Union, January 5, November 9, 1858; Savannah Daily Morning News,
November 30, 1858.

1"^ As quoted in the Federal Union. December 7, 1858.

28

ticipated in the Atlantic Cable Celebration in New York. Significantly
and prophetically, he responded to the toast to "Woman", when he said,
"Great as were the binding ties of the cable, there was a greater tie be-
tween men of two hemispheres Woman. "^^

Although he had not been abroad, much less to the Orient, Ward
had some familiarity with China. He was a friend of Bishop Stephen
Elliott of Savannah, whose sister married Bishop John W. Boone, Epis-
copal bishop of China; he was on close terms with John Mcintosh Kell,
who cruised along the China coast in 1844-54; and he was a friend of
Commodore Josiah Tattnall, a Savannahian who had commanded the
Powhatan in the China Seas.^^ Moreover, his marriage into a promi-
nent Boston family, his vacations in Newport, and his residence
in Savannah all cities in the "China trade" must have made him aware
of its significance.

John Elliott Ward then appeared to be an admirable selection for
the China mission in 1858. The Treaty of Tientsin had been ratified by
the United States on December 21, 1858, and Ward's principal duty was
to exchange ratifications in Peking. Commissioner William B. Reed,
scheduled to leave China, urged President Buchanan to send a "first-
rate man" for the Peking post, "a most delicate and interesting one."i'^
Reed warned that China's government was where "temporary exped-
iency" often supplanted "what is understood as law and authoritative
precedent," and that its officials were guilty of "mendacity . . .
and treacherous habits." Reed added that until Ward arrived in China,
Dr. S. Wells Williams, an American missionary in China since 1833,
would serve as charge d'affaires. ^^ In the United States the President's
Asiatic policy was "an extension of his program to achieve rapid, safe,
transcontinental transit and looked to the fulfillment of Asa Whitney's
dream of the United States as the funnel of Oriental trade to Europe." ^^
Buchanan believed that California's "peculiar geographical" position
and the recent conclusion of treaties with China and Japan, two "rich

^5 New York Times. September 3, 1858.

16 Stephen Elliott to R.W.B. Elliott, January 7, 1858, in W.R.B. Elliott Papers,
Southern Historical Collection, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N.C.;
John Mcintosh Kell, Recollections of a Naval Life, . . . (Washington, 1900),
p. 65; Charles C. Jones, Jr., The Life and Services of Commodore Josiah Tatt-
nall (Savannah, 1878), pp. 74-78.

1^ W.B. Reed to President James Buchanan, September 2, 1858, in U.S. Depart-
ment of State, Despatches from U.S. Ministers to China, 1843-1906, National
Archives, Washington, D.C. (Hereafter cited as Despatches, China.)

1^ W.B. Reed to Secretary of State Lewis Cass, September 4, October 21, and
December 8, 1858, in Despatches, China.

1^ Philip Shriver Klein, President James Buchanan: A Biography (University
Park, Pa., 1962), p. 326.

29

and populous empires," would entice "American capital and enterprise
into the fruitful field." The President observed that the nation which
dominated trade with Eastern Asia had "always become wealthy and
powerful. "20

While others supported China policies, John Elliott Ward made per-
sonal preparations for his diplomatic mission. He had married the for-
mer Olivia Buckminister Sullivan, of Boston, who had never liked
Savannah. Since she could not go to China, Ward arranged for her to
live in Florence, Italy, and he accompanied her and the children there. 21

In mid-January, 1859, as Ward and his family left Savannah aboard
the Augusta for New York, "the Chatham Artillery fired a salute ... in
honor of their late commander," as a "large concourse of citizens"
watched their "distinguished fellow townsman" depart. 22 By the end of
January, Ward at the New York Hotel reported his plans to leave for
Liverpool on February 2, 1859 on the Arago, accompanied by his wife,
children, brother, and a cousin, Maria Mcintosh, the author. 23 His
predecessor, William B. Reed, was enroute home, and there was hope
that he and Ward could meet. 24 The new minister was in London by
February 23, where Benjamin Moran, secretary of the American lega-
tion, visited them. Moran wrote that amid the confusion of baggage,
porters, and waiters surrounding the Wards he found Ward "extremely
agreeable" and "a refined gentleman" who had "a good head and ex-
cellent manners. "25 The new American minister received attention from
George M. Dallas, United States Minister to England, who attended

20 President Buchanan's 2nd Annuai Message to Congress, December 6, 1858,
in John Bassett Moore, ed., The Works of James Buchanan (12 vols., Philadel-
phia, 1909), I, 273.

21 Laura B. Locke to Louisa Bulloch. November 1, 1858. in Bulloch Papers,
Southern Historical Collection, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N.C.
(Hereafter cited as Bulloch Papers). Ward, who was to receive $12,000 annually
as minister to China, chose as the secretary of his legation his brother, W. Wal-
lace Ward, whose salary would be S3.000. Dr. S. Wells Williams, serving in the
interim period as charge d'affaires, was to be interpreter for the mission at a
salary of $5,000. See Register of Officers and Agents, Civil, Military and Naval,
in the Service of the United States on the Thirteenth September, 1859, (Wash-
ington, 1859, p. 9.

22 SdiV^nmh Daily Morning News. January 17, 1859.

23 J.E. Ward to A.H. Derrick, January 29, 1859, in Despatches, China.

24 George M. Dallas, A Series of Letters from London ed. by Julia Dallas

(Philadelphia, 1869). pp. 93-94.

25 Sarah Agnes Wallace and Frances Elma Gillespie, eds.. The Journal of Ben-
jamin Moran, 1856-1865 (2 vols., Chicago. 1949), I, 510.

30

dinners for the Wards given by Lord Lyndhurst and Mr. T. Baring. 26 On
March 2, 1859, Moran, a constant critic of Dallas, went to a levee at
St. James' Palace, and bitterly recorded the failure of. the minister to
present John E. Ward at court while instead he presented the young son
of an Episcopal bishop. ^'^

By mid-March Ward was in Paris where he was presented to Emperor
Napoleon III and had a "long interview with Count Walewski, the Minis-
ter of Foreign Affairs, in relation to China." He also announced his
plans to meet Reed, who was returning from China. In Lyons, on March
25, Ward had a "satisfactory" interview "for which the President was so
anxious, and which was very important to the success of the Missions."
Reed was apprehensive, Ward reported, that he would have "some diffi-
culty" in reaching Peking and "much trouble" in enforcing the collec-
tion of American claims against China. Ward then wrote of his intention
to proceed to Marseilles and Alexandria, from which he would travel
overland to Port Said, where he would b'^ard a steamer for Aden, and
thence to Bombay. ^s

Dr. Williams, who managed the American legation's affairs for five
months, had been a resident of China for twenty-five years. He con-
demned the coolie traffic from China and the participation of Ameri-
cans in the trade as worse than black slavery and called upon
Christendom to suppress the iniquitous practice. The charge d'affaires
earlier warned that the Chinese disliked all Western nations and if they
appeared friendly to America it was because they feared England and
Russia more. Williams hoped that the Treaty of Tientsin's provision for
interior travel in China would remove from the Chinese officials their
"ignorant hauteur", and that the ratification of the treaty would bring
"lasting benefits to the Chinese as well as to our own countrymen. "^^

Although China was disrupted by civil war, the European Allies took
no part but waited for the arrival of the ratification of the Treaties of
Tientsin. Lord Elgin's brother, Frederick W.A. Bruce, represented the
British; A. de Bourboulon, France. In addition to his principal duty of
exchanging at Peking the ratification of the Treaty of Tientsin, Ward
also was adminished to carry on peaceful negotiations regarding trade
and American claims, and to be neutral toward England and France. He

^ Susan Dallas, ed.. Diary of George Mifflin Dallas While United States Minis-
ter to Russia, 1837 to 1839, and to England, 1856 to 1861, (Philadelphia, 1892),
pp. 311-13.

2'^ The Journal of Benjamin Moran, I, 512.

28 J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, March 17 and 26, 1859, in Despatches, China.

29 S.W. Williams to O.H. Perry, April 27, 1859, and S.W. Williams to Lewis
Cass, January 1, 1859, and March 12, 1859, in Despatches, China.

31

also was urged to cooperate with the Russians, who had promised as-
sistance to him. 30

Ward proceeded from Italy, where he left his family, to Aden and
thence to Georgetown, Penang. There he was met by the U.S.S. Powha-
tan which had been sent to convey Ward and his party to China. Com-
manding the ship was Commodore Josiah Tattnall, a fellow Georgian
and personal friend. The American party spent several days at George-
town where British officials offered lavish entertainment. ^i

The new minister soon had his diplomatic qualifications tested. Re-
portedly the Russians already had established a legation at Peking, and
the British and French ministers were due to arrive at Hong Kong which
Ward reached on May 10. There Ward was "for several days busily en-
gaged in receiving and returning visits from all the foreign, diplomatic,
and naval dignitaries in the city and harbor.^^s But Ward did not remain
long in Hong Kong; he had been advised by Reed in Lyons to avoid that
city if possible and to proceed "as quickly as possible to Shanghai. "^-^

In late May, Ward and his party where in Shanghai where Williams
and the Reverend W.A.P. Martin, the American mission's interpreter
who had been taken aboard in Ningpo, communicated to the Imperial
Chinese commissioners the minister's desire to call upon them. "It was
evident that they had no objections," Williams recorded, "to our going
to Peking." The Chinese appeared willing to exchange ratifications "on
the spot," if such were desired. "Nothing seemed further from their
minds . . . than the possibility of any trouble in our negotiations this
year."34 indeed. Ward met the commissioners twice in Shanghai, once
at the yamen (Haggate, official headquarters of a mandarin) occupied
by the Chinese officials, and at the residence where he stayed. A party
of twelve officers and a guard of sixty marines escorted Ward and sev-

^ Lewis Cass to J.E. Ward, January 18, 1859. Diplomatic Instructions of the De-
partment of State. 1801-1906. China. National Archives, Washington, D.C.,
January 18, January 22, and February 21, 1859; Harper's New Monthly Magazine.
XVIII (January, 1859), 254.

31 For details of Ward's voyage to China, see Lieut. James D. Johnston, USN,
China andjapan: Being a Narrative of the Cruise of the U.S. Steam-Frigate Pow-
hatan, in the Years 1857. '5S. '59 and '60. . . . (Baldmore, 1861), p. 192, 208-11,
(hereafter cited as James D. Johnston, Narrative): Singapore Straits Times and
Journal of Commerce. April 16, May 7, 1859: and Donald Davies, Old Penang
(Singapore, 1956), p. 34.

32 Singapore Straits Times and Journal of Commerce. April 23, 1859; and Charles
C.Jones, The Life and Services of Commodore Josiah Tattnall, p. 80.

33 W.B. Reed to S.VV. Williams, March 26. 1859 in Frederick Wells Williams.
The Life and Letters of Samuel Wells Williams. L.L.D.. Missionary. Diplomatist.
Sinologue (New York and London, 1889), pp. 294-95. (Hereafter cited as S.W.
Williams, Life and Letters. )

34 S.W. Williams's Journal, May 31, 1859, in ibid., p. 297.

32

eral members of the mission, all in sedan chairs, to call upon the Chinese.
Lt. Johnston recorded that the "greasy populace" stared in "admiring
curiosity" at the colorful procession which received "the usual three-gun
salute." Then came "fulsome compliments to the guests, painful self-
detractions from the hosts . . ., and, finally, a grand collation of the gas-
tronomic abominations in which Mandarins delight, and from which
human nature revolts." When the Chinese returned the call, the commis-
sioners decided in the course of the interview to go to Peking, a long
journey, to prepare for Ward's arrival. No obstacles impeded the ex-
change of ratifications. The Chinese first wished to confer with the Brit-
ish and French ministers who reached Shanghai June 6; however, the
Europeans refused to see the Chinese and on June 13 started for the
Peiho River, preparatory to the trip to Peking. ^^ Within three days
.Ward's entourage left for the north aboard the Powhatan, with the Toey-
wan, a 175-ton chartered steamer, in tow. Dr. Williams expressed the
hope that the French and British (the latter able to land 4,000 troops at
the Peiho should the need arise) would not find it necessary to fight
their way to Peking for fear of reopening the war concluded by
the Treaties of Tientsin. "But God has His plans," he wrote propheti-
cally, "in this part of Asia as elsewhere, breaking down barriers and
furthering His truth by many agencies that missionary societies could
hardly practice or afford.''^^

John Elliott Ward earlier had written to Secretary of State Lewis
Cass that he hoped to proceed to Peking as soon as possible and ex-
change the treaty ratifications. ^'^ But the delaying tactics of the Chinese
and the Allied show of force were destined to thwart his aims. The pro-
blem of the Celestial Kingdom granting such vast concessions as was
done at Tientsin in 1858; the necessity to maintain honor when more
than twenty "barbarian" gunboats lay at anchor only eighty miles from
the Emperor's palace; the rebuilding, reputedly with Russian help, of
the forts at Taku that had been destroyed one year earlier; and the im-
patience of the British and the French when they discovered no officials
waiting to conduct them to Peking all led to the opening of hostilities
that disrupted the delicate negotiations for the exchange of treaty rati-
fications. The Allies decided to force their way to Tientsin, to pass
through the iron stakes positioned by the Chinese and to prevent en-
trance to the Peiho River past the Taku forts. ^8

Aboard the Toey-wan with Commodore Tattnall on June 24, Ward
attempted to approach the fort as near as the stakes would permit. A

^^ James D. Johnston, Narrative, pp. 224-27.

36 S.W. Williams to Rev. W.F. Williams, June 13, 1859, in S.W. Williams, Life

and Letters, pp. 298-99.

3'^ J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, May 3, 1859, in Despatches, China.

38 See L.N. Wheeler, The Foreigner in China (Chicago, 1881), p. 108, and W.A.P.
Martin, A Cycle of Cathay . . . (New York. 1896), pp. 190-92.

33

representative of the Chinese assured a landing party that the Emperor
had issued orders to conduct the ministers to Peking. The Emperor,
however, desired that they go to Pehtang, a town a few miles north of
the river entrance leading to Tientsin which was not open to Western
powers. On June 24 the British began to remove the obstructions which
prevented advance past the forts and on the following day they bom-
barded the forts. The Chinese batteries responded in a fierce battle
which caused the Allies losses of more than 400 men. During the hos-
tilities. Commodore Tattnall, who required Ward to leave the Toey-wan,
violated American neutrality by towing British launches containing sol-
diers into the battle scene and by ordering Lieutenant Johnston to have
200 men prepared to join in the Allied assault. Martin and Johnston re-
ported that the Commodore, in going to the aid of the Allies, exclaimed
that "blood is thicker than water. '"^^ Official despatches did not allude
to Tattnall's statement. ^o One historian alleges that Tattnall, who had
Ward's consent to help the Western nations, represented Southern pre-
judice in favor of white men against colored (yellow) opponents. Wil-
liams believed that Tattnall's action "compromised the Americans with
the Chinese." Johnston commended Ward's approbation of his fellow
Georgian's help, which he called a "generous and noble impulse." Lord
Lyons, the British minister in Washington, commended to Secretary
Cass the "friendly feeling manifested" and the assistance given by Ward
and Tattnall. To Lord John Russell he wrote that President Buchanan,
in reporting one newspaper's criticism of the Georgian's "improper de-
parture" from neturality, believed that the assistance rendered Britain
"had met with the hearty approbation of the great majority of the people
of the United States."^

Whatever the consequences of Tattnall's action, the Peiho hostilities
complicated and delayed Ward's principal mission to exchange the rati-
fications of the Treaty of Tientsin. The Toey-wan went north on June 29
to explore the shore off Pehtang. There a landing party from the Ameri-
can mission was able to establish contact with the Chinese and discuss
arrangements for Ward's journey to Peking. "^2 y^e British feared that
the American was attempting to be the first to obtain an audience with

^ S.W. Williams, "Narrative of the American Embassy to Peking in July, 1859,"
Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society. L 1859, 7-9.
(Hereafter cited as S.W. Williams, "Narrative"). See also James D. Johnston,
Narrative, pp. 229-35, and W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay, p. 192.

'^ J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, July 4, 1859, in Despatches, China.

41 Tyler Dennett, ^merzca/?^ in East Asia . . . (New York, 1922), p. 370 n.; S.W.
Williams, Life and Letters, p. 304; James D. Johnston, Narrative, p. 233; Lord
Lyons to Lewis Cass. October 17, 1859, and Lord Lyons to Lord Russell, October
17, 1859, as quoted in Charles C. Jones, The Life and Services of Commodore
Josiah Tattnall, pp. 107-8.

"^ James D. Johnston, Narrative, pp. 240-42.

34

the Emperor and suspected Russo-American cooperation. ^^

John Elliott Ward and his suite went ashore July 8 at Pehtang and
proceeded to the residence of Heng-fu, the Governor-General of Chih
province. Noting that the Imperial Commissioners had not reached
Peking, Ward returned via the Toey-wan to the Powhatan where he and
the legation remained until July 10. Meanwhile, an American steamer
with two Russian officials aboard anchored near the Powhatan; the Rus-
sians and Americans exchanged visits and salutes and established the
"most triendly relations."

On July 20, John E. Ward, envoy extraordinary and minister pleni-
potentiary, selected a party of thirty, including his brother Wallace,
S. Wells Williams, W.A.P. Martin, Lt. Alex W. Habersham, a surgeon,
a chaplain, a parson, an engineer, two attaches, three marines, and ten
Chinese servants and prepared to leave on an historic journey to
Peking.^ Because the Americans' route to the Celestial Capital was
somewhat circuitous, many critics, especially the British and the French,
condemned the Americans for consenting to the trip. But Chinese offi-
cials, compelled by the Treaties of Tientsin to receive "outer barbarians"
as equals, were alarmed. One of the Imperial Commissioners wondered
why the Allies brought more than twenty warships to the mouth of the
Peiho for an exchange of treaties. The barbarians' "unreasonableness
and defeat at Taku," he wrote to the Emperor, had made them "full of
revenge," but he hoped for peace. Referring to the Emperor's directive
of July 11 to conduct Ward to Peking, Sengkolinstsin, a Chinese official,
suggested a route to avoid Tientsin, where the inhabitants, "because of
the recent war may verbally offer some offense" to the "barbarian am-
bassador. "^^ Another official feared that Ward, who had denied compli-
city in the Peiho affair, might act as a mediator for the "barbarian" Eng-
lish and French and possibly create trouble by corresponding with the
Russians, already in Peking. Reports represented Ward as "very respect-
ful and compliant" but "very impatient" about going to Peking. '^^ Con-
cerned over the Peiho hostilities, the Emperor warned, "Let there not
be the least carelessness." Since Article Five of the treaty stipulated that
the American minister's passage to Peking be prepared by local officials
along the route, the Emperor gave Ward permission to ride from the
Pehtang landing overland in a sedan chair. From Tung-chau, Peking's

'^ Ernest J. Eitel, Europe in China. . . (London, 1895), p. 355.

^ James D. Johnston, Narrative, pp. 246-49; and S.W. Williams, "Narrative,"
pp. 11-12.

^ Memorial of Sengkolintsin to Emperor, July 14, 1859, in T.F. Tsiang, "Docu-
ments: China After the Victory at Taku," American Historical Review, XXXV
(October, 1930), 80-82.

^ Memorial of Heng-fu to Emperor, July 11, 1859, in Earl Swisher, China's
Management of the American Barbarians: A Study of Sino-American Relations,
1841-1861, With Documents (New Haven, 1953), pp. 585-88.

35

port on the Peiho. he could use a cart or mule litter, but it was "virtually
impossible" to permit him to use a chair in Peking.'*'^ When Heng-fu
met with Ward, the latter agreed to go by cart when assured that the
Russians, already established in Peking, never rode in chairs. ^s

Since Taku and Pehtang were equi-distant from Peking, Ward's
party did not protest the latter route which it followed, departing July
20. Heng-fu told Ward that the Emperor treated men with "sincerity,
profound grace, and generous favor," and Ward promised to intercede
with Britain and France in behalf of China. ^^ Thus began an epochal
journey, colorful but controversial. When Ward and his party agreed to
go in carts, critics contended that he assumed the same role as tribute-
bearing nations such as Korea. Ward's interpreter wrote that it "was a
mistake for Mr. Ward to accept a cart in the first instance." Martin called
the action Ward's "only weakness," unless his consent to Tattnall's
unneutral action at Taku be counted. ^o S. Wells Williams, in his official
"Narrative" of the mission to Peking, defended the use of the carts,
which he called "carriages" and described as vehicles without springs
or seats, "covered with canvas and oiled cloth," and drawn by one horse
or driven tandem. Williams argued that sedan chairs could have been
used, but he pointed out that coolies could not carry chairs over the
muddy plains. By July 21, the party reached Pehtang, ten miles above
Tientsin on the river. There the legation boarded five boats and reached
Tung-chau, the port of Peking, on July 27. Although "carriages" were
available for the overland trip, the group "preferred horseback or walk-
ing," because of the terrible conditions of the road to the capital. The
arrival in Peking on July 28 was "dissappointing," for the avenue through
the wall's entrance was a quagmire. The party found lodging in a nine-
teen-room house formerly occupied by a disgraced prime minister. On
the next day began the negotiations with the Imperial Commissioners,
assisted by Judge Sieh of Kiangsu. The latter hinted that, because of
Ward's role at Taku, the Emperor doubted the "sincerity of the peaceful
professions of the Americans; . . ." On the following day Ward and three
of his group went by horseback outside the Forbidden City where he was
met by the commissioners attended by one hundred officials. The Em-
peror reportedly wished to honor Ward, not only as a personal gesture
but as a mark of his respect for the President of the United States. ^^

Then arose the issue of an audience with the Emperor, which was
not mentioned in the treaty. The Chinese argued that the audience
should precede the exchange of ratifications. Since Ward was not from

-i' Imperial Edict, July 14, 1859, in ibid., pp. 593-94.

48 Memorial of Heng-fu to Emperor, July 17, 1859, in ibid., pp. 597-98.

49 Memorial of Heng-fu to Emperor, July 23, 1859, in ibid., pp. 603-05.

50 W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay, p. 198.

51 S.W. Williams, "Narrative," pp. 12-16.

36

a tribute-bearing state, he would be required only to perform "'one kneel-
ing and thrice knocking," instead of the traditional thrice kneeling and
nine knockings required in the kowtow. Ward refused to perform the
abbreviated kowtow because, according to Williams, "to kneel v/as . . .
a religious act and he did so only in the presence of God."'^^ g^^ others
who knew Ward as a devout Episcopalian and a chivalrous Southern
gentleman believed that he refused to perform the kowtow by declaring,
"I kneel only to God and woman. "^^ Ward, in reporting to Cass about
the audience question, declared simply that he "would neither kneel
nor prostrate my person before his Majesty. '"^"^

Finally, the commissioners, negotiating on hot days when a cloud
of fine dust covered Peking "like a lurid pall," proposed thai the Em-
peror, in a special conciliation, would permit Ward to bend his knee
and touch the floor with his finger. Ward countered by offering to stand
with head uncovered, to bow several times, and not to turn his back on
the Emperor. This offer of obeisance also was unacceptable to the Chin-
ese, who devised a clever way to save face for the Emperor, accustomed
to abject homage. Ward would pretend to begin to prostrate himself,
but be raised up by chamberlains; the minister would then present the
letter of credence from President Buchanan to a courtier who. while on
his knees, would present it to the Emperor. Ward's adamant refusal even
to this compromise ended the audience discussions. Williams defended
the Chinese against the charge that they were "insincere and dogmatic."
He argued that they genuinely wanted an audience as a demonstration
of friendship, but custom and tradition could not be ignored before
members of the court. ^^

Since Ward was in Peking but could not see the Emperor, he decided
to present the President's letter to the commissioners who could then
offer it to the Emperor. As there were no instructions requiring him to
see the Emperor, the American legation would return to Pehtang where
the treaty ratifications would be exchanged with Heng-fu. Although the
Emperor preferred that Ward return to Shanghai far from the Imperial
capital, for the ratification ceremony, "We, mindful that he braved the
seas and came from afar . . .," permitted him to perform exchanges at
Pehtang. ^6 On August 16, 1859, Ward completed his major duty at Peh-
tang without significant ceremony when he exchanged ratifications of

52 Ibid., pp. 17-18.

53 J.W. Foster, American Diplomacy in the Orient (New York, 1904), p. 250;
and W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay, p. 200.

54 J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, August 20, 1859, as quoted in U.S. Senate Executive
Document, No. 30, 36th Congress, 1st sess., p. 595.

55 S.W. Williams, "Narrative," pp. 20-23.

56 Imperial Edict of August 9, 1859, in Earl Swisher, China 's Management of the
American Barbarians, p. 617.

37

the Treaty of Tientsin of 1858. Heng-fu observed that Ward's "speech
was entirely respectful and compliant" and that the legation was "grate-
ful for Imperial benevolence and pleased no end/'^"^ Ward reported
that he was received in Pehtang "with every mark of respect." ^^ After
more than three months in China, Ward completed his principal mission.

The treatment of the American legation had been courteous but
not cordial. Hence Ward was ridiculed unmercifully because of his
journey to Peking in carts and the restrictions placed upon him there.
"The newspapers at Hongkong have generally thrown discredit on the
visit of the American ministers to Peking," S. Wells Williams noted,
"ridiculing some things, doubting what they pleased, and showing their
proficiency in vituperation. It is sad to see the bitterness of these papers
against the Chinese." W.A.P. Martin felt that Ward had "displayed cour-
age" in a difficult situation. On the other hand, Lt. Johnston believed
that "all were gratified" by Ward's perseverance in completing the ex-
change of ratifications, "although it had been accomplished at some
little sacrifice of national and ministerial pride. "^^ To some historians.
Ward reached Peking "... but both on his journey and in the capital
he was treated with great ignominy ... as a tribute-bearer from one of
the neighboring countries."^o Although the English and French regarded
Ward's mission as a fiasco, others observed that, while the former with-
drew from the Peiho in discomfort, the American and Russian minis-
ters "gained all the advantages sought or expected of them.''^^ Another
view held that Ward had acted entirely in conformity with his instruc-
tions and the treaty provisions. ^2 Ward's completion of the chief pur-
pose of his mission at Pehtang permitted him to board the Powhatan,
anchored for one month in the outer harbor, and to sail on August 18
for Shanghai. ^3

The minister's departure for the south did not, however, allay the
controversy surrounding his trip to Peking, especially his mode of trans-
portation in a country where ceremony and form were paramount.

5"^ Memorial by Heng-fu to Emperor, August 20, 1859, in ibid., pp. 619-20. Heng-
fu's interpreter was a former pupil and namesake of Bishop John W. Boone; see
W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay, p. 202.

^ J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, August 20, 1859, in U.S. Senate Executive Docu-
ment, No. 30, 36th Congress, 1st sess., p. 598.

59 S.W. Williams, Life and Letters, p. 323; W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay,
p. 201; and James D. Johnston, Narrative, p. 270.

^ D. Bonner-Smith and E.W.R. Lumby, eds.. The Second China War, 1856-
1860 (London, 1954), p. 391.

^^ L.N. Wheeler, The Foreigner in China, p. 109.

62 En-Sai Tai. Treaty Ports in China: A Study in Diplomacy (New York, 1918)
p. 50.

^ James D. Johnston, Narrative, p. 271.

38

"Jonathan's Ride to Peking," an eight-stanza verse to the tune of "Yan-
Icee Doodle" was pubUshed in Punch. The concluding stanzas concern-
ing Ward's mission delivered a stinging rebuke and malicious ridicule:
Their mission ended, from their cage

Politely liberated,
They were, in that same equipage

They came in, re-located,
And brought, with care particular,

To where they first intruded,
Like blacks inside a nigger-car.
As snug, and more secluded.

I reckon that's the way to treat

Our great and glorious nation.
And offer humble pie to eat

To them as flogs creation!
But we must swaller down our pride,

When dollars we are seekin!
And be content, old hoss, to ride

In a hoss box up to Pekin.^*

Another English publication told of Ward's ride to Peking in vehicles
"not unlike horse-boxes" and confinement in the capital. "The whole
affair seems to have been humiliating," the Illustrated London News
noted, "and not in accordance with the dignity of a great nation." But
in a later issue, the News reported that New York newspapers expressed
"satisfaction" with Ward's treatment and called English accounts of the
mission "unwarranted." Within two years, the News carried sketches
and a detailed account of the type of cart used by Ward. It described
some as "beautifully finished" and "much patronized by the fair ones
of Peking. "65

S. Wells Williams wrote that "a ridiculous rumor, illustrated by ap-
propriate pictures" about Ward's travel in a "box," circulated in Paris.
He attributed the jeux d'esprit to "the popular sentiment in France of
what was expected from the Chinese, . . ."^6 In response to a critical
review by The Times of Ward's mission, the American minister to Eng-
land reported that news from the Russians in St. Petersburg confirmed
his belief that Ward was well received in China. "The truth is," he ob-
served, "that the contrast between peaceful and bullying diplomacy is
becoming painfully clear, and must be obscured by canards.^' Dallas
bitterly condemned English journals and statesmen who took "special
pleasure in trying to make Mr. Ward ridiculous." Ward's "manly and

^ Punch, XXXVII (October 5, 1859), 152.

65 The Illustrated London News, XXXV (November 9, 1859), 432, XXXV (De-
cember 3, 1859), 520, and ibid., XXXVII (February 23, 1861), 159.

66 S.W. Williams, History of China, p. 317.

39

glorious impulses'" during the "critical moment" of the fight at Taku
saved the life of the British admiral." 1 he "inconsistencies of false pride
know no end," he concluded. '5'' In the United States his mission to the
Celestial F.mpire had been dramatized by the celebrated Dan Rice Great
Show. Ward had been "equestrianized" by the theatrical group in Phil-
adelphia, according to a Georgia newspaper.^^

Ward's wife, Olivia, living in Italy suffered keenly the absence and
reported treatment of her husband. "It has been a half year of incessant
anxiety," she wrote, "It is paying very dear for honors . . . ." Mrs. Ward
described in detail the caricatures which had appeared in Punch: "Just
what one would expect from the English .... They are the most arro-
gant people on the face of the earth. "^^

While the world discussed the controversial American mission, John
Elliott Ward left Pehtang, site of the treaty ratifications, and reached
Shanghai August 22, 1859. During his month's stay in the latter city, he
received "with great pomp and ceremony" the Emperor's reply to Presi-
dent Buchanan's letter presented in Peking. Lt. Johnston described the
Imperial document as "enveloped in a cumbrous roll of yellow silk, the
shape and dimensions of which gave it very much the appearance of a
fat baby in swathing bands. "'^o Ward also received and began negotia-
tions for the conventions one for the revision of tonnage duties and
the other for the opening of two additional ports stipulated in the
recently-ratified Sino-American treaty. Suspicious that Ward, brooding
over English ridicule of his mission, might be in collusion with the Brit-
ish, prompted the Chinese to conclude that he was "unusually cunning.
This is his basic nature. '"^^

Ward found the atmosphere in Shanghai drastically changed since
his stay there three months earlier. "The disastrous result of the battle
of Peiho has done much to unsettle the conditions of things in China,"
he wrote. He noted the change in the "whole manner and bearing" of
the Chinese toward foreigners. Westerners in Shanghai were "under the
painful apprehension" of an attack on the foreign settlement. '^^ While
Ward awaited further negotiations with the Chinese, he left with his
suite on board the Powhatan September 18 for a visit to Japan. One

""'' G.M. Dallas to Lewis Cass, October 28, 1859, and G.M. Dallas to W.B. Reed,
November 4, 1859, in George M. Dallas, A Series of Letters from London, . . .
pp. 163-65, 166.

^ Savannah Daily Morning News, March 27, 1860.

69 Olivia S. Ward to Louisa Bulloch, October 13, 1859, in Bulloch Papers.

'^^ James D. Johnston, Narrative, p. 297.

''I Memorials to the Emperor, September 5, 18. and October 4, 1859, in Earl
Swisher, China's Management of the American Barbarians, pp. 625-32.

"^2 J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, September 1, 1859, in Despatches, China.

40

month later, after a visit to Japan J^ Wara sought to resolve with the
Chinese 4h two supplemental conventions relating to two new ports
and tonnage dues. After lengthy negotiations, an Imperial Edict of No-
vember 15, 1859, officially authorized the opening of two additional
harbors, Swatow and Taiwan, where a brisk American trade already
was in progress. '^^ Ward appointed a committee to settle American
claims against the Chinese. By November 19 he could write to Cass that
he had issued a proclamation on November 8, 1859, regarding the pub-
lication of the Treaty of Tientsin "for the general guidance of all to
whom it may concern." The ports of Swatow and Taiwan, he announced,
would be opened to American commerce and residence in January.''^

John Elliott Ward and his suite left Shanghai, arrived November 21
at Hong Kong, and later went to Canton where he had an interview with
Imperial Commissioner Ho. The latter wrote that Ward declared he
"had abundantly received His Imperial Majesty's extraordinary Heaven-
ly Favor and the people of his entire nation were grateful." Ho believed
that Ward's demeanor reflected his "respectfulness and compliance . . .
[as] expressions of complete sincerity. ""^^ Ward then went to Macao
where he remained several weeks and supported the suppression of the
iniquitous coolie trade, a practice which the California gold rush had
fostered. Ward allowed Chinese authorities to remove 317 coolies from
an American ship to ascertain whether any were detained against their
will. None returned to the vessel. He also recommended that the State
Department urge Congressional action on the coolie trade, which
grieved him deeply. '^'^

As early as July 4, 1859, shortly before going to Peking, Ward had
expressed to Cass his desire to leave China in March of 1860 and to re-
turn home by way of Europe to visit his family. Later Ward reported
that the Treaty of Tientsin was in full force and that claims of Ameri-
cans in China had been ajudicated. He wished to leave his post in the
fall and travel through Europe to Washington, there "to give an account

'^3 While in Nagasaki Ward purchased a Japanese suit of armor which he gave
to Commodore Tattnall. The latter presented the armor to the Georgia Histori-
cal Society where it remains today. In Edo, Ward also called upon Townsend
Harris, the American minister, who presented his visitor to the Shogun. See
James D. Johnston, Narrative, pp. 278-303, pa^.v//??; J.E. Ward to Josiah Tattnall,
October 20, 1859, in Josiah Tattnall, Jr., Letters, Manuscript Department, Duke
University Library, Durham, N.C.

^^ As cited in Earl Swisher, China's Management of the American Barbarians.
p. 638.

'^5 J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, November 19, 1859, in Despatches, China.

'^^ Memorial of Ho to Emperor, January 6, 1860, in Earl Swisher, China's Man-
agement of the American Barbarians, pp. 643-44.

^'^ S. Wells Williams, History of China, p. 311; J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, Febru-
ary 24, 1860, in Despatches, China.

41

of my Stewardship and to surrender up my Trust to the present Admin-
istration." Ward was anxious to leave, but he wrote that the "present
condition of China is such that my departure might be commented upon
by the enemies of the Administration and regretted by its friends." In
a later dispatch, he also requested a six-months leave of absence from
the date of his departure from China. He then promised to remain until
the end of the year "by which time the difficulties between China and
the Allied Powers will either have been adjusted or become chron-

ic.

'78

In May, Ward returned from Macao to Shanghai where he met the
Russian minister. General Nikolai P. Ignatieff. Soon Baron de Gros and
Lord Elgin arrived in Shanghai, in July, the Allies sailed north with
warships, some 17,500 troops, and a coolie corps of 2,500. With all as-
pects of the Sino-American treaty settled, the Chinese were apprehen-
sive of Ward's desire to come to Tientsin, fearing collusion between the
Americans on the one hand and the Allies and the Russians on the other.
To forestall such an eventuality, the Emperor encouraged his Grand
Councillors "to cause Russia and America and England and France all
to suspect one another; . . ." In desperation before the formidable bar-
barian force threatening China, His Celestial Majesty authorized his
officials to urge Ward to mediate with England and France; the only
stipulation in their coming to Peking was that Ward's route of 1859 be
used."^^ The Chinese presented food to the Americans who, in return,
gave Heng-fu, the negotiating official, "two cases of foreign wine."^o
In spite of Ward's conciliation efforts, he was compelled to write Heng-
fu that, because of America's neutrality, he could not discuss "the crook-
ed and straight, right or wrong" differences between China and the
Allies. In brief, his role as mediator was a failure. ^^ Instead, the Allies
marched on Peking in October, the Emperor fled to Jehol, and the in-
vaders, in a dastardly crime, sacked and burned the Summer Palace,
an area more than six miles in length. By 1860 China was fully opened
to the West and made significant cessions of land east of the Ussuri
River to the Russians. ^^

As the Allies advanced upon Peking, John Elliott Ward returned to
Shanghai which, although under attack from the Taiping rebels, he de-

^8 J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, July 4, 1859, and February 13, 24, and March 26,
1860, in ibid.

'^^ Memorial of Hsueh Huan to Emperor, July 13, 1860, and Imperial Edicts of
July 30, 31, in Earl Swisher, China's Management of the American Barbarians.
pp. 651, 652, 662-63, 667-68.

^ Memorial of Prince Seng to Emperor, August 3, 1860, in ibid., pp. 670-71.

81 J.E. Ward to Heng-fu, August 4, 1860, in ibid., p. 675.

82 Paul H. Clyde and Burton F. Beers, The Far East, pp. 94-95; John King Fair-
bank, East Asia: The Modern Transformation, pp. 170-73.

42

scribed "as perfectly quiet, and no apprehension felt on account of the
Rebels." He then announced his intention to visit the "open ports. "^^
Ward eventually reached Hong Kong where he informed Cass that he
was availing himself of the leave of absence granted by President Buch-
anan May 8. He left for Aden aboard the steam-frigate Niagara on De-
cember 15, 1860, two years after his appointment to the American post.
From Aden he went to Italy to rejoin his family. ^'^ By the time of his
arrival in Europe, Ward found the American Union dissolved. He then
decided to leave his family in Italy, was in New York by late March, and
proceeded to Washington to report on his mission to the State Depart-
ment. From the capital of the Union he was able to cross on the last
ferry boat leaving for Alexandria. By April 23, 1861, Ward was back
home in Savannah. There he would follow an interesting, if enigmatic,
career during the Civil War.^^

John Elliott Ward spent two and one-half years as minister to China.
His major assignments were to exchange ratifications of the Treaty of
Tientsin of 1858, to adjudicate American claims against Chinese, and
to maintain the neutrality of his country. President Buchanan believed
that Ward, "in obedience to his instructions," proved "fully equal to
the delicate, trying, and responsible" position in which he was placed.

"The friendly and peaceful policy" of the United States toward China
was eminently satisfactory. ^^ jj^g native Georgian had served his coun-
try well; indeed, an English journal observed that the ministers of the
United States and Russia, "whose management of Chinese peculiarities
we should do well to imitate," succeeded where England failed. ^'^

It is difficult to assess the impact of Ward's mission on the China
trade. In the 1850's Karl Marx believed that the "wild views" on the pos-
sibilities of trade with China, once the Celestial Empire was "opened"
to Western nations, were "high flown anticipations [which] had no solid
ground to stand on." Marx concluded that, "after a careful survey of
the history of Chinese commerce, . . . the consuming and paying powers
of the Celestials have been greatly overestimated. "^8 On the other hand,
an American commercial journal contended that the Chinese had been

^ J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, September 20, 1860, in Despatches, China.

^ J.E. Ward to Lewis Cass, December 14, 1860, in ibid.\ Winfield Scott Schley,
Forty-five Years Under tiie Flag (New York, 1904), p. 20.

85 W.M. Gabard, "The Confederate Career of John Elliott Ward," Georgia
Historical Quarterly, LV (Summer, 1971), 177-207, passim.

^ President Buchanan's 4th Annual Message to Congress, December 3, 1860,
in John Bassett Moore, ed.. The Worlds of James Buchanan, XI, 29-30.

87 The Illustrated London News, XXXVII (July 21, 1860), 48.

88 Marx on China, 1833-1860: Articles from the New York Daily Tribune (with
an Introduction and Notes by Dona Torr) (London, 1951), pp. 64, 87.

43

"galvanized into human intercourse by two potent agents" Christianity
and Cahfornia gold. The Taiping Rebellion caused a significant shift
of the tea trade from Canton to Shanghai; by 1860 the American trade
with Shanghai had been growing in a "two-fold" ratio for many years.
The emigration of Chinese to California after the gold rush ultimately
resulted in an investment by Chinese businessmen of America of $2
million in the San Francisco-China trade. Gold, lumber, and cotton
goods constituted the major American exports to China; tea and silk
were the chief commodities sought in China. Sino-American trade cer-
tainly increased after the ratifications of the Treaty of Tientsin, but two
rebellions, the Taiping in China and the Civil War in the United States,
prevented an immediate upsurge of the legendary China Trade. But
the prospect of 420 million Chinese who might purchase American cot-
ton goods was still tantalizing.^^

W.A.P. Martin, an early "China hand," beheved that America, "so
remote as to exclude suspicion of a design on Chinese," free from en-
tanglements, and "sufficiently powerful and sufficiently enlightened to
command respect . . ." would be a good Samaritan to China. ^

From 1844 to 1945, the United States generally sought to trade with
China, to Christianize her, to insure her territorial integrity, and to bring
her into the community of nations. The United States developed a vig-
orous foreign policy based on these principles, and John ElUott Ward
was an early architect of that policy. That those policies failed by 1949
is well known; that the United States is today attempting to establish
some sort of detente with China is incontrovertible. In 1859 John Elliott
Ward refused to kowtow to the Chinese Emperor; ironically, President
Richard B. Nixon went to China in 1972 to bow to Mao.

^^ "China," The Merchants' Magazine and Commercial Review, XLVII (August,
1862), 129-37.

90 W.A.P. Martin, A Cycle of Cathay, p. 406.

44

"'PARAMOUNT' BLOUNT: SPECIAL

COMMISSIONER TO INVESTIGATE THE

HAWAIIAN COUP, 1893"

By OSMOS LANIER, JR.*

Twenty years of meritorious service as a United States Congress-
man was recognized on March 11, 1893, when James Henderson Blount
of Macon, Georgia was appointed as special commissioner to the Hawai-
ian Islands by President Grover Cleveland. Congressman Blount had
retired from his position in the House on March 4, after twenty consecu-
tive years as a representative of his native state of Georgia. Only two
days after his retirement Blount had informed Secretary of State Walter
A. Gresham that some form of honorable recognition from the Presi-
dent, such as a temporary assignment as a delegate to some international
monetary conference, would be gratifying to himself and his family. ^
Rather than an assignment of minor importance, Blount was appointed
as an executive agent to the Hawaiian Islands to investigate the recent
overthrow of the monarchy on January 17, 1893. As a result of so much
controversy during the investigation concerning the power given to
Blount over the diplomatic and naval forces, he became popular-
ly known as "Paramount" Blount.

Prior to the 1890's the United States enjoyed a firm hold on the eco-
nomic affairs of the Hawaiian Islands stemming from an 1875 reciprocity
treaty that admitted duty free, to each country, the principal products
of the other. 2 Between 1890 and 1893 this close relationship suffered
severe blows. First, the McKinley tariff of 1890 put raw sugar on the
free list and also compensated American producers with a bounty of
two cents a pound, thus hurting American-born Hawaiian sugar growers.
Second, a native-supported, anti-American political party, the National
Reform Party, won control of the Islands' legislature in 1890. Third, in
1891 the hold of anti-American factions was strengthened when Queen
Liliuokalani's anti-planter government came to power.

*Associate Professor of History, Armstrong State College, Savannah, Georgia.

1 James Henderson Blount to Walter A. Gresham, March 6, 1893: Copy in the
Grover Cleveland Papers, Library of Congress.

2 W.M. Malloy, Treaties, Conventions, International Acts, Protocols, and Agree-
ments between the United States of America and Other Powers, 1776-1909.
Senate Document No. 357, 61st Congress, 2d session (Washington, 1910), I,
915-920. An 1887 extension gave the United States the right to use Pead Harbor
as a coaling and repair station for its ships.

45

The Queen's notions of sovereign authority were reported to the
State Department of the United States by the American Minister to the
Islands, John L. Stevens, who had been appointed to this position by
an old friend, Secretary of State James G. Blaine. Since Blaine shared
his expansionist views. Stevens expressed his fears of the Queen's actions
and urged his friend to develop a closer relationship between the United
States and the Islands, to utilize Pearl Harbor better, and to construct
a transoceanic cable to improve communication between the two
countries.

An attempt on the part of Queen Lihuokalani on January 14, 1893,
to revise the constitution of the Islands, giving almost absolute power
to the monarch, confirmed Steven's fears. On the advice of her ministers
the Queen repudiated this attempt two days later, but too late. An An-
nexation Club, formed a year earlier, now appealed to the American
Minister to land American sailors and marines from the U.S.S. Boston
to protect American property. Minister Stevens complied, and
the revolutionaries occupied the government building without opposi-
tion on January 17, and completed a successful coup.

The new Provisional Government immediately sent a commission
of five to negotiate a treaty of union v/ith the United States. The com-
missioners arrived at San Francisco on January 28 and left for Washing-
ton the following day to begin negotiations with Secretary of State John
W. Foster. 3

The Republican Administration of Benjamin Harrison wasted no
time in agreeing to proposals by the Hawaiian Commissioners for an-
nexation. Within twelve days a treaty of annexation had been signed
and sent to Congress on February 15 by President Harrison with a mes-
sage urging prompt and favorable action. ^

The Senate Committee on Foreign Relations promptly approved
the treaty and reported its decision to the Senate. ^ The Republicans
were worried that the Democrats would offer strong opposition to ap-
proval of the treaty. However, Senate Democratic leaders John Tyler
Morgan, a known expansionist from Alabama, and Arthur P. Gorman of

3 Secretary Blaine had resigned in June, 1892, to seek the Republican nomina-
tion for President and was replaced by Foster. See Julius W. Pratt, Expansion-
ists of 1898: The Acquisition of Hawaii and the Spanish Islands (Bahimore. 1936),
34-lil, William A. Russ, h.. The Hawaiian Revohition, 1893-94 (Selinsgrove,
Pennsylvania. 1959), and Osmos Lanier, Jr., -'Anti-Annexationists of the 1890's"
(Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. University of Georgia, 1965).

4 Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of tlie United States (Washington,
1895), Appendix II, 197-205. Hereafter cited as For. Rels.

5 Journal of the Executive Proceedings of the Senate. 52d Congress (Washing-
ton. 1909). '398.

46

Maryland assured Secretary of Stale Foster there would be no serious
-troub'e in getting the measure passed. ^ But other Democrats looked to
the incoming administration for guidance.

The Hawaiian treaty was awaiting action in the Senate when
President-elect Cleveland was inaugurated on March 4. Five days later
Cleveland requested that the Senate return the treaty to him for re-
examination.'^ On March 11 Secretary of State Gresham gave newly
appointed Commissioner Blount his instructions:

You will investigate and fully report to the President all the facts
you can learn respecting the condition of affairs in the Hawaiian
Islands, the causes of the revolution by which the Queen's Gov-
ernment was overthrown, the sentiment of the people toward
existing authority, and in general, all that can fully enlighten
the President touching the subjects of your mission.

To enable you to fulfill this charge, your authority in all mat-
ters touching the relations of this Government to the existing
or other government of the islands, and the protection of our
citizens therein, is paramount, and in you alone, acting in coop-
eration with the commander of the naval forces, is vested full
discretion and power to determine when such forces should be
landed or withdrawn.^

At the time of the appointment, few persons opposed the selection
of former Congressman Blount for this task. The New York Times gave
a representative view of this feeling in an editorial on March 30: "It
is fortunate that the Government has sent out a man so level-headed
and self-possessed as ex-Congressman Blount of Georgia to investigate
the situation in Hawaii and the circumstances and influence that brought

^ John W. Foster, Diplomatic Memoirs (Boston, 1909), II, 168. Also see August
Carl Radke, Jr., "John Tyler Morgan, An Expansionist Senator, 1877-1907" (Un-
published Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1953) and John R. hdiva-
hen, Arthur Pue Gorman (Baton Rouge, 1953). There is dispute among historians
as to whether Harrison and Foster were confirmed expansionists or not but it
is important to note that Harrison later became a vice-president of an Anti-
Imperialist League in the latter part of the 1890's and wrote two articles in the
Nortli American Review in 1901 against the retention of the Philippine Islands
by the United States. Benjamin Harrison, "Status of Annexed Territory," North
American Review, CLXXII (January, 1901), 1-22, and "Musing Upon Current
Topics," Ibid. (February, 1901), 177-90.

"^ James D. Richardson (ed.), A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the
Presidents (Washington, 1896-1899), IX, 393. Hereafter cited as Richardson (ed.),
Messages and Papers of the Presidents.

8 For. Pels.. 1894, App. II, 1185.

47

it about. "9 Even the Hawaiian Commissioners trusted that Blount with
his Southern background would sympathize with their position of trying
to establish a white man's government where there was an ignorant
majority in the electorate. ^^^

Blount had been a popular, respected and influential man during
his stay in the House. On retiring, he was the recipient of many glowing
speeches from both Republicans and Democrats, as well as a standing
ovation that lasted for several minutes. There was little doubt of his
honesty and integrity among his colleagues. ^^ He had served on impor-
tant committees including Appropriations, Ways and Means, and For-
eign Affairs. The experience Blount gained as Chairman ofvthis latter
committee along with his honesty and integrity were the major factors
considered by the Cleveland Administration in selecting him as
Commissioner. ^2

When Blount arrived in Honolulu he found the opposing parties
anxious to influence his decision in their favor. Minister Stevens and
a committee of the Annexation Club boarded the ship to offer him ac-
commodations, including a house, servants, carriage and horses. Blount
declined the offer and chose to stay in the Hawaiian Hotel. He also de-
clined the offer of the Queen's carriage to convey him to the hotel.

Blount used his "paramount" authority in his first official act termi-
nating the limited protectorate instituted by Stevens. Blount felt a fair
investigation could not be conducted until the American flag and troops
had been removed since some persons might be intimidated or fear testi-
fying because of their presence.

While conducting the investigation, Commissioner Blount heard
many opinions while expressing none. He held interviews, received let-
ters and affidavits and listened to memorials read from interested par-
ties. He refused all offers of hospitality from both sides and made few

9 New York Times, March 30. 1893, 4.

10 Pratt, Expansionists of 1898, 128. Blount had fought for the Confederacy and
his family had owned slaves. For the best source of information on Commissioner
Blount see (Mrs.) W.D. Lamar, When All Is Said and Done (Athens, Georgia,
1952). Mrs. Lamar was one of Blount's daughters. Although not a biography, the
book does cover a great deal of his life and career as Congressman.

11 Congressional Record, 52d Congress, 2d session (Washington, 1893), 1207-
1208. Hereafter cited as Cong. Rec.

12 Hoke Smith of Georgia, serving as Secretary of the Interior in the Cleveland
Administration, was influential in getting the appointment for Blount. See John
H.T. McPherson, "James Henderson Blount," Dictionary of American Biogra-
phy, XL 388-89. Also Senate Report. No. 227, 53d Congress, 2d Session (Wash-
ington, 1895), 386.

48

)ublic appearances. He did preside at the July 4th celebration where
he Royal Hawaiian Band played "Marching Through Georgia" in his
lonor, not realizing its meaning. ^^

On April 26, Blount informed Secretary Gresham: "I can see no ad-
i'antage in my remaining here longer than the month of May. I trust you
*vill consent to my return at such time during the month of June as I may
:hoose." Blount wanted to wait until he returned to Washington to write
tiis report because as he explained: "Interruptions on the part of the
people who are constantly seeking my attention make this preferable. "i'*

On May 17, Blount received notice that he had been appointed Min-
ister to replace Stevens. This action was distasteful to Blount as he had
sought only a temporary assignment. He dutifully took the oath but sent
his resignation in the same despatch to Secretary Gresham which con-
tained a copy of his oath.^^

During the next few weeks Blount wrote his report, at the request
of Secretary Gresham, finishing it on July 17. After narrating in some
detail the story of the rise to power of the Annexation group in the Is-
lands, Blount proceeded to answer the two chief questions which had
been committed to him the part played by Minister Stevens and the
armed forces from the U.S.S. Boston in the revolution and the attitude
of the people in the Islands toward annexation.

In his answer to the first question, Blount reported that Minister
Stevens had consulted freely with the leaders of the revolutionary move-
ment and they had disclosed all of their plans to him. Because they
feared arrest and punishment, Stevens had promised them protection
and had also agreed to furnish the troops needed to overawe the Queen's
supporters and Government. By way of an arrangement with Minister
Stevens the proclamation, dethroning the Queen and organizing a pro-
visional government, would be read from the Government building and
would be followed by a speedy recognition. Blount concluded:

The leaders of the revolutionary movement would not have
undertaken it (coup) but for Mr. Steven's promise to protect

13 Senate Report. No. 227, 53d Cong., 2d sess., 401, 414.

14 For. Rels., 1894, App. II. 490.

1^ Later when questioned about this action Blount stated:

"I sent my resignation by the vessel that brought the appointment. I
expected to leave when I got through the investigation. My private busi-
ness was not satisfactory, and I wanted to get home. I was worried about
it. I thought it might be childish in me to send an absolute resignation,
and I did not put it in that form; but I did take occasion in some corre-
spondence to assure the Secretary that I did not want the place at all."
Senate Report No. 227, 53d Cong., 2d sess., 412.

49

them against any danger from the Government. But for this their
mass meeting would not have been held. But for this no request
to land the troops v\'Ould have been made. Had the troops not
been landed no measure for the organization of a new Govern-
ment would have been taken.

The American minister and the revolutionary leaders had de-
termined on annexation to the United States, and had agreed
on the part each was to act to the very end.^^

In regard to the native attitude toward annexation, Blount reported-*
that the great preponderance of opinion was adverse. He believed that
if the annexation issue could have been put to the test of a secret ballot,
with the suffrage qualifications as under the Constitution of 1887, it
would have been defeated by at least two to one; if persons owing al-
legiance to foreign countries were excluded, the adverse majority would
have been more than five to one. Only a majority of the whites, especial-
ly Americans, were for annexation, and nearly all the Portuguese and
a majority of the whites of European or American origin who had signed
annexation petitions were subjects or citizens of the countries of their
origin, the Commissioner explained. The Queen had only surrendered
to the Provisional Government on the conviction that the American
minister and the American troops were promoters and supporters of
the revolution, and that she could only appeal to the Government of
the United States to render justice to her. As far as Blount was con-
cerned the Queen's "uniform conduct and the prevailing senti-
ment amongst the natives point to her belief as well as theirs that the
spirit of justice on the part of the President would restore her crown. '"-^

The Commissioner's conclusion concerning conditions in the Is-
lands was as follows:

The condition of parties in the islands is one of quiescense. The
action of the United States is awaited by all as a matter of neces-
sity. This condition, it can be assumed, will remain until
the proposition to annex is accepted or rejected. In the latter
contingency no sudden movement is likely to occur. The present
Government can only rest on the use of military force, possessed
of most of the arms in the islands, with a small white population
to draw from to strengthen it. Ultimately it will fall without fail.
It may preserve its existence for a year or two, but not longer, i*

Having already resigned as Minister, Blount gave to Secretary Gres-
ham, on July 31, formal notice of his intention to leave: "I assume that

16 For. Rels., 1894. App. II. 594.

17 Ibid.. 598-99.

18 Ibid., 630.

50

neither you nor the President under existing circumstances could urge
my further continuance here. ... I have discharged my duty the best I
could considering I was surrounded by persons interested in misleading
me, and in my inability to compel answers from witnesses."' With this
Blount took his departure from Honolulu on August 8.^^

In a report to President Cleveland dated October 18, Secretary Gres-
ham summarized Blount's findings and endorsed his conclusions. Gres-
ham, opposed to resubmitting the treaty to the Senate, recommended
that Queen Liliuokalani be restored to her throne. ^o

When this announcement and Blount's report were made public in
November the interest of the public, which had been rather quiescent
during the summer and early fall, was revived. Republican newspapers,
as was to be expected, condemned Gresham's proposal. Some Demo-
cratic newspapers warned the Administration that they would not sup-
port a restoration of the Hawaiian monarchy: others supported the
proposal. "Nothing", said the New York Times, could strengthen the
Administration in the confidence of fair-minded and right-thinking men
than the act of justice to Hawaii which is announced in the letter of
Secretary Gresham." The Times also felt the Republicans were incon-
sistent for wanting to annex a race problem after having recently con-
demned white rule in the South over the Negro. The Republicans,
according to the Times, now considered "honesty, justice, fair dealing,
and regard for the rights of others as un-American" and believed the
highest achievement of American statesmanship was the "Christian civ-
ilization" process of stealing islands from converted heathens and put-
ting them under an oligarchy of wealth and inteUigence.^i

The Administration finally decided on a policy. In his regular mes-
sage to Congress on December 4, President Cleveland announced his
decision to restore the Queen to her throne. 22 Republican senators
struck back immediately under the leadership of Senator George Frisbie
Hoar of Massachusetts. On December 5 Hoar introduced a resolution
requesting the President to send to the Senate copies of instructions
given to any representative of the United States or any naval officer in
regard to Hawaiian affairs since March 4, 1893.^3 A few days later Sena-
tor Hoar, in another resolution, questioned the legality of Cleveland's
appointment of Blount without the advice and consent of the Senate. 24

19 Ibid.

20 Ibid., 459-463.

21 New York Times, November 11, 28, and December 1, 1893, 4.

22 Richardson (ed.). Messages and Papers of the Presidents, IX, 441-42.

23 Cong. Rec., 53d Cong., 2d sess., 19.

24 Ibid., ni.

51

In a special message to Congress on December 18, Cleveland re-
stated the history of the revolution and referred to the landing of troops
by Stevens as an act of war. He also told Congress that attempts to re-
store the Queen upon conditions that would secure the safety of the
revolutionists had failed. The Queen refused to agree to the stipulated
conditions because she felt the death penalty was the punishment revo-
lutionaries deserved. Thus, the President, in effect, washed his hands of
the affair and commended the subject to the extended powers and wide
discretion of Congress. Cleveland assured the Congressmen of his will-
ingness to co-operate in any legislative measure "'consistent with Ameri-
can honor, integrity, and morality," which would solve the problem. ^^

Following this message. Senator John Tyler Morgan of Alabama,
Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, proposed that the Presi-
dent's message be referred to his committee with authorization to in-
quire into and report any irregularities in diplomatic or other intercourse
between the United States and Hawaii in relation to the revolution in
the Islands. This proposal was promptly adopted. 26

During the committee's investigation Commissioner Blount was call-
ed upon to testify. One of the things the committee was interested in
was whether Blount had been prejudiced for or against the Queen before
or during his investigation. In response to this question Blount replied:

I was impressed when I came to the investigation with the con-
viction that I had very much at stake. I had confidence in the
integrity and high purposes of the President, and felt that I could
give him no higher offense than to misinform him. I felt that any
other than a truthful, an exhaustive, and impartial examination
would bring about the contempt of the American people. I was
therefore, timid over cautious, perhaps, in all my conduct in
reference to it. I kept from their social life. I did not intimate
any opinion to these people one way or the other. When I left
those islands nobody had any idea, so far as I could gather, wha>
my report was.^'^

When the pro-Annexation senators on the committee tried to get
Blount to admit that Cleveland had already prejudged the Hawaiian
situation before he sent the Commissioner, Blount replied that the Presi-
dent had asked only for information and had said nothing about what
he thought on the matter. When charged with desiring restoration of
the monarchy before he departed from the United States. Blount re-

25 For. Rels., 1894, App. II, 445-48.

26 Cong. Rec. 53d Cong., 2d sess., 434.

27 Senate Report No. 227, 53d Cong., 2d sess., 389.

52

torted: "I never dreamed of such a thing as the reinstatement of

LiHuokalani; I never heard it suggested until my return to the United
States. "28

Two reports, a majority and a minority, came out of the Senate com-
mittee's investigation. The minority report was written by Cleveland's
opponents: John Sherman, William P. Frye, J.N. Dolph, and Cushman K.
Davis. They made the following assertions: (1) Blount's appointment
as Commissioner was unconstitutional; (2) Cleveland's orders placing
the naval forces of the United States under Blount were illegal;
(3) Blount's order to haul down the flag was unlawful and the interview
of Blount with the Queen was a violation of international law; (4) Since
recognition had been accorded ttrerProvisional Government, President
Cleveland had no right to reopen the question.

The majority report was written by Chairman Morgan and signed
by the other committee members who supported the President: M.C.
Butler, David Turpie, John W. Daniel, and George Gray. They stated
that they could neither censure Blount's actions as illegal nor his ap-
pointment as irregular. Senator Morgan pointed out that many prece-
dents could be quoted to show that such power had been exercised on
various occasions in the past without dissent on the part of Congress
or the people of the United States. He believed the employment
of executive agents was a necessary part of the proper exercise of the
diplomatic power which was "entrusted by the Constitution with the
President. According to Morgan these precedents also showed that the
Senate, though in session, did not have to be consulted on the appoint-
ment of such agents or the instructions the President might give them.
This latter group, with the exception of Chairman Morgan, did condemn
Stevens for his participation in the events leading up to the revolution
and concluded that he deserved public censure. 29 The reports were
accompanied by neither resolutions nor proposals for a course of action.

While the committee carried on its investigation, several resolutions
regarding Hawaii were introduced and discussed in the Senate. For the
most part the discussion followed partisan lines. The bulk of it consisted
of denunciation and defense of the main persons involved Stevens,
Cleveland, Gresham, and Blount. Republican senators followed Hoar's
lead in accusing Cleveland of over-stepping the limits of his constitution-
al power in appointing Blount without the consent of the Senate. Powers
conferred upon Blount, they claimed, surpassed those of regularly ap-
pointed diplomatic and naval offices. Also in their attempt to restore

28 Ibid.. 387-408.

29 Ibid., 33-36. The legal aspects of Blount's appointment are discussed in Henry
M. ^nsXon, Executive Agents in American Foreign Relations (Baltimore, 1929),
157-58, 207, 292-303, 817-19.

53

the Queen to the throne, Cleveland and Gresham had virtually assumed
the power to make war without the consent of Congress. ^o

Meanwhile, Democratic senators, in defense of the Administration,
turned their wrath on ex-Minister Stevens. Most of the speeches ana-
lyzed the evidence taken by Blount and argued that Stevens had improp-
erly aided the revolutionaries. Therefore, according to his defenders,
Cleveland could do nothing else but try to correct the wrong. ^^

During the period of Senate discussion on the annexation attempt,
the House of Representatives decided to participate in the deUberations.
Its discussion of the Hawaiian situation, like that of the Senate, was
conducted along partisan lines most Republicans condemned Cleve-
land and Gresham while most Democrats criticized Stevens and defend-
ed the Administration. On February 7, 1893, the House adopted, by vote
of 177 to 78, a set of resolutions introduced on January 23 by Represen-
tative .lames B. McCreary of Kentucky, Chairman of the House Commit-
tee on Foreign Affairs. The resolutions condemned the actions of
Stevens but also approved the principle of non-interference in the do-
mestic affairs of an independent nation. They condemned annexation
of Hawaii as uncalled for and inexpedient but warned that foreign inter-
vention in the political affairs of the Islands would not be regarded with
indifference by the Government of the United States. ^^

In the Senate a resolution, declaring that further consideration of
any project of annexation at that time was unwise and inexpedient, was
introduced by Senator Turpie of Indiana. It advocated a policy of letting
the Provisional Government remain free to pursue its own line of policy,
and it emphasized that any foreign interference would be regarded as
unfriendly to the United States. This resolution was not approved be-
cause of disagreement over the clause which seemingly endorsed recog-
nition of the Provisional Government. 33

On May 31 Senator Turpie brought in a substitute resolution. It
read as follows:

Resolved, That of right it belongs wholly to the people of the
Hawaiian Islands to establish and maintain their own form of
government and domestic policy; that the United States ought
in nowise to interfere therewith, and that any intervention in
the political affairs of these islands by any other government
will be regarded as an act unfriendly to the United States.

30 Cong. Rec. 53d Cong., 2d sess., 61-73, 128-32, 189-99, 621-28, 694-702, 1231,

1237.

31 Ibid.. 204, 702-07. 2080-93, 2120-30, 2280-91, 3128-39.

32 Cong. Rec, 53d Cong., 2d sess., 2001-08.

33 Ibid.. 1220.

54

This resolution was adopted by a vote of 55 to with thirty Senators
not voting. 34

Thus Congress passed the "poHtical football" back to the Cleveland
Administration. There would be, so far as Congress was concerned,
neither restoration of the Queen nor interference with the Provisional
Government nor for the time being at least annexation of the Islands.

As a result, the Cleveland Administration enjoyed the luxury of pre-
serving and even tightening America's hold on the Islands while at the
same time righteously rejecting the burdens of governing a polyglot
population located two thousand miles from the mainland. This out-
come established the broad features of what ultimately became known
as the "open door" policy a policy designed to allow America's pre-
ponderent economic power to extend the American system throughout
the world without the embarrassment and inefficiency of traditional
colonialism. 35

Although the anti-annexationists seemingly won the first round of
the so-called "great debate" of the 1890's, the annexationists' desire
for the Hawaiian Islands did not die but only became quiescent. In a
few years it was actively expressed again under a Republican Adminis-
tration that reintroduced the annexation question.

Following the Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearings "Para-
mount" Blount, feeling that he had once again served his country well,
returned to Macon, Georgia. He was content to practice law and super-
vise the cotton fields, peach orchards, and timber lands on his Jones
County property for another decade. He continued to keep up with
national and world affairs until his death on March 8, 1903.^6

** The resolution and all proceedings in connection with it are found in Cong.
Rec, 53d Cong., 2d sess., 5499-5500.

35 See William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New
York, 1962) for a study of the "open door" thesis from 1890-1961.

36 It is interesting to note that one of Commissioner Blount's sons, Jim, was,
like his father, a graduate of the University of Georgia. He enlisted in the Army
as a volunteer in the Spanish- American War. President McKinley later appoint-
ed him Judge of the First Instance in the Judiciary set up by the United States
as a part of the civil government in the Philippines. He became an authority on
Philippine affairs and wrote a book entitled American Occupation in the Philip-
pines, 1898-1912. In the polidcal tradidon of his father's view of the rights of an-
other island people, Jim Blount believed the Filipinos should be left in freedom
to run their own affairs. As a result of this he became a vice-president of the
Boston Anti-Imperialist League in the early 1900's. Lamar, When All Is Said and
Done, 32-33, 98-99. Also see Report of the Eighth Annual Meeting of the Anti-
Imperialist League (Boston, 1906), 15.

55

^ >

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE
STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XII

June, 1973

GEOGRAPHIC PERSPECTIVES ON
SOUTHERN DEVELOPMENT

FEB 15 1974

RlODlGALS DtPARIfVlENT
GEORGIA. COLLEGE LIBRARY
CARROLLTON, GEORGIA

Published By

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

A Division of the University System of Georgia

CARROLLTON, GEORGIA

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE
STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XII June, 1973

GEOGRAPHIC PERSPECTIVES ON
SOUTHERN DEVELOPMENT

CONTENTS

An Introduction to Land Survey
Systems in the Southeast Sam B. Hilliard 1

The South Carolina Economy of the
Middle Eighteenth Century: A View
from Philadelphia Joseph A. Ernst and Harry Roy Merrens 16

The North Carolina Piedmont: An

Island of Religious Diversity W. Frank Ainsley and 30

John W. Florin

The Geographic Base of Urban Retardation
in Mississippi, 1800-1840 Howard G. Adkins 35

Home Manufactures as an Indication of
an Emerging Appalachian Subculture,
1840-1870 Leonard W. Brinkman 50

The Historic Spas of Florida Burke G. Vanderhill 59

Sugar Plantations in Louisiana:
Origin, Dispersal, and Responsible
Location Factors John B. Rehder 78

Copyright 1973, West Georgia College

Printed in U.S.A.

Thomasson Printing Co., Carrollton, Georgia 30117

FIRST PRINTING

Price $3.00

CONTRIBUTORS

SAM B. MILLIARD holds baccalaureate and masters degrees from
the University of Georgia and the Ph.D. degree in Geography from
the University of Wisconsin (Madison). Dr. Hilliard's research in-
terests center around aspects of the historical geography of the U.S.
South. His writings have appeared in such journals as Proceedings of
the American Philosophical Society and Annals, Association of
American Geographers. He is the author of Hog Meat and Hoecake;
Food Supply in the Old South 1840-1850. Dr. Hilliard is currently
Associate Professor of Geography, Louisiana State University,
Baton Rouge.

JOSEPH A. ERNST was graduated from Brooklyn College and com-
pleted the Ph.D. degree in History at the University of Wisconsin
(Madison). He has published in several journals, and his most recent
work is Money and Politics in America, 1755-1775: A Study in the
Currency Act of 1764 and the Political Economy of Revolution (to
be published in late 1973). Dr. Ernst is currently Professor of History
York University, Toronto.

H. ROY MERRENS received the B.A. degree from University Col-
lege, London, the M.A. degree from the University of Maryland
and the Ph.D. degree from the University of Wisconsin (Madison).
He is presently engaged in research on the eighteenth-century geo-
graphy of the Southern Colonies in general, and colonial South
Carolina in particular. Dr. Merrens is the author of Colonial North
Carolina in the Eighteenth Century: A Study in Historical Geography
and is editor of The Colonial South Carolina Scene: Contemporary
Views, 1697-1774 (forthcoming). He is currently Professor of Geo-
graphy at York University, Downsview, Ontario.

W. FRANK AINSLEY holds a Master of Divinity degree from South-
eastern Baptist Theological Seminary and an M.A. degree in Geo-
graphy from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. His
research interests center around historical trends in population and
social conditions in the United States, particularly as they relate to
urban development. Mr. Ainsley is presently a Ph.D. candidate
in Geography at the University of North Carolina.

JOHN W. FLORIN holds the Ph.D. degree in Geography from the
Pennsylvania State University. His teaching and research focus on
population dynamics and social change in the United States. He
is the author of Death in New England: Regional Variations in Mor-
tality. Other published research has centered on aspects of school
integration in the Southeast. Dr. Florin is presently Assistant Pro-
fessor of Geography, University of North Carolina, at Chapel Hill.

iii

HOWARD G. ADKINS received degrees from the University of
Southern Mississippi and the Ph.D. degree in Geography from the
University of Tennessee (Knoxville). His research interests focus
on historical geography of the U.S. South. Dr. Adkins has read papers
at various conferences and has published in Annals, Association of
American Geographers. At present, he is Associate Professor of
Geography at Marshall University, Huntington, West Virginia.

LEONARD W. BRINKMAN received the M.S. and Ph.D. degrees
in Geography from the University of Wisconsin (Madison). He has
done research in Australia and taught at the University of Melbourne.
Dr. Brinkman's teaching and research interests include the historical
geography of Appalachia and agricultural geography. He is currently
Associate Professor of Geography at the University of Tennessee
(Knoxville).

BURKE G. VANDERHILL is the recipient of degrees from Michigan
State University, the University of Nebraska, and holds the Ph.D.
degree in Geography from the University of Michigan. Dr. Vander-
hill's research interests have focused on agricultural settlement
and historical geography. He has contributed numerous articles
to American and foreign professional journals, many of which have
dealt with the northern frontiers of Canada. Dr. Vanderhill is present-
ly Professor of Geography at the Florida State University, Tallahassee.

JOHN B. REHDER received the B.A. degree from East Carolina
University, and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from Louisiana State
University. His teaching and research interests include cultural
geography, rural settlement geography, and remote sensing. He is
currently director and principal investigator for the NASA-ERTS
Geography Remote Sensing Project: "Geographic Applications of
ERTS-A Imagery to Rural Landscape Change." Dr. Rehder is pres-
ently Assistant Professor of Geography at the University of Tennes-
see (Knoxville).

IV

FOREWORD

This volume represents a departure from the preceding issues of The
Studies in The Social Sciences in that the services of two volume editors
were used under the loose supervision of a general editor. The bulk of
the work was done by them including the selection of a topic, the solici-
tation of papers, the protracted correspondence connected with the
completion of the individual articles, and the initial editorial refinement.
The general editor's role was hmited to broad consultation, final editing,
and liaison with the printer.

In past issues volume topics have been rotated among the various
social sciences, and this year the choice devolved on geography. It coin-
cided with the 69th annual meeting of the Association of American
Geographers which was held in Atlanta, Georgia, on April 15-18, 1973.
The West Georgia Department of Geography served as one of the spon-
soring institutions for the meeting.

As in the past, this journal is financed by the University System of
Georgia and is distributed free of charge to the libraries of colleges and
universities in Georgia, both public and private; to the five largest in-
stitutions o'f higher learning in each of the ten southern states; and to
selected Georgia high schools. Interested individuals or other libraries
may purchase copies for $3.00 to cover costs. This printing includes
several hundred extra copies to accommodate a wider market.

It is with pleasure that we submit to you this volume on historical
geography.

Eugene R. Huck
Professor of History
General Editor

PREFACE

No area of the United States has received more attention in terms
of its general historical evolution than the Southeast. Literature on the
subject is voluminous and continues to be amassed. Topics such as the
colonial occupation, the Civil War, and the New South provide, as they
have traditionally done, fertile fields for historical scholarship. However,
the focus of analysis in the majority of these studies is placed almost
entirely on basic social and political themes, and particularly on sub-
jects such as slavery, the plantation, the Confederacy, and the hves of
prominent political leaders. All of these subjects of course occupy an
important place in the history of Southeastern regional development,
but further study along traditional lines does not seem to promise suf-
ficient explanation of the profound economic changes which have
characterized the region over the last 200 years.

By comparison relatively little attention has been devoted to the
Southeast's economic development, even though historians have long
stressed the importance of changing economic patterns in explaining
the emergence of new political or social structures. The actual pro-
cesses of regional economic development and their spatial expressions
have been particularly ignored. The main reason for this seems to be
one of purpose. Generally historians have not been interested in the
Southeast's economic development as a problem in itself but rather for
the light which it sheds on certain significant changes in other aspects
of the region's society. Thus the general impact of economic activity
is often deemed important and given proper consideration while the
process by which it occurred remains somewhat outside the main
area of interest of most investigators.

Historians, of course, are not the only social scientists interested
in the regional evolution of the Southeast. There are a number of other
viewpoints concerning the process and structure of social and economic
development. These include (1) the economists' consideration of changes
in supply and demand and their effect on the allocation of resources;
(2) the sociologists' view of the mores of society as the conditioners
of economic action; (3) the geographers' concept of place and spatial
relationships as important forces governing social and economic arrange-
ments. The object of the papers contained in this volume is to attempt
to interpret parts of the story of Southeastern social and economic
development from the geographic perspective.

John C. Upchurch

Associate Professor and Chairman,

Department of Geography

David C. Weaver

Assistant Professor of Geography

Volume Editors

vi

AN INTRODUCTION TO LAND SURVEY
SYSTEMS IN THE SOUTHEAST

By Sam B. Hilliard

A fundamental yet often neglected element of the cultural land-
scape is the system of land subdivision or survey. It is inherent in any
organized society where individual land ownership or soil rights exists
and was part and parcel of the "invasion" of North America by Euro-
peans. A number of survey systems were used in the United States rang-
ing in complexity from the simple delineation of a single headright
grant to the elaborate and much publicized rectilinear "township and
range" system employed by the Federal government. The latter was the
most widespread survey system in the United States and is the one usually
identified with the nineteenth century frontier.

The Gulf South provides us with a number of examples of survey
systems. Eastern Georgia mirrors the irregular pattern characteristic
of most of Colonial America (usually called "metes and bounds")
while Alabama and Mississippi were surveyed into square townships
under the Federal Land Office system. Western Georgia was surveyed
by the state into square lots though lot size varied considerably. Most
of Lxjuisiana was surveyed under the Federal system, but the long
French and Spanish tenure with their characteristic surveys added
ever greater variety. The existence of these survey systems is not un-
known to persons who have delved deeply into southern history, but the
distribution and details of each seem not as well known as they should
be. This paper is a brief introduction to the subject; it outlines the
areas in which each survey type was used, describes them in some de-
tail, and provides a number of notable examples.

The survey system commonly identified with the southern colonies
was the ancient method of "metes and bounds." It was used both in
Europe and the New World and was the system under which land in
Eastern Georgia was surveyed. The procedure for land acquisition and
survey in Georgia was similar to that of other southern colonies. Both
"headright" and "bounty" grants were available to prospective settlers,
and survey usually came after the grant was made. Grants varied in
size depending upon the grantee's family size and economic well-being,
but usually ranged between 200 and 1,000 acr^s. Headright grants v/ere
made to heads of families while bounty grants were made in reward
for service during the Revolution. Each grantee chose the county in
which he wished land and obtained a survey warrant stating the amount
of land he was to receive but not specific location nor shape. The metes
and bounds survey for both types of grants often resulted in irregular-
shaped lots.^ The resulting landscape was one of an apparently hap-
hazard arrangement of fields, roads, and forests. Due to irregular plot

1

shapes the system sometimes resulted in incompleie coverage and over-
lapping claims. Its chief advantage lay in its simplicity, ease of applica-
tion, and freedom of choice in site selection. The grantee, particularly
during the early stages of settlement, was free to seek out the best land
and arrange his plot shape to contain very little undesirable land. Fre-
quently he chose tracts some distance from known settlement to avoid
conflicting claims. The system had been in operation in the New World
for generations and was the most common method of land survey in
the colonies.

In Georgia the metes and bounds system was extended to cover the
Creek cession of 1790 (west to the Oconee River and north to the foot
of the Blue Ridge) with Washington and Franklin counties being created
out of this huge cession (Figure 1). Revolutionary War bounties were
especially important in this area, and settlement was rapid with Geor-
gia's population doubling during the subsequent decade. Despite the
rapid expansion immediately following the Revolution approximately
two-thirds of Georgia remained in Indian hands until after the turn of
the century when a drastic change in land survey and disposal was ini-
tiated. From 1805 to 1832 the state of Georgia conducted the biggest
land extravaganza the nation had yet seen. In a series of six land lotteries,
the entire western two-thirds of the state was surveyed and passed into
private hands. It was a unique system of land disposal and a unique
survey system was devised to accomplish its purpose. The procedure
of survey and disposal was a simple one, and though no two lotteries
were identical, all were carried out in essentially the same fashion.

Each eligible person registered in his county of residence and all
names were sent to the state capitol. At the same time the prospective
lands were surveyed into lots and the lot numbers also sent to the state
capitol where the lottery commissioners drew the names and lot
numbers from two separate containers after which names and lot
numbers were matched. In cases where there were fewer lots than appli-
cants, blank tickets were added to the land lot tickets to make them
equal the number of applicant names. Persons drawing lots took out
grants, paid the specified fee, and received title to the land. If he failed
to take out a grant the lot reverted to the state. There were no residency
or improvement requirements.

Instructions for setting up the land districts and individual lot di-
mensions were spelled out in detail in the individual acts creating the
lotteries. Each county was divided into numbered land districts with
each district subdivided into numbered square lots. The following in-
structions are taken from the Act creating the first land lottery; they
refer to Baldwin, Wilkinson, and Wayne counties.

And be it further enacted. . . that the lands contained in the
several districts shall be divided by lines running parallel with the
dividing lines of districts, and by others crossing them at right

40 acre "gold" lot
l'*l 160 acre lot
Wm 202 '/a acre lot

Figure 1

Survey systems in Georgia. Shading patterns show lot size in acres. Subdivisions
of the shaded counties are land districts which are divided into lots. County
boundaries and names are shown as they were at the time of their creation.
Many were subdivided quickly thereafter

angles, so as to form tracts of forty-five chains square, contain-
ing two hundred and two and a half acres each . . . except the
county of Wayne, which shall be laid off into tracts of seventy
chains square, and to contain four hundred and ninety acres
each . . .2

Most districts were surveyed with their boundaries roughly north-south

and east-west except for those of Baldwin. Gwinnett, Walton Wayne,
Wilkinson, and parts of Habersham and Hall counties (Figure 1). Lot
size varied from the 40 acre "gold"' lot of Cherokee County ^northwest
Georgia) to the 490 acre lot of the Piney Woods in the southeast. Ration-
ale for the different lot sizes is not explicit in any of the acts. Presum-
ably, lot size reflected the prevailing attitudes toward land value. The
discovery of gold on the Cherokee lands accounted for the small size
of the "gold lots." Elsewhere, lot size increased toward the pine forests
to the south except for the 250 and 490 acre lots near the Appalachians
where, we can presume, lower value land was found.

The Georgia survey was unique in two ways. First, it was the only
large-scale land lottery ever attempted in the United States and, if its
purpose was to dispose of state-owned land quickly, it was eminently
successful. Second, it represented an early large-scale attempt at prior
survey into like-sized square lots, a distinct departure from the systems
used to survey headright and bounty lands.

There was ample precedent for surveying into square or rectangular
lots. The ordinance creating the Federal township and range system pre-
dated the Georgia lotteries by two decades. In fact, lots in most of
Cherokee County were 160 acres, corresponding to a quarter section
of the Federal township. There were numerous European precedents,
too, but we must not overlook the fact that many so-called "metes and
bounds" tracts were square, rectangular or rectilinear (see below,
figures 8, 9, and 10). There were basic differences, though, between
the Georgia and Federal systems. Georgia's lottery lands lacked the
coordinate system of meridians and base lines. The Federal system start-
ed where the base line and principal meridian intersected at right angles
and worked from that point, while the Georgia system started with
square or rectangular "boxes" and created lots within them. Though
both lots and land districts were numbered, the numbering system
lacked uniformity, a fact not particularly surprising since a number
of different surveyors were appointea and no uniform system was im-
posed by law. Figure 2 shows portions of Early and Irwin counties im-
mediately north of the Georgia-Florida boundary (present-day Thomas
County). It illustrates the relative size of the 250 and 490 acre lots as
well as the variation in lot numbering.

The Georgia lottery surveys terminated abruptly at the Georgia-
Alabama boundary, for Georgia had relinquished her claims to terri-
tory west of this line after the Yazoo land scandals, and from these
lands were created the states of Alabama and Mississippi. ^ It was in
this area that the Federal township and range system was used, and
except for a few areas where "prior grants" were recognized, the Fed-
eral system prevailed. The basic principles of the Federal system are
simple and, except where local conditions or attitudes dictated modi-
fication, were standardized for the entire nation.^ Its basic elements

273

274

275

276

277

278

279

280

3

44

49 90 95 136

14)

288

287

286

EA
315

285
RLY

316

284

283

282

281

313

314

COUNT1
317 318

319

320

2

45

48

VI

94

137

140

328

327

326

325

324

323

322

321

1

46

DISTRItT }\i

47 92 93

138

139

353

354

355

356

357

RICT
364

358

359

360

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

368

367

366

~DiS7
365

18
363

362

361

46

45

44

43

42

41

40

393

394

395

396

397

398

399

400

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

33

34

35

36

)ISTRI
45

37

:t 2

44

38

39

40

^ . _

rRICT
89

92

91

90

88

87

86

48

47

L
46

3
43

42

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93

94

95

96

97

98

99

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

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88

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84

83

82

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137

136

135

134

133

132

^~"~"^

'

LuJ

_ 142

143

144

145

Figure 2

Portions of Early and Irwin counties on the Georgia-Florida boundary. Note
the different numbering systems. District 23 in Early County starts with number 1
in the northeast corner while district 14 in Irwin County starts in the northwest
corner. District 13 of Irwin County starts with number one in the southwest
corner but it numbers south to north.

were: (1) measurement from a base line and a principal meridian and
(2) creation of 36 square mile townships. Though simple in principle,
survey under the Federal system was somewhat more elaborate than
other surveys since it involved an accurate survey of both the base line
and the principal meridian. Once these were surveyed and marked,
townships six miles square were laid out and numbered from the inter-
section of these lines. Townships were numbered in tiers north and
south of the base Une (e.g., TIN, T3N, T17S). Location east and west
of the principal meridian was accomplished by numbering "Ranges"
in tiers east and west from the meridian (e.g. RIE, R3W, R12E). Thus
each township was identified by its location relative to the intersection
of the principal meridian and base line (Figure 3). Townships were
subdivided further into 36 sections of one square mile each numbered
1 through 36. Further subdivision of the sections into quarter sections
and sixteenth sections was done, though not necessarily by the original
surveyors. Virtually all of Alabama and Mississippi and most of Loui-
siana was surveyed under the township and range system and Figure 4
illustrates the location of meridians and base lines as well as survey
districts. It shows the directions in which townships and ranges were

numbered from the meridians and base lines.

Although the Federal system was extended to encompass virtually
all of the three states, a substantial portion of Louisiana and small parts
of Alabama and Mississippi had been granted to individuals under
previous governments, and one of the tenets under which the United

R4W

6

5

4

3

2

1

7

8

9

10

11

12

18

17

16

IS

14

13

J9

20

21

22

23

24

30

29

28

27

26

25

31

32

33

34

35

36

EXPANDED
VIEW OF
SECTION
24

6 miles '

^

NW'-4
160A

SWW
160A

NE'''4
160A

40A

1 mile

EXPANDED VIEW
T3N , R 2 E

R3W

R 2 W

R1W

Rl E

R2E

R 3 E

R 4 E

1^^^^ ^ ^^^^

T3N

T2N

TIN

TIN

T2N

T3N

Figure 3

Hypothetical view of the Federal survey systems. It shows the method of laying
out and numbering townships along the base line and principal meridian. Ex-
panded views ot townships and sections illustrate ideal subdivision, though in
Lx)uisiana and parts of Mississippi and Alabama the existence of long lots and
prior claims necessitated considerable modification.

States survey operated was that bona fide prior grants would be honor-
ed. Perhaps the most renowned of these was the French long lot, a
system of granting plots alongside streams. Its characteristic patterns
on the landscape and its orientation toward streams gave an identity
that is unique. Sometimes referred to as the arpent system (from the
French unit of measure), the long lot survey system is prevalent through-
out southern Louisiana where large streams are found. ^ It was extreme-
ly well suited to conditions in Louisiana and had been used in Europe
for centuries. Its counterpart in the New World was the seigneurial
system in New France (Quebec) but the two were by no means identi-
cal. In New France the basic survey was the seigneurie or large feudal
estate while in Louisiana plots were granted directly to individuals.
Although the long lot should not be viewed as an adjustment to the New
World environment, there was much to recommend it in Louisiana.
From the very early years, Louisiana settlers recognized a basic fact
of alluvial morphology the best-drained land on a river floodplain
is the "natural levee" immediately adjacent to the river. Early French
settlement was along the Mississippi upriver from New Orleans, but
with the arrival of large numbers of settlers in the 1700's the increased

Figure 4

Base lines and principal meridians in Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana.
Arrows indicate directions in which townships and ranges are numbered in each
district. Individual townships are too small to be shown at this scale.

demand for land pushed settlement onto other available streams and
bayous with favorite sites being the natural levees. Levees varied in
size and height but most extended from a few hundred yards to more
than a mile from the river terminating in poorly drained "backswamp."
It was along these natural levees that settlement occurred and this pre-
ference was shown in the early surveys. Both roads and buildings were
located along levee crests making river frontage very desirable. Lots
were surveyed with their long axes at right angles to the river; their
widths varied depending upon lot shape. Due to the prevalence of
stream meanders, few lots were true rectangles though many were
parallelograms (Figure 5). Along the inside of stream meanders the

Figure 5

A part of Ascension Parish in Louisiana near Donaldsonville. Numbered plots
represent individual tracts. Since it was surveyed under the Federal system,
section numbers are provided, but the large number of "prior" grants prohi-
bited the typical 36 section survey.

lot tapered in width from front to back, while along the outside it taper-
ed from back to front. The ideal width/length ratio was 5 x 40 arpents.
The 40 arpent length came to be the standard, and often the back
boundary is marked by the existence of a 40 arpent road running parallel
to the streams (Figure 5).

The method of land acquisition was similar to that of Eastern
Georgia, though the process was more complicated. Instead of a survey
warrant the prospective settler submitted a request for land, and sev-
eral steps were involved before title was issued. It appears also that a
major effort was made to ensure contiguous tract settlement while
little more than lip service was paid to such orderliness in Eastern
Georgia. Survey was by no means elaborate, though, since many sur-
veyors simply surveyed the river line and marked the width leaving back
lines unsurveyed for years.^ Complete survey did not come until after
the Louisiana Purchase when the United States' rectangular survey was
extended into Louisiana.

Spanish control in Louisiana resulted in some departure from the
French system. A number of grants were made in interior Louisiana
which did not conform to the long lot pattern. Many small tracts were
granted, but in areas especially well-suited to cattle ranching, huge
tracts containing several thousand acres were made. Many Spanish
grants were made in West Florida and in shape and size are scarcely
distinguishable from the typical English or American irregular tract.
Despite the introduction of the Spanish sido grants, they differed little
from those of the previous administration, since the Spanish adopted
the arpent system.

Despite the existence of many early grants in Louisiana, adoption
of the Federal system had a significant impact on the land system. It
provided a relatively accurate survey of existing land grants, it surveyed
the previously unsettled part of the state, and it continued the process
of surveying long lots, though the procedure was somewhat different
from that employed by the French and Spanish.

In areas where prior grants had been made, the Federal survey
superimposed a grid of township and range lines at six mile intervals
thereby creating townships, but instead of subdividing into square mile
sections the prior grants were treated as sections and numbered accord-
ingly. Where townships were not covered by existing grants, which in-
cluded much of the backswamp areas, surveyors marked off square
mile sections surveying and numbering unclaimed land surveyed along
with previously-made grants (Figure 6).

The attractiveness of the long lot was well known to Louisiana
settlers, and considerable resistance was encountered when the town-
ship and range system was proposed. As a consequence, the Federal
system was modified to allow survey of long lots, and along the bayous
north of Vicksburg, a number of such lots were surveyed. They were
a part of the Federal system and bore township and section numbers

as well as additional numbers due to further subdivision into eighths
(Figure 7).

In the western part of the Natchez District of Mississippi and the
Florida Parishes of Louisiana, much of the land was granted prior to
the Federal survey. Consequently, township and range lines were super-
imposed over existing plots. In some cases only one or two small prior
claims existed but in other townships most, in some cases all, of the
land had been granted previously. Figures 8, 9. and 10 illustrate the ka-
leidoscopic patterns created in some of the townships. Figure 8 shows
a number of irregular grants but most of the township was unclaimed
at the time of survey. Figure 9 is a map of T5N, RIW which shows
approximately one half of it in prior claims, some quite large; for ex-

Figure 6

Parts of two townships in Assumption Parish on Bayou Lafourche showing
long lots and square mile sections. Note that two tiers of long lots were laid out,
thus the two lines running roughly parallel to Bayou Lafourche are 40 and 80
arpent lines. In some cases surveyors used the numbers 1 through 36 for square
mile sections only, starting long lots with number 37. However, in many areas
all lots were numbered consecutively. Shading indicates complex area of lots
too small to show at this scale.

10

Figure 7

Townships T21N, R9W, and T21N, RlOW in the Natchez District of Mississippi.
Most long lot sections contained from 600 to 700 acres arc the individual strips
contained from 75 to 125 acres. Note the rectangular sections in the southeastern
sector. The subdivision of sections into long lots and the special numbering of
these sub-sections is a feature of the American long lot system. Note the paral-
lel lots in section 10 and the fantail shapes in section 9 and 2 (2 is part of RlOW).

It

ample, the surveyor lists the size of section 20 as 3,444 acres. Figure 10
is a map of T7N, R2W, the township immediately east of Natchez,
which contained no unclaimed land at the time of survey. A total of 95
plots were claimed with most being irregular in size and shape.

Figure 8

TIN, RIW in the Natchez District of Mississippi. Shaded plots are prior claims.
Overlapped shading indicates conflicting claims. In such cases both were sur-
veyed leaving litigation up to other authorities. Although this map does not
show drainage, the elongated rectangles were laid out along streams indicating
some preference for such sites.

12

Figure 9

T5N RIW in the Natchez District of Mississippi. Shading indicates prior claim.
Ovedapped patterns show conflicting claims. Note that ^^reams are sometirnes
used as boundaries, but the most common type is a straight line Unhke some
townships in Louisiana where the numbers 1 through 36 were reserved for regu
lar square mile sections, these sections are numbered consecutively.

13

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Figure 10

7"7M R2W in the Natchez District of Mississippi. All land was taken up by prior
claims. A total of nine such townships were near the city of Natchez, but in
Louisiana approximately 100 townships were completely taken up by prior
claims, of which about a third were in the Florida parishes.

I TOWNSHIP AND RANGE SURVEY
IRREGULAR SURVEY
GEORGIA LOTTERY SYSTEM

Figure 11 m long lot system
Major survey systems used in the Gulf South.

14

These examples should serve to point out the complexity of land
subdivision in the Gulf South. Virtually every major type of land survey
ever used in the United States was employed. Figure 11 is a general-
ized outline of the distribution of the major survey systems. Due to the
map scale considerable detail has been omitted, but it does give a gen-
eralized picture and should whet our appetites for further study. Clear-
ly, it is a topic rich in promise to the prospective researcher.

FOOTNOTES

^ Proper terminology is elusive when we talk about such surveys. The old
term "metes and bounds" refers to a plot of land bounded by natural (and pre-
sumably somewhat permanent) features such as streams. Almost by definition
it implies an irregular-shaped plot of no specific size or configuration. The
term is used commonly in the United States to refer to any survey resulting in
irregular-shaped plots, though "metes and bounds" are no longer used exclu-
sively. In fact, most plots surveyed in eastern Georgia were irregular in shape
but not necessarily bounded by natural features. Most were surveyed by chain
and compass resulting in straight boundaries, either square or rectangular in
shape.

^ Augustin S. Clayton, A Compilation of the Laws of the State of Georgia . . .
(Augusta, 1812), p. 101.

3 Samuel G. McLendon, History of the Public Domain in Georgia (Atlanta.
1924).

^ For discussions of the Public Domain, its survey, and disposal see Benjamin
H. Hibbard, A History of the Public Land Policies (New York, 1939); William D.
Pattison, Beginnings of the American Rectangular Land Survey System. 1784-
1800 (Chicago, 1957); Roy M. Robbins, Our Landed Heritage: The Public
Domain, 1776-1936 (Lincoln, 1962); and Norman J.W. Thrower, Original Survey
and Land Subdivision: A Comparative Study of the Form and Effect of Con-
trasting Cadastral Surveys (Chicago, 1966).

5 An excellent source for Louisiana is John W. Hall, "Louisiana Survey Systems:
Their Antecedents, Distribution, and Characteristics," Unpublished Ph.D. dis-
sertation, Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, 1970.

^ Hall, p. 44. For a similar situation in New France see Richard C. Harris, The
Seigneurial System in Early Canada (Madison, 1966), p. 24.

15

THE SOUTH CAROLINA ECONOMY OF THE

MIDDLE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY:

A VIEW FROM PHILADELPHIA

By Joseph A. Ernst and H. Roy Merrens*

We do not have a full-scale study of the colonial South Carolina
economy. But when that work comes to be written, its major theme will
likely be the central importance of Charleston. The tradition is already
well-established. The few histories of the early South Carolina economy
that have appeared invariably present Charleston as "the hub" or the
focus of the economic life of the province. And not without reason.
Much economic activity did take place in Charleston. Moreover, the
city's past proves especially interesting to scholars both because of the
inherent importance of old Charleston as the fourth largest urban
centre in early America, it enjoyed a unique position among the Southern
colonies and because of the charms of the townscape that survive
from the past.^

Nonetheless, the fact remains that despite the significance and
attractiveness of Charleston, any account of South Carolina's economy
as viewed from the metropolitan centre, fails to confront a number of
basic issues. Existing Charleston-based studies, for instance, tell us
virtually nothing about the structure, function, and operation of the
rice or indigo trade to mention but two of the most important commo-
dities that were funnelled through the Charleston market. Nor do they
reveal very much about the regional patterns of agricultural production,
distribution, and consumption; the provincial system of currency and
credit; or the distribution of British goods. ^ In a word, the difficulty
v^'ith restricting one's view to Charleston is that much too much of the
economic landscape remains hidden. It may be argued, then, that a
necessary first step in the effort to describe and analyze the economic
life of South Carolina during the mid-eighteenth century is to shift the
focus of attention away from Charleston.

An appropriate viewpoint for the study of South Carolina's economy
remains necessary, of course, and ours is Philadelphia. For one thing,
the eccentric whereabouts of that city relative to South Carolina under-
scores the fact that the local economy or better, economies encom-
passed not only all of South Carolina but to some extent the Mainland
Colonies, the West Indies, the British Isles, Southern Europe, and

* The authors are grateful for the financial assistance that has supported their
individual projects and has been generously granted by the John Simon Guggen-
heim Memorial Foundadon, the American Council of Learned Sociedes, the
Faculty of Arts of York University, and Mr. George Townes, of Greenville,
South Carolina.

16

Africa. Clearly, then, what is needed is a series of studies of the regional
economies of South Carolina as viewed from places as diverse as New-
port, Rhode Island; Liverpool, England; Kingston, Jamaica; Oporto,
Portugal; and Dahomey, West Africa. In the second place, the view
from Philadelphia throws new light on old problems. More specifically,
this view helps to analyze and relate a number of the inter-dependent
and dynamic factors that give meaning and form to the over-all pro-
vincial economy, namely, the movement of people, of goods, of informa-
tion, and, finally, of capital.

Typically, the movement of people from Philadelphia to South
Carolina remained an anonymous process, but a few of those who moved
are readily identifiable. The economic implications of their re-settle-
ment in South Carolina are not too difficult to discern, because most
of those who came from Philadelphia came either to farm or to engage
in mercantile activities.

Farmers presumably arrived in greater numbers than did merchants,
and even if most of the farmers went unrecorded, the information bear-
ing on the few who left a record of their move is revealing. Some of
the settlers came in groups and their arrival in the 1730's played an
important part in the establishment of the townships, a mode of settle-
ment peculiar to South Carolina. Thus one group of over two dozen
immigrants arrived in Philadelphia in the spring of 1735 to settle in the
new township of Queensborough.^ Similarly, Welshmen moving from
Philadelphia in the 1730's contributed to the settlement of the distinc-
tively Welsh region of colonial South Carolina, known as the Welsh
Tract and later as Welsh Neck.'* Immigration continued throughout
the next decade but by then was less oriented towards townships. An
entry in the Journal of The Council for March 16, 1748/49, for example,
records about three or four dozen petitions for land made by new
settlers. Few of these petitions reveal where the applicants came from,
but of these few, no less than three specified Philadelphia. One, William
Leonard, was granted 150 acres located on a major road in the back-
country; another, Peter Renfro, received 500 acres in the fork of the
Broad and Saludy Rivers; and the third, George Ebener, a coppersmith,
successfully petitioned for 400 acres and a town lot in Saxe Gotha
Township.^

A final point with regard to the migrants who came from, or via,
Philadelphia warrants further and deeper analysis than we can give
it here. This involves the question of the onset of crop specialization
and the commercialization of farming in the mid-eighteenth century.
The subject has received scant attention thus far, but the testimony of
newcomers from Philadelphia provides some clues to the emergence
of one form of commercial specialization. Andrew Holman, for instance,
reported in March, 1750, that after leaving Philadelphia to re-settle
in the South Carolina backcountry he "planted three sorts of Wheat

17

to carry on the Flour Trade."^ Similarly, Nicholas Boater, who moved
into the same area at about the same time and who also came from
Philadelphia, stated that his aim was to carry on wheat planting "which
[he] hath been Bred to."'^ Certainly the pertinent evidence remains frag-
mentary and tenuous; it is equally certain, however, that such develop-
ments represent the expansion southwards of the colonial wheat belt,
which, by mid-eighteenth century, extended through western North
Carolina via parts of Maryland and Virginia through the Middle Col-
onies to the Hudson Valley.^

Far fewer in number were the Philadelphia merchants who got to
South Carolina. And generally they came as visitors rather than would-
be residents. Nevertheless, they appear more conspicuous in the con-
temporary record primarily because they invariably kept a journal
of their trip. Their purpose in coming was to spy out the land, to eval-
uate prospects for trade, and to establish useful personal contacts.
Often they combined pleasure with business, happily exchanging the
cold Northern winter and the slack season in Philadelphia for the mild
southern clime and busy trading times in South CaroHna. One such
visitor was Pelatiah Webster, a Philadelphia merchant, who arrived in
Charleston in 1765. During his stay, he appears to have had more success
in dining and wining with some of the affluent merchants and planters
than he had in selling his Philadelphia flour, seemingly because he had
failed to allow for the diminished prospects for this item in South Caro-
lina at the time.^ Another visitor, Philadelphia merchant William
Pollard, made only a brief stopover in Charleston during the winter
of 1774, but his sojourn lasted long enough to enable him to evaluate
the major mercantile houses and to send his English connections a
list of the seventeen safest and strongest firms, ranked according to
their reputed stabihty.^*^

A somewhat different group of visiting Philadelphia merchants
were the Quakers. Quaker merchants interested themselves not only in
economic conditions in Charleston but also in religious conditions
among the little Society of Friends in the town.^^ Two representative
figures who arrived in the 1740's were William Logan and James Pember-
ton, both agents of important Quaker houses in Philadelphia. ^2 a
later Quaker coming on a more protracted visit was William Dillwyn,
who remained in South Carolina in 1772 and 1773. Dillwyn, it seems,
left Philadelphia to set himself up in business with a South Carolinian,
drawing upon knowledge and ties acquired in earlier ventures in South
Carolina and leaning upon his continuing connections with major
Quaker houses in Philadelphia. That he did not stay longer appears
to be related to certain non-economic conditions in Charleston. Speci-
fically, Dillwyn feared for the loss of his soul in a place where he found
a "low State of Things in a religious Sense and Fewness of number in
the same religious Profession. ^^

18

A related if more intricate movement was the flow of goods between
Philadelphia and South CaroHna. Items and amounts of Pennsylvania
products shipped from Philadelphia to South Carolina varied consid-
erably, reflecting the fact that during the mid-eighteenth century Phil-
adelphia merchants, such as Pollard, were groping to find lucrative ex-
ports at the same time as the developing South CaroHna economy
offered steadily diminishing prospects for continuing formerly profit-
able kinds of traffic. Trade in flour, bread, and beer best illustrates
this point. ^^ It is worth noting, however, that Philadelphia also shipped
sizeable quantities of British goods to Charleston from time to time.
It might even be argued that the Philadelphia merchants occasionally
served as secondary suppliers of such goods in the Southern market. ^^
Flour and bread constituted the major export items of the Phila-
adelphia merchants, and by the 1730's they regularly earmarked sub-
stantial shipments for the South Carolina market. The trade continued
through the next decade as reflected in the attempt by the Philadelphia
house of Samuel Powel and Son to ship to South Carolina merchants
the sizeable quantities of flour and bread they "regularly requested.
Thus Gabriel Manigault, the Charleston merchant, received several
hundred barrels of flour and bread per year from the Powels in the mid-
40's. Even so Manigault did not obtain all he wanted, and by 1748
seriously contemplated operating a small vessel of his own to ply reg-
ularly between Charleston and Philadelphia in order to get the amounts
he desired. 1^ But this traffic in flour and bread continued to be a viable
enterprise only until wheat production spread to South Carolina, a
development that elicited from Governor James Glen in 1749 the
remark that New York and Pennsylvania:

. . . used to drain us of all the little Money and Bills we could gain
upon our Trade with other Places, in Payment for the great
Quantities of Bread, Flour, Beer, Hams, Bacon and other Com-
modities of their Produce wherewith they then supplied us: all
which, excepting Beer, our new Townships, inhabited by Ger-
mans, began to supply us with.^'^

Glen's remarks were contained in a report to the Board of Trade and
a note of official optimism may have led to some exaggeration. None-
theless, within a decade of the Revolution wheat cultivation had engaged
the attention of a sufficient number of South Carolina settlers so that
Philadelphia merchants could no longer be certain of profitable exports,
as Pelatiah Webster discovered in 1765.

A dependency on Philadelphia beer survived a little longer, as
Governor Glen also noted in his 1749 report. Patterns of trade in bar-
relled and bottled beer, however, were in any case more complex and
more responsive to fads and fancies. Beer, which then as now consti-
tuted something of a seasonal item, certainly arrived from Philadelphia
as early as the 1730's and 1740's, presumably destined for a small and

19

fastidious Carolina market comprising those who either did not relish
or could not be seen drinking crude home brews. For example, accom-
panying the bread and flour Philadelphia merchant John Reynell sent
to South Carolina in February 1743, were 27 barrels of strong beer and
seven barrels of best beer and Reynell was only one of several Phila-
delphia merchants regularly shipping to Charleston a variety of beers
including two particularly desirable kinds, Matlock's Best Beer and
Reben Haynes' Best Double Beer.^^ Imported beers had names and
auras that undoubtedly enabled hosts to have them brought to table
with some flourish, or more casually and modestly served with but a
slight and passing mention of their reputable and far away origins. Even
so the Carolinians seem to have increasingly preferred beer and ale
from England and Scotland to the Philadelphia product. Perhaps
this development reflected the growing affluence of the elite who
constituted the beer market; perhaps the longer sea voyage gave British
beer something extra; or perhaps imports from Britain were simply
viewed with special favour.

In any event, Charlestonians continued to import beer from England
while the market for the Philadelphia product sharply contracted. An
English visitor to South Carolina in 1774, for instance, after saying a
few derogatory words about the inferiority of local brews, noted with
some satisfaction that fortunately:

Charles Town is very well supplied with Porter from England at
9 Shillings per dozen Bottles, which is commonly Drank by most
People of Property at Meals . . . . ^^

It seems that domestic beer production, which began on a systematic
basis possibly as early as mid-century, always supplemented Philadel-
phia beer to some extent. But the prospects of that trade were greatly
diminished with the establishment of Mr. Edmund Egan's brewery in
Charleston, a brewery said by 1774 to be: "Now in such a State as to
rival our Northern Neighbours, and retain in this Province near 20,000
pounds a Year."2o With the successful establishment of a reputable
local brewery there was less need than ever to resort to Philadelphia
beer although presumably the inveterate and inflexible Anglophiles
were still preferring to buy British.

Movement of products in the opposite direction, from South Caro-
lina to Philadelphia, is perhaps even more revealing of the changing
economy of South Carolina at mid-century. Again, this movement would
require an extended treatment to do it justice but we will resort to only
five illustrations, centering around naval stores, livestock, citrus fruits,
rice, and cloth, and we will simply make one or two points about each
of the five.

Trade in naval stores is of special interest, because it points to an
early instance of regional specialization in South Carolina's economy.
Production of naval stores took place largely in the northeastern part

20

of the colony and was concentrated north and west of the town of
Georgetown, the centre of the trade. This specialization is clearly re-
vealed by the activities of Philadelphia merchant Robert Ellis in the
i730's and 1740's.2i Much involved in business with all of the Southern
Colonies as well as the West Indies, EUis regularly visited South Caro-
lina for a spell during the winter in order to further his interests. In his
dealings with several of the most important merchants in Georgetown,
Ellis diligently sought to purchase the locally-produced tar, pitch, and
turpentine. Whether this regional emphasis persisted during subsequent
decades remains unclear. Nor are we certain just why this emphasis
developed in this particular region. Certainly by the end of the colonial
period it must have been relatively much less significant; by then large-
scale production of tar, pitch, and turpentine in North Carolina eclipsed
the production of naval stores elsewhere along the Seaboard. 22

Movements of livestock from colonial South Carolina to Phila-
delphia have been obfuscated by legends and so litde studied that it
is best to approach the contemporary record with a bare minimum of
assumptions. The evidence for such movements is meagre. But the little
there is indicates that by the late 1760's drovers were moving cattle over-
land from South Carolina to Philadelphia. This movement is almost
incredible, given the quality of colonial stock, the distance that had to
be covered, and the nature of the terrain traversed. That it really did
take place, however, is evident from the record,^^ although from where
in South Carolina, how frequently, and when the drives began are ques-
tions on which the record is at best obscure. Inventories of estates clear-
ly demonstrate that commercial livestock raising was less a small side-
line of many farmers than a major emphasis of a small number of large
planters. 24 The large-scale raisers of livestock maintained constantly-
growing herds with animals numbering in the hundreds and even
thousands. In 1761, Thomas Elliot's estate, to take an extreme example,
listed almost five thousand head of cattle, distributed among four dif-
ferent locations. 25

The full story of the livestock industry warrants monographic atten-
tion. Here we can only suggest a few hypotheses regarding this activ-
ity. An emphasis on livestock must have functioned as a profitable low-
capital investment form of land-use for large planters who had reached
some sort of limit in rice and indigo planting, a limit presumably set
not by land but by capital available for investing in slave-holdings.
For such planters, livestock raising probably presented an attractive
way of utilizing land. It required a minimal investment in labour yet
afforded the prospect of furnishing a desirable source of income, which
was probably usually supplemental, but occasionally might have con-
stituted a crucial tide-over source of profits when rice prices or harvests
were down. Evidence for the concentration of this activity in particular
sections of coastal South Carolina is also revealing. It suggests localiza-
tion in response to a number of factors and a regionalization which

21

bears little relationship to Turnerian formulations or to environmental
conditions. Big-time cattle raising became concentrated in the area
between Georgia and, roughly, the Combahee River, apparently be-
cause of the prevalence of somewhat larger land-holdings in this area.
In turn, this critical difference in size of holding was probably a result
of land engrossment during the first decades of the eighteenth century. ^6
This by no means reveals the whole story of large-scale livestock
raising. Perhaps it provides the essence of it, however. If these hypothe-
ses prove valid, then the overland drives to Philadelphia make some
sense in terms of a quest for outlets that could be reached at minimal
cost by planters who produced more stock than could be absorbed by
South Carolina markets and who simply hired drovers to dispose of
the animals in Philadelphia, or, presumably, at any good market they
came across en route to the Pennsylvania city.

No less interesting was the trade in oranges. In the long run, Caro-
hna experiments with citrus and other exotic fruit came to little. For
a time, however, the production of oranges held out some hope of com-
mercial success. By the 1740's, the planting of orange trees, especially
in the town of Charleston, had reached the point where production
out-stripped local consumption. In 1744, for instance, local merchants
prepared considerable quantities of oranges for shipment to Philadel-
phia and some of the large cities of the north. The industry neverthe-
less failed to live up to its promises. Winter weather took its inevit-
able toll of the trees, and trade contracted. Crates of Charleston oranges
still reaching Philadelphia by the 1760's came more often as favours to
friends and business correspondents than as merchandise. In addition,
it should be noted that the citrus trade between the two cities proved
to be a two-way street. Years before oranges found their way north,
barrels of limes and casks of lime juice from southern Europe regularly
left Philadelphia for Charleston, both for private use in the form of
presents and for public sale. In the Charleston market they competed
with limes from the West Indies, although limes and lime juice turned
out to be dispensable fare. The appearance of oranges and orange juice
soon drove the rival fruit from local shelves.^''

Two final items of trade between Charleston and Philadelphia were
dry goods and rice. Because of the larger northern outlets, Charleston's
wholesale merchants who conducted the major part of the import bus-
iness with Britain ordinarily sent their surplus dry goods to Philadelphia
rather than dispose of them at a loss at Vendue, or public auction, in
South Carolina though resorting to Vendue became a familiar prac-
tice in the mid-1760's when cloth of all kinds often choked the Phila-
delphia market as well.^^ This general increase in Vendue sales in the
period was an aspect of a larger structural development, which not only
altered the patterns of trade between South Carolina and Philadelphia
but also threatened the continuance of the existing commercial system
in all the colonial ports and helped shape the gathering revolutionary

22

movement. After the French and Indian War, Vendue masters in the
great ports, who had heretofore provided the local merchant communi-
ties with an outlet for their surplus, damaged, or obsolete goods, now
began importing heavily on their own account directly from British
merchant suppliers. The end result was a continuing glut in the dry
goods sector throughout the 1760's and an even greater dependency on
the Vendue.29

Trade in rice, on the other hand, responded to a somewhat different
set of economic factors. One certainly was the local demand for rice
in the regional trade area serviced by Philadelphia. That market re-
mained relatively small as compared with the demand for wheat and
other grains which though more expensive were nevertheless preferred.
Another factor was the demand in Charleston for products from the
Middle Colonies. Since Philadelphia ships rarely, if ever, made an empty
run, favourable markets in the Charleston area would at times attract
more than enough ships to supply the northern city's rice needs. Under
these circumstances Philadelphia shippers would take rice directly
to Europe or the West Indies."^^ Likewise high freight rates in the rice
trade would also draw additional sail from Philadelphia, although in
such cases the rich would more likely be carried directly to foreign
ports. 3^

The other two movements, of information and of capital, we will
treat much more briefly and slighdy differendy. Colonial business cor-
respondents regularly carried current news about crop conditions,
commodity prices, sterling exchange rates, the market for British goods,
freight rates, and the like.^^ But the flow of information between Phil-
adelphia merchants and South Carolina revealed a special character
which we have already touched upon incidentally, that is, the particular
usefulness to Philadelphia merchants of news sent back to them by
colleagues, partners, or family members who visited South Carolina.
In this connection we have noted earlier the activities of Robert Ellis,
William Pollard, and Pelatiah Webster, all of whom learned much about
local trade and business conditions during their stay in South Carolina.
Clearly some Charlestonians also made the trek in the opposite direc-
tion, for reasons of business as well as pleasure, and served their cor-
respondents at home in much the same way. Nevertheless, the record
suggests that this kind of movement largely operated from north to
south. This is possibly both a witness to the entrepreneurial abilities
and aggressiveness of the Philadelphians and a reflection of the some-
what different structure of trade and thus of mercantile functions in
the Middle and Southern Colonies. In any event, especially impressive
is the extent to which visiting merchants, Quakers in particular, kept
their counterparts back in Philadelphia informed of what was happen-
ing in South Carolina and of what opportunities prospects seemed to
offer.

23

Quaker merchant William Dillwyn serves as a case in point. When
Dillwyn sailed from Philadelphia for a visit to South Carolina in October,
1772, his fellow passengers included several South Carolinians (as well
as two Philadelphians heading south for the sake of the mild winter and
of their health). Contact with them seems to have led to later business
dealings and ventures. During his visit, Dillwyn kept a detailed diary of
what he had observed, and of whom he met, and whiie in South Carolina
he corresponded with Quaker merchants both in Philadelphia and in
New Jersey, including the important Philadelphia house of Pemberton.33
The Pemberton connection is significant in a somewhat different
context, and it will serve as an introduction to the subject of the move-
ment of capital at the time. An important development in South Caro-
lina at mid-century was the rapid emergence of Camden (about 125
miles northwest of Charleston) as an interior urban centre, based on
functions revolving around trading and milling activities, and closely
resembling urban growth taking place at about the same time in North
Carolina and even further north. ^^ Camden differed from the other
urban centres in its Quaker origins. Hence, given the strength and role
of Quaker mercantile ties between Philadelphia and South Carolina,
it would not be surprising if Camden's emergence was both another
expression of the kind of axis we have been describing and, more to the
point, of substantial Philadelphia investments. On the other hand,
the fact that the Quakers who originally settled the Camden area around
1750 came from Ireland suggests that the Philadelphia Quaker houses
were largely irrelevant to Camden's early growth. ^^ But the rapid
and boom-like growth of the town during the two decades prior to the
Revolution was another matter.

During this period of Camden's development the leading figure was
Joseph Kershaw. Kershaw certainly played a major part in establishing
the flour mills, sawmills, stores, and taverns that together with a couple
of public buildings constituted the essential urban nucleus of Camden.^^
When Dr. James Clitherall passed through the town in 1776 (incidentally
on a trip escorting two Charleston ladies going to Philadelphia), he saw
much of Camden and its vicinity, and of Mr. Kershaw. After several
days in the town he wrote that:

Mr. Kershaw who originally planned, and was the Proprietor of

Camden, seemed much respected and beloved. I believe [he] had

much influence among the people and is their Representative in

Assembly. Everyone seemed glad to see him and ready to serve

him .... Camden is a well laid out Town, has some large Houses

in it among which are the Court House and Gaol.^'^

Unlike Clitherall, William Dillwyn had not got to Camden during

his South Carolina visit a few years before. But he had made a point

of meeting Kershaw several times while Kershaw was wintering in

Charleston. Dillwyn not only appreciated Kershaw's affluence, his

popularity, and his large business activities but also took note of just

24

one fact about Kershaw's wife: though Kershaw was not a Quaker, his
wife was related to the Pemberton family of Philadelphia Quaker mer-
chants.38 Admittedly while the marital tie may be of no particular
import, Kershaw's business connections with a Philadelphia Quaker
merchant, John Reynell, through the partnership of John Chestnut,
William Ancrum, Aaron Loocock, Ely Kershaw and Joseph Kershaw,
are a matter of record.^^

Whatever might be the precise role of the Quaker merchants as in-
vestors in Camden, or in the South Carolina economy as a whole, it is
clear that the movement of capital from Philadelphia to Charleston,
and vice versa, took the usual form of the sale of goods and commodi-
ties on short credit, although a certain amount of money-capital was sent
either as drafts or sterling bills of exchange. In addition, money as a
means of payment, whether as coin, promissory notes, drafts, inland
or sterling bills of exchange, moved freely, in the ordinary course
of business, in both directions.^*^ On those occasions when it did not
move quickly enough quick payment being held essential for the life
of trade it had to be coaxed or forced. Then as now the debt collector
played a familiar role on the business scene, and anything was fair in
dunning for debts. Thus when Philip Abraham and his family "Sneaked
off" to Philadelphia, without clearing up their debts in Charleston,
one of their creditors, Lionel Chalmers, wrote to Israel Pemberton,
the great Philadelphia merchant, to "apply to their Synagogue, who
perhaps would compel him to do Justice; the Method however I leave
to yourself."'*^

There is a tendency in some quarters to look down on those students
of the colonial past who still retain an interest in description and parti-
cularismthat is, in describing and detailing the intricacies of the
provincial economies. But the fact remains that the "new" economic
approaches, like the "old," have failed to tell us very much about the
shape or functioning of the whole of economic life in seventeenth and
eighteenth-century America. Admittedly, our own approach has not
been radical. We have simply looked at the economy of the whole
colony from the vantage point of a well-known big city. Our point of
departure has been the eccentric location of that city and our emphasis
on the relationships among the movement of people, goods, informa-
tion, and capital. The argument here is that what is required is a series
of studies of the South Carolina economy as seen from numerous places,
widely separated in both time and space, such as from Barbados in the
late seventeenth century or from Bristol in the mid-eighteenth century.

In sum, perhaps the time has come to forget new fashions and old
modes, to get on with the task of seeing the changing colonial economies
as a functional whole, and to use whatever conceptual tools prove neces-
sary to do the job.

25

FOOTNOTES

^ Two notable examples of this interest are: Leila Sellers, Charleston Business
on the Eve of the American Revolution (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1934); and George
C. Rogers, Jr., Charleston in the Age of the Pinckneys (Norman. Okla., 1969).

2 Despite its obvious importance, the colonial economy of South Carolina has
received far less scholarly attention than have the economies of the other Main-
land Colonies (with the possible exceptions of North Carolina and Georgia).
A recent bibliographical assessment appears in M. Eugene Sirmans, Colonial
South Carolina: A Political History, 1663-1763 {Chapel Hill, N.C., 1966), pp. 374-
75. The most relevant recent study. Converse D. Clowse, Economic Beginnings
in Colonial South Carolina, 1670-1730 (Columbia, S.C., 1971), does not concern
itself with the basic issues identified above.

3 South Carolina Council Journal, Mar. 7, 1734/35, and Mar. 29, 1735. (These
manuscript journals, hereinafter identified as SCCJ, are located in the South
Carolina Department of Archives and History, Columbia, S.C.

4 The story of this Welsh migration and settlement can be pieced together from
clues in the records of land petitions and dispositions in the Council Journals
for the late 1730"s: see, for examples, SCCJ, Aug. 13, 1736, Jul. 29, 1737, Dec. 14,
1737, Jan. 20, 1737/38, May 11, 1739. and Jul. 7. 1739.

5 SCCJ, Mar. 16, 1748/49.

6 SCCJ, Mar. 6, 1749/50.

7 SCCJ, Mar. 6, 1749/50.

^ For more on the character of this wheat belt and on evidence pertaining to
it, see H. Roy Merrens, Colonial North Carolina in the Eighteenth Century:
A Study in Historical Geography (Chapel Hill, N.C. 1964), p. 118, and fn.
52 on p. 239.

^ Webster's account is presented in T.P. Harrison (ed.), "Journal of a Voyage
to Charlestown in So. Carolina by Pelatiah Webster in 1765," Publications of
the Southern History Association, II (Apr., 1898), 131-48. The original manu-
script is in the South Carolina Historical Society, Charleston, S.C.
^ Letter of William Pollard to Messrs. B. and J. Bower, Feb. 1, 1774, which is
the manuscript William Pollard Letter Book, 1772-1774, in the Historical Society
of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia.

11 The bare bones of the story of the Quakers in Charleston, and of their links
with the Friends in Philadelphia, appear in some printed records: Mabel L.
Webber (ed.), "The Records of the Quakers in Charles Town," South Carolina
Historical and Genealogical Magazine, XXVIII (Jan., 1927), 22-43; (Apr., 1927),
94-107; (Jul., 1927), 176-97.

12 The visits of Logan and Pemberton are recorded in their accounts: the Diary
and Journal of James Pemberton is in the Division of Manuscripts of the Library
of Congress; "William Logan's Journal of a Journey to Georgia, 1745" is printed
in Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, XXXVI (Jan., 1912), 1-16;
(Apr., 1912), 162-86.

13 Letter from William Dillwyn to James Pemberton, Jan. 27, 1773, in Pemberton
Papers, vol. 24, 1772-1773 (manuscripts in the Historical Society of Pennsyl-

26

vania). The visit is described in A.S. Salley (ed.), "Diary of William Dillwyn
During a Visit to Charles Town in 1772," South Carolina Historical and Genea-
logical Magazine, XXXVI (Jan., 1935), 1-6; (Apr., 1935), 28-35; (Jul., 1935),
73-8; (Oct., 1935), 107-10.

1^ Quantitative data on trade between South Carolina and Philadelphia for
the two decades after 1750 was compiled from two principal sources: the Naval
Office Records for South Carolina; and American Board of Customs, Exports
and Imports, America, 1768-1773 (manuscripts in the British Public Record
Office, also known as Customs 16/1). For the period after 1750, the Naval Office
Records cover the years 1752, 1753, 1758, 1759, 1760, 1762, 1763, 1764, 1765,
1766, and 1767. Customs 16/1 covers the years 1768-1772. These two sources
are not altogether compatible. Even more unfortunate, however, was the recog-
nition that the compilations do not constitute adequate foundations for an
acceptably rigorous analysis.

1^ See, for example, Henry Laurens to William Fisher, Jan. 9, May 29, 1764,
and to George Morgan, Aug. 26, 1767, in Reel 3 of the microfilm edition of the
Papers of Henry Laurens (microfilmed by the South Carolina Department of
Archives and History, produced by Micro Photo, Inc., 1966, for the South Caro-
lina Historical Society, and hereinafter cited as Laurens Papers).

^^ The story of the trading relationship between Samuel Powel and Gabriel
Manigault is revealed in communications between them, which are found in
two collections of manuscripts in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania: Samuel
Powel Letter Books, 1727-1747 (3 vols.); Samuel Powel, Commercial Correspon-
dence, 1683-1749 (2 boxes).

^'^ The words quoted appear in a version of Glen's report that has been printed:
Chapman J. Milling (ed.). Colonial South Carolina: Two Contemporary Descrip-
tions by Governor James Glen and Doctor George Milligen-Johnston (Columbia,
S.C., 1951), p. 45. That the change was just getting underway at this time is
underlined by the fact that when Glen first drafted the report, he wrote that the
townships were supplying the commodities, and it was when the Commons
House of Assembly objected that this was rather inaccurate that he modified
the report so that it read they "begin to supply us" with these items. The reaction
of the Commons House of Assembly to Glen's original text appears in J.H.
Easterby and Ruth S. Green (eds.), The Colonial Records of South Carolina:
The Journal of the Commons House of Assembly, March 28, 1749-March 19,
1750 (Columbia, S.C, 1962), pp. 56-7; there are about a half-dozen slightly
different extant versions of Glen's report, and these are identified in fn. 21
on p. xiv of this same volume.

1 The activities of Reynell, and others, are illustrated in the manuscript John
Reynell Letter Books, 1729-1774 (12 vols., in the Historical Society of Pennsyl-
vania). Brands of beer (and flour) are identified in the correspondence of Samuel
Powel (see fn. 16, above), and other merchants.

^^ "Charleston, S.C, in 1774 as described by an English Traveler," Historical
Magazine, IX (Nov., 1865), 344.

20 South Carolina Gazette, Feb. 21, 1774. More information on Egan's brewery
is presented in Walter W. Walsh, "Edmund Egan: Charleston's Rebel Brewer,"
South Carolina Historical Magazine, LVI (Oct., 1955), 200-04.

m

2^ Robert Ellis Letter Book, 1736-1748 (manuscript, Historical Society of Penn-
sylvania). See also several letters of Charleston merchant John Guerard in the
manuscript John Guerard Letter Book, 1752-1754 (South Carolina Historical
Society), such as, for example, the letter from Guerard to William Jolliff, May 6,
1754.

^ On the production of naval stores in North Carolina, see Merrens, Colonial
North Carolina, pp. 85-92.

23 See letter of Alice Blanchfield to [John Rudulph], Mar. 20, 1768, in Hollings-
worth Manuscripts, Correspondence, Jun., 1761-Dec., 1777 (Historical Society
of Pennsylvania). Also relevant is a letter from Warwick Miller of Chester County,
printed in the Virginia Gazette (Rind), Sept. 22, 1768.

24 This conclusion is based on a study of the manuscript inventories of estates.
South Carolina Department of Archives and History.

25 Inventory of Thomas Elliot, Senr., dated 25 Jul., 1761, in Inventories, T,
1758-1761.

26 These interpretations of the livestock industry will be elaborated and sub-
stantiated in forthcoming publications on colonial South Carolina's geography
by Merrens.

2'^ The production of oranges in colonial South Carolina was of minor impor-
tance, which is probably why historians have accorded it so little attention.
The above summary interpretation of the production of, and trade in, oranges
is based on a number of scattered references to oranges in the contemporary
record, including the following: "Charleston, S.C. in 1774, as described by an
English Traveler," Historical Magazine, IX (Nov., 1865), 344; letter from Thomas
Lamboll in Charleston to John Bartram in Philadelphia, Nov. 11, 1763, and edi-
torial comments, in Elise Pinckney (ed.), Thomas and Elizabeth Lamboll:
Early Charleston Gardeners ("Charleston Museum Leaflet," No. 28: Charleston,
S.C, Nov., 1969), pp. 19-20; account of Joseph Summers and Charles Pinckney,
Jul. 8, 1747, in the manuscript Pinckney Papers, 1694-1782 (Library of Congress);
letter of Henry Laurens to Felix Warley, Sept. 5, 1771, in Laurens Papers, Reel 4.

28 See, for example, Henry Laurens to William Fisher, Apr. 26, 1763, and to
Grubb and Watson, May 21, 1763, in Laurens Papers, Reel 2.

29 See the discussion in Marc Egnal and Joseph A. Ernst, "An Economic Inter-
pretation of the Revolution," William and Mary Quarterly, 3d Ser., XXIX
(Jan., 1972), 156. See also Henry Laurens to Isaac King, Apr. 3, 1764, in
Laurens Papers, Reel 3.

30 See, for example, Henry Laurens to William Fisher, May 29, 1764, in Laurens
Papers, Reel 2.

31 See Henry Laurens to Coxe and Furman, Aug. 27, 1763, in Laurens Papers,
Reel 2, and Laurens to William Fisher, Oct. 12, 1771, in Laurens Papers, Reel
4.

32 See Egnal and Ernst, "Economic Interpretation . . . ," William and Mary
Quarterly, 3d Ser., XXIX (Jan., 1972), 12-3.

33 The printed version of Dillwyn's diary is identified in fn. 13. above.

34 Merrens, Colonial North Carolina, pp. 116-17. A case study of Camden is
presented in a forthcoming article by the present authors, to appear in the

28

William and Mary Quarterly entitled '"Camden's turrets pierce the skies!':
The Urban Process in the Southern Colonies during the Eighteenth Century."

^ The Quaker setders can be identified in the records of the South Carolina
Council sessions, where they are named when they petitioned for land. For
examples of such petitions by Quakers, see SCCJ, Oct. 25, 1751. The Quaker
phase of settlement is reviewed in Thomas J. Kirkland and Robert M. Kennedy,
Historic Camden: Part I, Colonial and Revolutionary (Columbia, S.C., 1905),
pp. 73-7.

^ No one has yet pieced together a coherent picture of Kershaw's political and
economic activities, but assorted scraps of evidence suggest he was one of the
leading members of a trading partnership that had its headquarters in Charles-
ton, relied upon Kershaw to provide it with a crucial interior base of operations
through his diverse trading ventures in Camden, and sought to enlarge its opera-
tions by promoting trade at two or three other focal points in the interior. An
informative source is a memorandum of agreement made between Kershaw and
four others, which was to take effect on Jan. 1, 1764. This manuscript is among
the Chestnut-Miller-Manning Papers, 1744-1900, in the South Carolina Histori-
cal Society. A little more information on Kershaw's activities can be gathered
from a few of the early items in the Joseph Brevard Kershaw Papers, 1766-
1888, in the South Caroliniana Collection of the University of South Carolina,
Columbia, S.C., and from the letter from Henry Laurens to Joseph Kershaw,
Jul. 23, 1766, in the Henry Laurens Letter Book, 1762-1766, in the Historical
Society of Pennsylvania.

^'^ James Clitherall Diary, 1776, in the Southern Historical Collection of the
University of North Carolina Library, Chapel Hill, N.C.

^ Salley (ed.), "Diary of William Dillwyn . . . ," South Carolina Historical and
Genealogical Magazine, XXXVI (Apr., 1935), 33.

^ See memorandum of agreement cited in fn. 36, above.

^ These problems are the subject of a forthcoming monograph. Money and
Politics in America 1755-1775, A Study in the Currency Act of 1764 and the
Political Economy of Revolution, by Joseph A. Ernst, to be published by the
Institute of Early American History and Culture.

^^ Lionel Chalmers to Israel Pemberton, Oct. 10, 1769, in Pemberton Papers,
vol. 21, 1767-1770.

29

THE NORTH CAROLINA PIEDMONT:
AN ISLAND OF RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY

By W. Frank Ainsley and John W. Florin

... A sub-region of peculiar interest is that located in the Caro-
lina Piedmont, an area whose cultural distinctiveness has not been
fully appreciated in the geographical literature. This sub-region
is decidedly a portion of the South; but the significance of Pres-
byterians, Friends, Congregationalists, and various Teutonic
groups suggests a divergence in general demographic, cultural,
and historical development from, say Virginia or South Carolina
that even the casual student would have little trouble in detect-

The above observation was offered by Wilbur Zelinsky after a carto-
graphic analysis of religious data collected by the National Council of
Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. in 1952. He was sufficiently struck by
the religious anomaly that he identified the Piedmont section of North
Carolina as a distinct sub-region in an otherwise strikingly homogeneous
Southeast. In this article we hope to examine whether, within the con-
text of spatial variations of religious affiliation in North Carolina, this
is a valid identification, and if this is true, to delimit the actual sub-
region according to the counties in the Piedmont which compose it.
Furthermore, we will utilize religious data collected by the Bureau
of the Census in 1890 and 1916, as well as the 1952 data, to see if any
substantial changes have occurred in this apparent island of religious
diversity over a 62 year period of profound economic and demographic
alteration in the Piedmont.

To simplify the data matrix 12 denominations were included in
the 1890 data, 11 in 1916, and 13 in 1952 a principal components analy-
sis using orthogonal rotation was applied to each of the data matrices.
We realize that the statistical validity of these solutions must remain
suspect because of the lack of any possible test of significance for the
results. However, we felt that the reduction of the original data matrices
into a smaller number of key dimensions offered the hope of an im-
proved spatial comprehension that was worth the obvious statistical
risk. Component scores, which measure the relative importance of each
component dimension for each data unit (or county), were generated
and mapped. In most cases each county was assigned to the religious
category or dimension on which it had the highest positive loading.
In some instances, when a dimension was identified by a low negative
loading, the counties with the lowest negative scores were assigned to
that dimension.

One evident aspect of all three of the rotated component matrices
is the degree to which only a single denomination is associated with most

30

of the components. Only the Baptists, with a negative association with
Methodists on the first dimension in 1890 and 1916, and the Disciples
of Christ on the first dimension and the Methodists on the eighth in
1952, invariably load as high as the .3 level with any other denomina-
tion. In fact, the only other clusterings that can be considered to be
even moderately strong are the positive association between Lutherans
and Reformed groups in 1890 and 1916. A lack of similarity in the dis-
tributional patterns of the various groups is obvious here.

The Piedmont section of the state stands out as an area of consid-
erable internal diversity on the composite map of religious groups
(Figure 1). Only one of the seven dimensions that constitute the high
scores for all of the counties is not represented in the sub-region as
defined by Zelinsky, and four of the seven are concentrated in that
region. Only 31 of North Carolina's 100 counties fall within this region.
The western third of the state is a homogeneous representation of the
dominant Baptist-Methodist dimension, while the Coastal Plain section
is of intermediate complexity. The Disciples of Christ load heavily
on the component that dominates much of the middle coastal plain.
This native American religious group developed indigenously in the
region and seems to have competed strongly with the Baptist for a
common constituency.

fjjl^i \ DISCIPLES OF CHRIST jvlx!;! LUTHERAN - REFORMED y-, ; ti'v:'.'''-?/}! ""'"

Figure 1

Composite map of highest positive or lowest negative rotated component score
for religious denominations in each North Carolina county, 1890.

51-

The 1916 components mapping reflects a continuation of the basic
pattern that was present in 1890 (Figure 2). The Piedmont is still the
area of greatest diversity while the Mountains are again identified by
their homogeneity. The diversity of the Coastal Plain has been de-
creased through the absence of the Disciples of Christ from the 1916
census enumeration. The Lutheran-Reformed dimension continues
to dominate much of the western Piedmont, the Moravian influence
still centers on Forsythe County, the Friends are significant in the
central Piedmont, and the Congregationalists appear strongest to the
north and east. The Presbyterian foothold in the Scotch Highlander
settlement area in the south-central area has expanded noticeably.

Figure 2

Composite map of highest positive or lowest negative rotated component score
for religious denominations in each North Carolina county, 1916.

The apparent importance of the Disciples of Christ in the Coastal
Plain is substantiated by its reappearance with the 1952 National Council
of Churches statistics (Figure 3). Still, the Piedmont's existence as an
island of religious diversity continues to be evident. To the south and
west this island has expanded into four additional counties, while in
the northeast one has been lost. The Coastal Plain has lost representa-
tion of all but the Baptist and Disciples of Christ dimensions. The Pres-
byterian component has made slight inroads into the Baptist-Methodist
domination in the Mountains. Five of the seven dimensions are again
represented in the central parts of the state.

32

Figure 3

Composite map of highest positive or lowest negative rotated component score
for religious denominations in each North Carolina county, 1952.

The prime purpose of the research reported in this article was to
statistically test the hypothesis that the "exotic" religious groups of
Piedmont North Carolina composed an "island of religious diversity"
within the state. The composite maps derived from principal compo-
nents analyses run on the three data matrices indicate that this basic
hypothesis is true. Some additional findings are also revealed by the
composite maps.

First, within the Piedmont region, the dominant religious groups
are spatially separated into different sub-regional clusters. The Congre-
gationalists dominate the northeast Piedmont. The Friends are located
in a band of counties running from the northwestern section of the
Piedmont to the central Piedmont. This band of Friends is bisected
by the Moravians. The southwestern quarter of the Piedmont is dom-
inated by a sub-region composed of Lutheran and Reformed Churches;
this sub-region is split into two halves by a North-South strip of Scotch-
Irish Presbyterianism. Sitting astride the physiological boundary be-
tween the southeastern Piedmont and the adjacent Coastal Plain are
the Scotch Highlander Presbyterians.

Secondly, these clusters of exotic religious groups in the Piedmont
have remained fairly stable since 1890. While a few counties have
shifted through time from one exotic dimension to another, most of
the clusters are clearly recognizable. With increasing urbanization,
it seems that the counties of the Piedmont which are influenced by
the Baptist-Methodist components have been decreasing.

Also, m addition to the island of religious diversity in the Pied-
mont, there exists one major and several minor islands within the Coast-
al Plain. The east central Coastal Plain is clearly dominated by the

33

Disciples of Christ. The area around Cumberland is a stronghold of
Scotch Highlander Presbyterianism. By 1952, the Presbyterian influence
is also beginning to dominate a strip running from North to South from
Duplin through Pender to New Hanover County.

Finally, the Piedmont island of religious diversity is closely asso-
ciated with the major area of urban and industrial development in North
Carolina. This includes the familiar Piedmont Crescent and its exten-
sions via the major transportation routes to the other urban areas of
the Piedmont. However, the existence of this diversity clearly preceded
the period of urbanization. Virtually all of the denominational groups
that together lend this region its peculiar character settled in the Pied-
mont well before the time of the American Revolution, with the Scotch-
Irish Presbyterians and the Lutheran and Reformed German groups,
both found in the western portion of the area, the last to arrive in sub-
stantial numbers. The rise of the urban, industrial arc of the Piedmont
Crescent, then, has not been the creator of this island of diversity.
Rather, its influence appears to have been to strengthen and expand
an already clearly established religious region.

V ';^,\ ' FOOTNOTE :!:;;\ ^V .!:^^,''V'!^'^'^-.':

^ Wilbur Zelinsky, "An Approach to the Religious Geography of the United
States: Patterns of Church Membership in 1952," Annals, Association of Ameri-
can Geographers, LI (1961), 164.

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.

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34

THE GEOGRAPHIC BASE OF URBAN
RETARDATION IN MISSISSIPPI, 1800-1840

.(/; '\o-- ,r;6/(;iio a''! By Howard G. Adkins :/: xi':\s;;:;;-o-; :

The state of Mississippi is characterized by a significantly low
level of urbanization when compared with the great majority of other
states in the Union. This is not a recent phenomenon but has existed
since the earliest days of European settlement in eastern North Ameri-
ca. The main circumstances affecting the size and spacing of cities
in Mississippi have been a combination of physical, economic, demo-
graphic, and historical factors peculiar to the region. This study ex-
amines several such factors which were operative before 1840 when
the state had a population of almost 375,000, only one percent of which
was urban compared with eleven percent for the United States.

The first white settlement in what is today Mississippi was establish-
ed by the French at Old Biloxi, a coastal location, in 1699. It was follow-
ed by Fort Rosalie, founded in the midst of the Natchez Indians, in 1716,
and by Fort St. Peter, built along the Yazoo River, three years later.
Of these early settlements, only the Fort Rosalie (Natchez) location
seemed favorably disposed for large-scale settlement attempts, and by
1729 a population count indicated 200 male colonists, 80 female col-
onists, 150 children, 280 Negro slaves, and a garrison of 28 soldiers.^
This attempt at settlement was cut short by the 1729 Natchez Massacre,
after which much French time and energy were taken up in military
expeditions against the Natchez and Chickasaw Indians. Thus, other
than selecting the sites of Natchez and Biloxi, the French had almost
no effect on town building in Mississippi.

In 1763, as a result of the Treaty of Paris ending the Seven Years'
War, the British acquired all French territory east of the Mississippi
River except for New Orleans. The new owners seem to have had little
interest in colonizing the acquired territory but were mainly concerned
with the establishment of a buffer between their Atlantic Seaboard
colonies and Spanish settlements west of the Mississippi River. Natchez,
which had partially been rebuilt after the massacre, persisted as an
embryonic urban place, but its growth was slow. In 1776, for example,
it consisted of

. . . only ten log houses and two frame houses, all situated under
the bluff .... About seventy-eight famihes, scattered in dif-
ferent settlements, constituted the whole population of the dis-
trict, few of which had immigrated to the country previous to
1772. There were four small stores in the town.^
Biloxi was equally non-descript, and no other towns were founded prior
to 1781 when the area was surrendered to the Spanish.

.YiTK

35C

Spaniards were the first Europeans to have an active town policy
in the Mississippi Territory, but the results can best be characterized
as unsuccessful. Part of the problem was that the Spanish Crown en-
couraged settlement around a church, a guardhouse, or near a mili-
tary commandant's residence. Such sites, often chosen for mili-
tary reasons, were not always favorable for agriculture and thus could
not support a large colony. Also, the region was being slowly settled
from the east by self-reliant people of predominantly Anglo-Saxon ex-
traction. Therefore, when Spain relinquished control of the Mississippi
area to the United States in 1798, she had made no measurable contri-
bution to its urban fabric.^

Even in the decade or so following 1798, settlement in Mississippi
can only be characterized as slow. Two main factors seem responsible
for this. First, the region was a fringe area on America's westward
moving settlement frontier, which lay south of the main paths of migra-
tion. Moreover, much of it was Indian country, which helped to con-
centrate most immigrants within twenty-five miles of the Mississippi
River in locales linked by four public roads of doubtful quahty.'* A
second factor was that land sales were delayed until 1807 in order to
clear up conflicting claims stemming from colonial land grants As an
example, between 1800 and 1810, Tennessee's population increased
by 156,125, Kentucky's by 185,516, and Mississippi's by only 31,502.^

However, once claims were settled and clear tides offered, immi-
gration slowly gained momentum. Settlers recognized four broad sub-
divisions of Mississippi based mainly upon differences in soil fertility,
topography, vegetation, and drainage. These regions were the Delta,
the Piney Woods, the Hills, and the Natchez District (Figure 1).^ It
is obvious from Table 1, listing the population of each region, that the
easily-worked soils of the Natchez District and the Hills were preferred
by settlers. Because of the expense of clearing land and the threat of
flooding, the Delta remained unsettled except for choice riverine
sites until the 1870's and 1880's'' The Piney Woods was the second most
populous subdivision in 1830, but its infertile soils caused it to increase
in population least among the four zones between 1830 and 1840.

Unlike settlers in the Middle West who went in "search of promising
towns" and "opportunities in infant cities," immigrants entering Missis-
sippi after 1800 were predominantly interested in land.^ Most were
southerners familiar with cotton cultivation, a commodity of great pro-
fit potential, who were anxious to convert the virgin Mississippi land-
scape into cotton fields. Some established large plantations, others
small farms. In a relative sense, size mattered little for "cotton was
adapted to cultivation on any scale and one-horse farmers and hundred-
slave planters competed on fairly even terms, acre for acre."^

Cotton was not the only crop produced commercially in Mississippi
after 1800, but it was the one which attracted settlers and dominated
the economy. During a good year, when cotton prices averaged fifteen

36

REGIONS OF SETTLE-
MENT IN
MISSISSIPPI

Figure 1
37

cents a pound at New Orleans, net profits to a farmer averaged 20 to
35 percent.^ With this profit possibility, settlers were more interested
in acquiring land and establishing plantations than in purchasing town
lots and pursuing an urban-related economy. This interest in land to
cultivate cotton attracted settlers in greater numbers after statehood
in 1817.

Cotton, slavery, and plantations thus became dominant elements in
the Mississippi economy up to 1840. In that census year 52 percent of

TABLE 1
MISSISSIPPI POPULATION BY REGIONS, 1784-1840

Year

Natchez
District

Piney
Woods

Hills

Delta

Total

Slave

1840

88,461

52,092

210,878

24,219

375,650

195,211

1830

66,582

38,715

22,735

8,526

136,621

65,659

1820

47,946

24,781

2,721

75,448

32,814

1810

30,053

1,253

31,306

17,088

1800

7,600

7,600

2,995

1792*

4,346

- - ': ''':

4,346

1,993

1784*

1,619

1,619

498

Source: United States Census of Population, "Mississippi," 1800-1840.

* Jack D.L. Holmes, Gayoso: The Life of a Spanish Governor in the Mississippi
Valley, 1 789-] 799 {Baton Rouge, 1965), pp. 114-15.

the inhabitants were slaves, which not only deprived the nascent towns
of population but also of trade. Most large plantations tended to be eco-
nomic units maintaining cotton gins, blacksmith shops and gristmills,
and employing carpenters, masons, tanners, and mechanics. Cotton
was marketed by factors. Also, for a commission, a factor would pur-
chase supplies and furnish planters with funds and credit. Commission
merchants serving Mississippi planters tended to concentrate in Mobile,
New Orleans, and Memphis, and to a lesser extent at Natchez and Vicks-
burg (Table 2). With the possible exception of the latter two places,
the plantation system did not stimulate the growth of regional market
towns with their many complementary amenities. ^^

In 1842 the Mississippi Free Trader made the following comparison
between the planter class and small farmers: ......., ....^J

They [the small farmers] would crowd our streets [Natchez] with
fresh and healthy supplies of home productions, and proceeds
would be expended here among our merchants, grocers, and

38

TABLE 2

MISSISSIPPI: COMMISSION MERCHANT HOUSES, STORES
AND CAPITAL INVESTED BY REGIONS IN 1840

Region

Commission
Merchant Houses

Number

Stores

Capital Invested

Natchez District
Piney Woods i ,
Hills v;|,:/i/i^
Delta

,-'")-.:h>V' Totals

54

332
. 81

'.; 317

.". 25
i 755

$2,432,559
,;:.:v . 366,116
,,:;r,:jr. 2,021,129
nv .' 184,616

'^ t:^ $5,004,420

Source: United States Census, 1840 Compendium, pp. 230-37.

artisans. The large planters the one-thousand-bale planters-
do not contribute most to the prosperity of Natchez. They, for
the most part, sell their cotton in Liverpool; buy their wines in
London or Le Harve; their negro clothing in Boston; their plan-
tation implements and fancy articles in New Orleans. The small
planter has not the credit nor the business connections to do this;
he requires the proceeds of his crop as soon as it can be sold; and
he purchases and pays for, cash in hand, almost every necessary
wanted during the year, in the same market where he sells his
cotton. The small planter hoards no money in these times, he
lends none at usurious rates of interest; he buys up the property
of no unfortunate debtor for a few dollars; but he lays it all out
for the purchase of supplies, and thus directly contributes his
mite to the prosperity of our city.^^

Trade, which is the basic support of towns in any agricultural area,
was seasonal in early nineteenth century Mississippi, and geared direct-
ly to the production of cotton. Except for Natchez and a few other towns
possessing similar situations, inland trade centers were viable units
only during cotton marketing seasons. With no adequate or readily
available funds, merchants, farmers, and planters were forced to pur-
chase two-thirds to three-fourths of their merchandise on credit. ^^
Both the credit and factorage systems were highly sensitive to the
market and instrumental in concentrating commerce at Natchez, Vicks-
burg, and Port Gibson while shifting trade from the inland towns. ^^

The largest inland trade towns seldom exceeded 150 to 300 inhab-
itants, and usually consisted of two or three general stores, a saloon
or two, and a livery stable. In time, post office, gristmill, cotton gin,
blacksmith, tan-yard, and possibly a bank might be added. ^^ More
stores were in the Natchez District than in any other region (Table 2),

m^^

but 80 percent of these were located in Adams (Natchez), Warren
(Vicksburg), and Claiborne (Port Gibson) counties. Stores in other
regions were more evenly distributed among counties. Nevertheless,
the semi-colonial economy of the plantation-factorage system deprived
inland towns of retail trade and hampered the rise of local manufact-
uring.^^

As indicated in Figure 2, town development in less fertile regions
was particularly hindered. Between 1830 and 1840, for example, the
population in the Piney Woods increased by only 13,377 persons (Table
1), while the overall increase in state population in the same period
was 249,030 persons. Obviously settlers here were not satisfied with
soil conditions, which often restricted cultivation to small tracts of
easily-inundated second-river bottoms. After 1820, the Piney Woods
counties of Greene, Jones, Perry, and Wayne experienced a net popu-
lation loss to the more fertile soils of new purchase areas in the Hills
region. ^'^ Illustrative of the problem was the fact that the Augusta land
office offered 9,628,675 acres east of the Pearl River for sale during the
period 1811 to 1847, but sold only 950,713 acres.^^

Towns which did emerge in the Piney Woods were small, unimpres-
sive, and generally declined as people relocated in northern Mississippi.
Traveling through the Piney Woods in 1841, Claiborne observed that
Monticello, Columbia and Ellisville were in an advanced state of de-
cay.^^ Augusta, possibly the most important town in the eastern Piney
Woods in the early 1800's was similarly described as

... an extensive parallelogram garnished round with some eight
or ten miserable tenements . . . the wrecks of better times ....
We never before saw such a picture of desolation. The vestiges
of numerous and extensive buildings were still to be seen; the
town itself had been planned on an imposing scale; the landing
on the Leaf River where formerly barge and bateau deposited
their rich cargoes, was pointed out; the courthouse . . . once
thronged with suitors and defendants . . . but now all was silence
and solitude.20

It is probable in fact that as a result of the cotton economy very
few towns would have developed in any of the inland areas had it not
been for the need for area administration, for places where records
could be kept, taxes paid, and courts held. Counties and county seats
were created by individual enabling acts of the state legislature to serve
as administrative units. In unsurveyed and unsettled territory the acts
authorized a commission to select a site for the courthouse within
five miles of the geographic center of an areally defined county if pos-
sible. After selecting the site, the commission was authorized to acquire
land on which to build the town. Generally a central one-acre square
was reserved for the courthouse which served as the nucleus of the
new settlement. The first courthouse, constructed with proceeds from

40

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Figure 2
41

the sale of lots, was most frequently a log or rough-hewn lumber building
containing a small courtroom and jury room.^i To this early nucleus
was added a jail, boarding house or hotel, two or three workshops,
several stores, and houses. "Each courthouse town had one or more
taverns which did their best business during court. "^2 gy 1340 there
were fifty-six county seat towns in the state. Thus many towns were
started at sites decided by politics.

County seat towns, because of their centrality and accessibility,
logically functioned as trade and social centers. The town of Gallatin,
Copiah County, for example, contained two banks, a newspaper, several
workshops making guns, shoes, carriages and cabinets, a large ware-
house, a drug store, and several general merchandise and dry goods
stores. Two hotels, a theater, a masonic lodge. Baptist and Presbyterian
churches, a female seminary, an academy for boys, a grog shop, and
race track were additional amenities. At least one small freight line
operated between Gallatin and the river.^s The population of the town
was estimated at 800 in 1836 but had declined to 203 by 1854.24 Appar-
ently the Panic of 1837 had a decided influence on Gallatin, for in De-
cember properties listed for sale in the Southern Star included house-
hold items, farm equipment, two cotton gins, two gristmills, one
sawmill, cattle, sheep, oxen, hogs, and corn.^^ Four months later the
sheriff advertised for sale two lots and buildings, and Planter's Bank
offered for sale eight lots, the Mansion House, a tavern, and several
other buildings. The same issue noted that twenty slaves and 7,652 acres
of land in tracts exceeding 20 acres were offered for sale. Almost half
of the land was listed by twenty-six individuals. ^^ Gallatin never re-
covered from the Panic of 1837, and when the New Orleans, Jackson,
and Great Northern Railroad was surveyed three and one-half miles
to the east, the town's trade was taken over by Hazlehurst.^'^

Although trade and commerce was the basic economic function
of most towns in their early years of growth, manufacturing was almost
always the mainstay of growth. The average settler in Mississippi was
apparently willing to leave the manufacture of all but the basic domestic
and farm implement needs to Europe and states in the north, and in-
vested in the capital goods of farming land, equipment, and frequently
slaves. Wagons, cultivating tools, gins, presses, and other basic farm
equipment were fabricated in local shops and by plantation blacksmiths.
By 1840 Mississippi did not lag far behind other states in the farm im-
plement industry, but with the possible exception of lumbering there
was no industry in the state that depended on markets elsewhere.

A manufacturing industry first appeared in the Natchez District in
1795 when mechanics began to improve the Whitney gin and to fabri-
cate new cotton gins. This, however, was pernicious to manufacturing
because by 1801 improvements had been made to the extent that
Natchez cotton was not injured in the ginning process and commanded
a considerable premium on the market. Furthermore, the fact that

42

Eleazer Carver was forced to transfer his gin manufacturing firm to
Massachusetts to take advantage of skilled workmen and improvements
in the design and manufacture of machine tools is indicative of the
problems encountered in manufacturing. ^^

In the Mississippi Territory in 1810 there were twenty-two textile
establishments containing 807 spindles and 1,330 looms producing
over 342,400 yards of linen, and 7,890 yards of woolen goods valued
at $419,073. There were also ten tanneries, six distilleries, one tinshop,
and one hat manufacturer.^^ But insufficient capital and competition
as well as inadequate machinery, shortage of skilled laborers, and the
lack of coal for fuel were key factors retarding this industrial
beginning. 3

Table 3 is indicative of the degree of manufacturing in the state in
1840, and of the fact that it was geared to a domestic market. The general
practice at that time was for manufacturing to locate outside the towns.
At Gallatin several urban-related activities were dispersed about the
countryside rather than concentrated within the city limits. An adver-
tisement in the Southern Star in 1837 noted that a shop had opened two
miles from Gallatin and was prepared to execute all orders for farm
implements on short notice. Wool was carded at eight cents per pound,

TABLE 3
MISSISSIPPI: SELECTED ELEMENTS OF
MANUFACTURING BY REGIONS IN 1840

Natchez

Piney

Hills

Delta

Total

District

Woods

Employment:

Machinery

90

183

1

274

Wagons & Carriages

45

15

72

132

Number of:

Tanneries

6

40

81

1

128

Cotton Manufacturies

8

45

53

Flour Mills

4

12

16

Gristmills

373

94

330

9

806

Sawmills

50

67

185

7

309

Capital Invested

$702,985

$285,142

$780,095

$29,505

$1,797,727

Source: United States Census, 1840 Compendium, pp. 230-37.

or was received in payment if it was not convenient to pay cash, at a
wool carding machine one and one half miles from Gallatin. ^i Perhaps
equally as significant was the fact that industrial inertia did not evolve
in any locality within the state.

43

A final important factor affecting the location and development
of towns in Mississippi before 1840 was transportation. The first towns
in Mississippi were accessible by water. Vicksburg, Grand Gulf, Rodney,
Natchez, Port Gibson, and Fort Adams owed their early existence to
the movement of traffic along the Mississippi River and each served
as ports through which cotton was shipped. The general situation of
smaller river towns like Gravesport, Port Royal, Chocchuma, Nashville,
and Amsterdam was similar to that of Vicksburg and Natchez. Both
large and small towns were dependent upon a river frontage and a sup-
porting hinterland, but because of spacing, early start, and hinterland
size, the growth potential of Vicksburg, Natchez, Port Gibson, and
Grand Gulf was more favorable. ^^

Towns tended to grow to some extent around landings in fertile
areas but a great deal of commerce in the early cotton era was trans-
acted on flatboats moving down the Mississippi River which accepted
produce in exchange for goods and services. Many such boats, outfitted
with shelves and counters, carried groceries, dry goods, hardware and
liquors, and stopped wherever there was a landing and a chance for a
sale. Occasionally they were fitted with gristmills operated by the force
of the current and would grind meal and flour for settlers. Some carried
tinsmiths, blacksmiths, and toolmakers willing to ply their trade. It
was calculated that mercantile flatboats accounted for about eighty-five
percent of the total commerce on the lower Mississippi, in the late
1700's.33 By 1830 steamboats were operating on the Mississippi, the
lower Yazoo, the Big Black to Amsterdam, and the Tombigbee to
Columbus. As a general rule steamboats would stop to deposit or take
aboard freight, passengers, and wood for fuel at any landing serving
three or more families. ^^ The trade carried on by these so-called errand-
running steamers and peddling boats had a diminishing effect on towns
by diverting their business. ^^

Roads became an increasingly important factor in town develop-
ment as choice riverine sites were taken and as the interior was settled,
but they received relatively little public attention for a variety of reasons:

(1) Capital and labor were not available for large-scale construction.

(2) Planters located along navigable streams had little desire to support
internal improvement programs. (3) Hauling of cotton was performed
during the slack season, and supplies were brought in on the return
trips. Speed was not essential because the major commercial items were
nonperishable. (4) The seasonal nature of traffic allowed planters and
farmers to act independently of freight companies, which no doubt re-
tarded the development of professional wagoners. Had freight com-
panies operated in the state, there would have been at least one element
actively advocating a road building program. (5) In typical Anglo-
Saxon tradition, citizens worked off road taxes by laboring on the roads
for two or three days in the year. This sometimes resulted in little more
than filling in ruts or clearing a path through the forest. ^6

44

Most early roads in the state therefore were either cross-state
throughways or feeder roads to the rivers. Towns were a rarity along
the Natchez Trace, Three Chopped Way, Gaine's Trace, the Robinson

Figure 3

45

Road, and Jackson's Military Road because the roads passed through
Indian territory, crossed soil areas uninviting to settlers, or experienced
traffic that was unidirectional (Figure 3).37 For example, the Natchez
Trace, perhaps the most traveled road in the Old Southwest, was used
primarily by riverboat men returning northward after depositing their
cargo at New Orleans, whereas the Robinson Road provided an access
routeway into the state.

A system of local roads although slow to develop, was essential if
settlers were to market their produce and carry on necessary govern-
mental functions. The first local roads sometimes followed Indian trails,
but since this seldom led to settled areas new roads had to be constructed.
Actually intercounty roads were more coincidental than planned,
and official recognition consisted largely of a record of their estab-
Hshment.38 A public road was defined by the state legislature in 1824,
and by 1830 twenty-four state roads and six turnpikes were authorized;
however, this proposed system did not advance beyond the paper
stage. ^^

The result of high-cost surface transportation was a host of "general
store" type service centers which never developed into real towns, and
which were protected from competition with each other by the friction
of distance. How much larger such commercial centers would have be-
come had good roads existed is a matter of conjecture. Presumably the
number of trading points would have been fewer, larger, had a wider
variety of specialized functions, and been economically more viable
had they been more accessible. Also, had good roads existed lower
freight costs might have led to a concentration of retail trade in fewer
towns. It is a fact, however, that almost no positive change occurred in
the road system until the Federal Highway Act was passed in 1916.

The few railroads constructed in Mississippi between 1831 and 1840,
did not for the most part affect inland urban development because they
arose less from the demands of the rural population for better transpor-
tation, than from the desire of river and coastal towns to tap interior
markets. Merchants and factors had argued that railroads were a more
direct form of transportation and would bring prosperity to the state
by opening up new areas of commercial cotton production.'*^ By 1840
charters had been granted to twenty-four railroads. Many of the legis-
lative acts under which railroads were chartered made it clear they were
to transport cotton and other products from the interior to the Missis-
sippi River for shipment.'*^ The Jackson-Vicksburg road is a good exam-
ple. It formed an outlet to the Mississippi River for the rich cotton dis-
trict between the Pearl and Big Black Rivers. This road also assured
Vicksburg's future growth and position of supremacy over Natchez.
The Panic of 1837, however, brought an end to most of the ambitious
schemes of the initial period and the real effects of the railroad on the
spatial disposition of commercial centers came after 1840.

46

In 1840, Mississippi's urban hierarchy was composed of several
easily discernible classes of towns. Bay St. Louis and other Mississippi
coastal sites possessed adequate harbors but were cut off from a pro-
ductive hinterland by the Piney Woods. Hence the seaport towns of
Mobile and New Orleans were factorage centers which profited from
the trade of Mississippi planters. Towns were established along the Mis-
sissippi River at Vicksburg, Natchez, Grand Gulf, and other less strate-
gic points. Not one location on the Tombigbee River north of Columbus
had a strong advantage over another, so conditions were unfavorable
for the growth and development of large towns. Competition for cargo
increased as the number of steamboats increased, and captains were
willing to call at almost any hastily constructed landing to pick up and
deposit freight. The close spacing of such stops opposed the centraliza-
tion of wholesale and retail trade in towns.

State law required each county to have a county seat and to fix its
location. Towns usually developed at these sites. Early courthouse
communities had only superficial advantages over those depending en-
tirely on trade, but as the system of local roads began to develop, the
increased nodality of the county towns made them focal points of eco-
nomic activity. Perhaps it is significant to note that in 1920, four years
after the Federal Highway Act was passed, 91 percent of the urban
population lived in county seat towns.'*^

Another group of towns owed their origin and growth to the patterns
of trade of farmers and small planters. Like the county seats this class
of towns was mainly interior and accessible to their trade constituents
by poorly developed and maintained roads. Before 1840 these minor
trade centers and county seats constituted almost the entire urban fabric
of Mississippi. The economic base of these towns depended almost en-
tirely on the seasonal cotton trade of small planters and yeoman farmers.
The annual net income of these farmers amounted to only a few hun-
dred dollars, and was certainly not enough to stimulate significant
urban-related activities. Furthermore their cultural heritage was agrarian
and they saw little future in towns. The role of larger planters, the
money class in urban growth in Mississippi before 1840, was largely
negative. In fact for more than a century cotton would continue to
dominate the economy, and the base of Mississippi's urban pyramid
would continue to expand in relation to the apex.

47

FOOTNOTES

^ "D'Artaguette to Maurepas," March 20, 1730, Mississippi Provincial Archives,
1704-1743, French Dominion, II, pp. 541-45.

2 Quoted in F.L. Riley, School Historv of Mississippi (Richmond, Virginia,
1900), p. 60.

^ J.F.H. Clairborne, Mississippi as a Province, Territory, and State (Jackson,
Mississippi, 1880), p. 529.

'* J.D.L. Holmes, Gavoso: The Life of A Spanish Governor in the Mississippi
Valley, 1789-1799 (Baton Rouge, 1965) pp. 46-7.

5 U.S Census, 1800, 1810.

^ N.M. Fenneman, Phvsiography of Eastern United States (New York, 1938),

pp. 65-99.

'^ A. Kelley, "Levee Building and the Settlement of the Yazoo Basin," The
Southern Quarterly. I (1963), 285-308; Laws of Mississippi, 1819, p. 78.

8 R.C. Wade, The Urban Frontier: The Rise of Western Cities. 1790-1830
(Cambridge, 1959), pp. 1-34.

9 U.B. Phillips, Life and Labor in the Old South (Boston, 1931), pp. 127-28.

^ Claiborne to Madison, December 20, 1801 in Dunbar Rowland, ed.. Letter
Books of Claiborne, 1, 28; T. Bromme, Mississippi: A Geographic-Statistics-
Typography Sketch for Immigrants and Friends of Geography and Ethnology
(C. Scheld and Co., 1837), republished in the Journal of Mississippi History,
IV (1942), 105.

^^ Phillips, Life and Labor in the Old South, pp. 140-44.

12 Mississippi Free Trader, Natchez, April 14, 1842.

13 L.E. Atherton, "The Problems of Credit Rating in the Ante-Bellum South,"
Journal of Southern History, XII (1946), 534-35.

14 Ibid.; T.P. Abernethy "Social Relations and Political Control in the Old
Southwest," Mississippi Valley Historical Review, XVI (1929-1930), 530.

1^ "Madisonville," W.P.A. Federal Writers' Project, Department of Archives
and History, Jackson, Mississippi.

1^ A.H. Stone, "The Cotton Factorage System of the Southern States," Ameri-
can Historical Review, XX (1915), 557-69; Phillips, Life and Labor in the Old
South, p. 142.

1^ L.A. Besancon, Besancon's Annual Register of the State of Mississippi
(Natchez, 1838), p. 190; J.M. Wilkins, "Early Times in Wayne County," Publica-
tions of the Mississippi Historical Society, VI (1902), 265-72.

18 Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, 1848, 30th Congress, 2nd Session,
Senate Executive Document 2 (1848), p. 247.

1^ J.F.H. Claiborne, "A Trip Through the Piney Woods," Publications of the
Mississippi Historical Society, IX (1906), 510-16.

20 Ibid., pp. 518-19.

48

2^ See Minutes of the Board of Police of those counties for which records are
available; A.J. Brown, History of Newton County from 1834 to 1894 (Jackson,
1894), pp. 2-3.

22 W.H. Sparks, The Memories of Fifty Years (Macon, Georgia, 1872), p. 482.

23 Laws of Mississippi, 1836, pp. 475, 389-90; 1840, p. 66; H.S. Fulkerson,
Random Recollection of Early Days in Mississippi (Vicksburg, 1885), p. 30.

24 Southern Star, Gallatin, Mississippi, April 7, 1838; J.D.B. DeBow, Statis-
tical View of the United States (Washington, 1854), p. 385.

25 Southern Star, Gallatin, Mississippi, December 23, 1837.

26 Southern Star, Gallatin, Mississippi, April 7, 1838.

2^ H.G. Adkins, "The Historical Geography of Extinct Towns in Mississippi"
(unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. University of Tennessee, 1972), pp. 101-02.
28 J.H. Moore, Agriculture in Ante-Bellum Mississippi (New York, 1958), p. 23.

2^ T. Coxe, Tabular Statement of the Several Branches of American Manu-
facturing in the Autumn of 1810, prepared for the Treasury Department (Phil-
adelphia, 1813), pp. 2, 38, 139.

30 D.C. James, Antebellum Natchez (Baton Rouge, 1968), pp. 204-05.

31 Southern Star, Gallatin, Mississippi, December 23, 1837; April 7, 1838.

32 H.S. Tanner, A Map of Mississippi with Its Roads and Distance, ca. 1836;
W.A. Evans, "Steamboats on the Upper Tombigbee in the Early Days," Journal
of Mississippi History, IV (1942), 216-24; Fulkerson, Random Recollections of
Early Days in Mississippi, p. 20.

33 L.D. Baldwin, The Keelboat Age on Western Waters (Pittsburgh, 1941),
pp. 9, 186-87.

34 Hunt's Merchant Magazine, I (1840), 449.

35 Daily Tropic, New Orleans, October 2 1845.

36 B.H. Meyer, History of Transportation in the United States Before 1860
(Washington, 1948), pp. 249-50; G.R. Taylor, The Transportation Revolution:
1815-1960 (New York, 1951), pp. 15-7. Studies of professional wagoners in
Mississippi are to this writer's knowledge non-existent.

3^ Tanner, A Map of Mississippi with its Roads and Distance.

38 Revised Status of Mississippi, 1857, pp. 171-72.

39 Hutchinson's Code of Mississippi, 1798-1848, pp. 137-56, 254.

40 DeBow's Commercial Review, XII (1853), 435-54.

41 See individual Acts of Incorporation for Railroads in Laws of Mississippi,
1836, 1838, 1840.

42 US Census, 1920.

49

HOME MANUFACTURES AS AN

INDICATION OF AN EMERGING

APPALACHIAN SUBCULTURE, 1840-1870

By Leonard W. Brinkman

Dependence on goods manufactured in the home was widespread
in eastern North America during the colonial period, and persisted
well into the nineteenth century in some parts of the United States.
Poor transportation facilities, especially in frontier or rugged areas,
made it difficult to market agricultural produce, and the settler had to
invest time and effort in the production of essentials or wants which he
did not have the opportunity or means to purchase.

In one of the few published works on the subject, Tryon emphasizes
the importance of home manufacturing during the colonial period and
its decline in the nineteenth century.^ He concludes that the transfer
of the manufacturing process from the home to the shop and factory
was generally complete by 1830, ^ certainly by 1860, and recognizes
the difficulty inherent in making generalizations for any large section
of the country.3 Data published in United States census materials from
1840 to 1860 is included in great detail in tabular form,'* but Httle use
is made of it in assessing the changing distribution of household manu-
factures, and similar data published in 1870 is not included.

By 1840, when nationwide data on the value of home-manufactured
goods first appears in the census, the process was characteristic of rural
areas and was reported as a part of the agricultural returns. Material
explaining the census schedule was included in the instructions to the
federal marshals and their assistants, who were responsible for taking
the census in their own districts. Under the heading of value of home-
made manufactures, enumerators were instructed to include the value
of all articles manufactured in the year preceding June 1, in or by the
family for their own use or for sale. The value of purchased raw
materials was not to be included, since the object of the census inquiry
was to find the value of the manufactured goods made by the family
from their own raw materials, or the value of labor used to process raw
materials produced outside the family.^ Apparently any product made
in the home could be included under this definition, although Tryon
found that in practice there were three main categories of home-manu-
factured goods: (1) wearing apparel and household textile supplies,
which were the most important and most generally produced items; (2)
household implements, utensils, furniture, necessities, and comforts,
which were purchased whenever possible, although maple syrup and
sugar (and sorghum products in the South), cider and soap tended to
remain as home products; and (3) farming implements, building ma-
terials and general supplies, which remained as home products only

50

under conditions of dire necessity.^

Although the importance of home-made manufactures was no doubt
decHning at the time they were first reported by the United States
Census in 1840, their distribution (Figure 1) still tended to reflect the
general distribution and density of the rural population. "^ Areas with
population densities between 45 and 90 persons per square mile, as was
the case in western New York, eastern Ohio, the Bluegrass Region of
Kentucky and the Nashville Basin of Tennessee, were also areas which
produced high total values of home manufactures. The southern Pied-
mont, from Virginia to west central Georgia, had intermediate popu-
lation densities (18 to 45 persons per square mile) with a considerable
production of home (or plantation) manufactured items. In contrast,
rugged areas of western North Carolina, eastern Kentucky and western
Virginia had lower population densities, including some areas with
fewer than six persons per square mile, and lesser total values for home-
made manufactures, although they were equal to other areas in produc-
tion per capita.^ Settlers in these rather empty areas, which today are
in the heart of Appalachia, do not seem to have been exceptionally
different, or relatively more isolated, than were their contemporaries
in other parts of the country in 1840.^

The distribution of the value of home manufactures in 1850 (Figure
2) retained many of the characteristics of the pattern a decade earlier,
especially in the interior and the South, areas that still lacked good land
transportation facilities. There was a noticeable decline in the output
of home manufactures in the northeast, where scattered rail lines were
tied into a network, although not as yet into a rail system. ^ Some
increases in the value of home manufactures can be noted in the southern
uplands, where population was increasing and where sections of the
mountainous country were beginning to be shut off from the surround-
ing areas. ^^

By 1860 (Figure 3), the decline in production of home-made goods
had spread to other parts of the interior, especially Ohio, and the be-
ginnings of decline can be noted in the Piedmont in Virginia and Geor-
gia, served by rail lines based on Richmond and Atlanta. The Bluegrass
Region and the Nashville Basin continue to show high aggregate values
for home-manufactured products, perhaps because these areas, engaged
in supplying a variety of commodities to plantations in the deep South,
also found outlets for home-manufactured products in that area. Popu-
lation continued to increase in western North Carolina, eastern Ken-
tucky and western Virginia, with resulting increases in the value of home
manufactures. This southern Appalachian area was becoming increas-
ingly isolated, with rail lines all around it, especially to the east and
north, but only a single rail line from Richmond to Chattanooga via
the valleys of southwestern Virginia and eastern Tennessee passing
anywhere near its heart.

51

VALUE OF HOME
MANUFACTURES,1840j

Less than 5,000

5,000 to 9,999

10,000 to 24,999
25,000 to 49,999
50,000 to 99,999
100,000 or more

Source: U. S. Census, 1840

Figure 1

52

VALUE OF HOME
MANUFACTURES, 1850/

* 99 ^Km # V AA#ftftJ

J'Mf9[

^>^^v'^

^:i.:'.:

v?*^.

c.v*-'-a

r^

.'fV>X

--^^^,

>^-r/S,>

Less than 5,000

5,000 to 9,999

10,000 to 24,999

25,000 to 49,999
^ 50,000 to 99,999
A 100,000 or more

Source: U. S. Census, 1850

Figure 2

53

VALUE OF HOME
MANUFACTURES,1860<

Figure 3

54

VALUE OF HOME
MANUFACTURES, 1870

Figure 4

55

After a brief revival in some areas during the Civil War, the pro-
duction of home-made goods again declined in most parts of the country
by 1870 (Figure 4), the last date at which the census reports the value
of home-made manufactures. In contrast to the national situation,
a definite concentration on home manufactures is evident in the rugged
areas of the upper South, where there is a growing population, now
relatively more isolated than ever before, with little to sell or barter
for factory-made goods. Thus between 1840 and 1870 there was an
almost complete reversal of the distribution of the production of home-
made goods in the United States, with former concentrations declin-
ing and other areas, notably those in the upper South, becoming the
areas of concentration.

The divergence of the upper South or the southern Appalachians
from the mainstream of cultural development in the United States
occurred mainly because of increasing isolation. As early as 1867 the
North American Review hailed the railroad as an agent of economic
and social change, removing class distinctions, changing dress and
manners, and making the nation more cosmopolitan. ^^ Appalachia
lagged behind other parts of the nation in the development of transpor-
tation facilities. It had few miles of railway until the twentieth century,
when lines were constructed to tap the timber and coal resources of
the region. It had few paved roads until other developments called
for them, or until they were built by outsiders. ^^ Thus physical isola-
tion became mental and cultural isolation. ^^

The concentration of production of home-made goods which
emerged in the southern Appalachians between 1840 and 1870 can be
taken as a demonstration of the survival of a way of life (or perhaps the
reversion to a way of life) which was increasingly different from that of
other parts of the nation. ^^ The emphasis on home manufactures is
representative of the self-sufficient aspect of this subculture, which
was also characterized by independence and conservatism.^^ It is also
an aspect of Appalachian life which was once part of a popular culture,
but which increasingly became folk that is, came to be a non-popular
tradition which contrasted with the new popular tradition characterizing
areas around it.^'^

56

FOOTNOTES

1 Rolla M. Tryon, Household Manufactures in the United States, 1640-1860,
Volume V in Reprints of Economic Classics (New York, 1966). First published
in 1917.

2 Ibid., p. 268.

3 Ibid., p. 11.

4 Ibid., pp. 312-69.

5 Seventh Census of the United States, 1850, p. xxiv. It was requested that the
cost of purchased raw materials be subtracted from the value of the product,
so the census was attempting to report value added by the manufacturing
process. No doubt there were inconsistencies in reporting, since value of pro-
duction was based on estimates by the householder, but it is not felt that the
magnitude of error is such that it would negate the use of the data in establish-
ing the general patterns of home manufacturing.

^ Tryon, Household Manufactures, pp. 188, 241. Tryon also excluded certain
types of goods and goods manufactured under certain conditions from his study.
There is no way of ascertaining whether or not respondents to census inquiries
did the same.

^ For maps showing the density of populadon see Charles PauUin and John
K. Wright, Atlas of the Historical Geography of the United States, (New York
and Washington, 1932), Plates 76 and 77.

^ Tryon, Household Manufactures, pp. 312-69.

^ There is some debate in regard to the quality of the early settlers in Appala-
chia. Fiske stated that original settlers of the isolated mountain areas were in-
ferior to pioneer settlers in other areas, a view recently reiterated by Caudill.
See John Fiske, Old Virginia and Her Neighbors, vol. II (Boston, 1898), p. 311
ff. and Harry M. Caudill, Night Comes to the Cumberlands (Boston, 1963),
pp. 6-7. A more widely accepted view of the settlement of Appalachia caa be
found in John C. Campbell. The Southern Highlander and His Homeland (New
York, 1921), pp. 22-71.

^ For maps showing the United States railroads see PauUin and Wright, Atlas
of Historical Geography, Plates 138-40.

^^ Campbell, The Southern Highlander, p. 49.

12 "The Railroad System," North American Review, CIV (1867), 476-511.

13 Caudill, Night Comes to the Cumberlands, pp. 75-6, 93-8, 123-24.

14 Rupert Vance, "An Introductory Note", p. viii in Jack E. Weller, Yesterday's
People, Life in Contemporary Appalachia (Lexington, 1965).

1^ This is not intended to imply that there was no decline in the output of home-
made items in Appalachia in the late nineteenth century. Apparently such a
decline took place, and outside agencies attempted to revive crafts and fireside
industries. Campbell, The Southern Highlander, p. 129; Bernice A. Stevens,
"The Revival of Handicrafts", Chapter 18, pp. 279-88 in Thomas R. Ford,
(ed.) The Southern Appalachian Region: A Survey (Lexington, 1962). On the
other hand, there are numerous references to continued use of home-made

57

goods, and in 1913 Kephart referred to the area as ". . . the land of make-it-
yourself-or-do-without," Horace Kephart, Our Southern Highlander (New York,
1922), p. 325. First published in 1913.

^^ The Appalachian way of life seems to have come to the attention of writers,
both popular and scholarly, about 1900. Much of this early writing contains
strong elements of nostalgia and romanticism, presenting a society which had
retained the characteristics of an earlier and more widespread American
frontier. Examples are: Mary N. Murfree, (using the pseudonym of Charles
Egbert Craddock), In the Tennessee Mountains (Boston, 1898); William G.
Frost, "Our Contemporary Ancestors in the Southern Mountains", Atlantic
Monthly (March, 1899), 311-19; Ellen Semple, "The Anglo Saxons of the Ken-
tucky Mountains: A Study in Anthropogeography," Geographical Journal,
XVI (1901), 588-623. More recent works retain traces of the nostalgia, but stress
characteristics such as poverty, mental and cultural isolation, and exploitation
by outside interests. Examples are: Caudill, Night Comes to the Cumberlands,
and Weller, Yesterday's People.

^^ Henry Classic, Pattern in the Material Folk Culture of the Eastern United
States, (Philadelphia, 1968), pp. 6ff.; 16ff.; 34ff.

58

THE HISTORIC SPAS OF FLORIDA

by
Burke G. Vanderhill

Among the multitude of springs occurring in the state of Florida,
dozens have been identified as mineral springs, although the nature and
degree of mineralization varies widely. Man, in seeking cures for his
afflictions, has long attributed miraculous properties to mineral waters,
and those of Florida did not escape his attention. ^ Bottles and jugs
have been lowered into Florida's mineral springs at least from the time
of the first American settlement; and persons suffering from rheuma-
tism, arthritis, and a host of other chronic disorders early came to im-
merse themselves in the healing waters and sometimes to camp for
extended periods. The intersection of Indian trails at some of the springs
and the location of ancient mounds nearby seem to point to a much old-
er tradition of therapeutic use.

Shortly after 1840, roughly coincident with Florida's transition to
statehood, health resorts began to develop around certain of the mineral
springs, and such spas constituted a significant feature of the social
and economic landscape of Florida for about three quarters of a century.
All but one of these has now ceased to function, and that in a modern
transformation. It is valid, therefore, to speak of them as a group as
the "historic spas."

Florida's historic spas have been overlooked as a focus of scholarly
inquiry, despite the long time span involved and the reknown that some
of them enjoyed during their heyday. Nor is there any organized body
of information concerning them.^ Reference to one or more of the re-
sorts is encountered in personal narratives and promotional literature
of the period and occasionally in old newspapers filed away or preserved
on microfilm. Some useful information has been made available by
local or county historical societies. It is the purpose of the present
study to assemble, collate, and carefully analyze such diverse and frag-
mented data, supplemented by the product of field investigation, in
order first to identify the historic spas of Florida and secondly to arrive
at an understanding of the spatial and temporal patterns of their de-
velopment.

IDENTIFICATION OF THE SPAS

One might assume that a spa is a spa and that no question of iden-
tity should arise. The standard definition a resort based upon a mineral
spring seems straightforward. The problem stems in part from the
fact that spas were health resorts and watering places, but the reverse
was not necessarily the case. Also, since all waters have a measurable
mineral component, the term "mineral spring" has been applied incon-

59

sistently. Contemporary references are not always discriminating.
The key to the identification of the Florida spas rests in the meaning
implicit in the word "spa": that it involves improvement of a spring and
the provision of facilities for therapeutic bathing and the drinking of
mineral waters.^ These constitute the common denominator, and if
a mineral spring does not offer at least minimum facilities for the in-
valid, it is not functioning as a spa. Adhering to this definition, the con-
tradictions of the record can be fairly well reconciled, particularly with
the support of field evidence. Thus it has been possible to identify a
total of nine historic spas in the state of Florida, not necessarily co-
existent, and the mineral springs with which they were associated
(Figure 1).

Newport W

Hampton Springs^

White Springs
Suwannee Springs

(5^ fl

Worthington Springs^^ Green Cove Springs

HISTORIC SPAS
OF FLORIDA

15 30 50

Figure 1

60

The spas of Florida were established to meet certain perceived
human needs at a particular time in our cultural evolution when alterna-
tives were more limited and may appear to have been components in
a system. In reality, although they shared a number of features, and
sometimes customers as well, they developed quite independently and
were functionally isolated from one another. Let us then examine the
circumstances in the case of each of the nine historic spas.

WHITE SPRINGS

The best known and most highly developed of the ante-bellum spas
of Florida was White Sulphur Springs, after 1900 called White Springs,
on the upper Suwannee River. The spring boil is located a few feet from
the river's edge, and settlers from Georgia at the beginning of the
territorial period were drawn to it along well-marked Indian trails.
While informal use of the waters for therapeutic purposes came with
settlement, facilities were not developed until after the Seminole War.
A community was established in 1843^ and by 1845 it was said to be
"offering the attractions of regular spas."^ White Sulphur Springs
was within a then prosperous and expanding plantation region and ac-
cessible to nearby areas by stage routes. By 1860, a railroad had been
pushed west to Lake City from Jacksonville, and within a year another
Hne reached Lake City from Tallahassee and the Panhandle area.^
Thus the territory from which the spa could attract visitors was greatly
increased. Most of them detrained at Wellborn, eight miles by stage
from White Sulphur Springs. By the outbreak of the Civil War, the spa
had gained a reputation as a "fashionable" resort as well as a source
of curative waters.^

After the hiatus of the war years, there was an attempt to recapture
the resort trade of earlier times. During the summer of 1866, for ex-
ample, a Tallahassee newspaper carried an adverdsement for White
Sulphur Springs in every issue. ^ These efforts were only partially suc-
cessful in a region economically and socially shattered and under-
going military occupation. Nevertheless, most personal narratives and
guidebooks of the 1870's recognize White Sulphur Springs among sev-
eral well-known Florida health resorts and note its efficacy in the cure
of rheumatism.^ Sometime prior to 1880, however, the resort fell into
disuse, an event undoubtedly related to the continuing economic crisis
of the area from which it drew its trade.

The spa was reopened under new management in 1883,^ and sev-
eral stimuli to growth appeared within the next few years. In 1889 a
railroad line was completed through White Sulphur Springs from Val-
dosta, Georgia, to Lake City, and by hnking existing lines, service was
developed from Macon in central Georgia to Palatka on the St. Johns
River. Further, Jacksonville was accessible via the Lake City inter-

61

change. 11 Then in 1898, the lumber industry arrived, and in its wake
came a rapid expansion of facilities. A retaining wall was constructed
around the spring and a bathhouse was installed before 1900, and
shortly thereafter a pavilion of unique four-level design was built en-
circling the pool. A botding works was opened nearby, and diverse at-
tractions including dance halls and a bowling alley were introduced.
Such was the momentum that by 1907 four hotels had been constructed.
There were Sunday excursion trains during the summer season, bring-
ing throngs of visitors from Georgia points or from Jacksonville and
Palatka. In the winter, however, the health resort function was para-
mount, and improved facilities induced invalids to remain in White
Springs for longer periods of time.^^

The boom ended with a great fire in 1911, and, while the pavilion
escaped damage, the resort economy never completely recovered.
The curative waters were advertised at least as late as 1950, but the
numbers who came to partake of them dwindled sharply after the mid-
twenties.i3 The pool was finally closed after 1950. Today the pavilion
stands abandoned and dilapidated; across the street is the vast hulk
of what was once a luxury hotel, and it is the Stephen Collins Foster
Memorial which attracts traffic to White Springs.

SUWANNEE SPRINGS

Another of Florida's early spas developed on the banks of the Su-
wannee River only a dozen miles below White (Sulphur) Springs and
at about the same time. This was variously called Lower Sulphur Springs,
Lower Mineral Springs, and Suwannee Sulphur Springs, later simpli-
fied to Suwannee Springs. A mineral spring arose a few feet from the
river's edge and spilled over a rocky ledge to the river below. Suwannee
Springs developed in association with the existing center of Live Oak
seven miles distant, and no community grew up around the spa facili-
ties for a number of years.

It is probable that facilities were introduced near the spring as early
as 1845. 1'l By 1851 it was reported that there were accomodations
for about a hundred visitors, although the spring itself remained unim-
proved. ^^ Through the ante-bellum period Suwannee Springs became
a popular summer watering place as well as the resort of invalids and
competed with its upstream counterpart for trade. ^^ Live Oak was
reached by rail from the west in 1859, and its linkage to the east was
completed in 1861, thus making it much more convenient to reach
Suwannee Springs.

The record is silent on the years of war and Reconstruction, but
Suwannee Springs was able to benefit from a rail line constructed as
a war measure from Live Oak to Dupont, Georgia, an interchange
point. 1'^ The line passed within two miles of the spring, and following
the war a station was established to serve the resort, reached by a two-

62

mile tram road. Invalids were returning to Suwannee Springs at least
by the mid-seventies,^^ and facilities for them were undergoing ex-
pansion in the early 1880's.^^ Further rail construction was significant
to the fortunes of Suwannee Springs. The so-called "Waycross Short
Line", completed to Jacksonville in 1881, gave improved access from
Savannah and the Atlantic Seaboard, while the Dupont-Live Oak line
was extended south to Gainesville by 1884, thus becoming a trunk
route. 20 Suwannee Springs reached its peak from the mid-1880's to
about 1910, and through this period it was developed as a year-around
resort. 21 It supported a large hotel with a separate annex for overflow,
a double row of cottages, a bottling works, and the spring pool and
bathhouse. The spring had been encircled by a heavy masonry wall
sometime prior to 1890. The sulphur waters had gained a reputation,
either earned or promoted, for their curative qualities. 22

Much of the spa activity at Suwannee Springs was brought to an
abrupt halt by the destruction of the hotel by fire just before World
War I. The cottages remained and were used on into the 1950"s, but
the visitors seldom came for therapeutic purposes. 23 Several cottages
were demolished in 1948 to make way for a new highway, and today
most of the remainder are abandoned and falling apart. Two of them
have been refurbished as dwellings, and the former hotel annex has
been converted to a grocery store. Twisted pipes and broken masonry
mark the site of the hotel, and the base of the old bathhouse remains
near the spring. The spring boil still rises within the walled enclosure
at the river's edge, and the odor of sulphur is strong.

ORANGE SPRINGS

A contemporary of the two spas just discussed was Orange Springs,
located near the left bank of the Oklawaha River about 25 miles above
its confluence with the St. Johns. The lands around the sulphur spring
passed into private hands in 1843, and soon thereafter a boarding house
was erected nearby.2'* By 1851 it was reported to be filled with "bron-
chial and consumptive patients" and invalids.25 Patrons arrived either
by stage over the Palatka-Ocala mail route or by steamboat up the
Oklawaha to a landing a mile or so from the spring. Orange Springs
derived advantage from its proximity to the valley of the St. Johns,
which was the prime focus of Florida's winter trade at that time, and
became a stop-over on many of the excursion trips up the Oklawaha to
Silver Springs. With increasing familiarity its reputation for healing
waters grew. 26 During the summer season a resort trade was attracted
from the plantation areas of east Florida for reasons of both "health and
society," while northerners frequented Orange Springs during the winter
months. Undoubtedly it was on the seasonal circuit for some of them.
Until the Civil War, Orange Springs was a small but well-established
spa. 2'^

63

Resort activities at Orange Springs ended with the war, and appa-
rently there was no meaningful development for over twenty years.
All standard commentaries of the 1870's and early 1880"s describe
it as a "former" resort of invalids.^^ With the return of prosperity in
the mid-1880's and a revival of steamboating on the St. Johns and the
Oklawaha, Orange Springs came back to life. Several modest hotels
were opened, and a wharf was built along a little bayou at the rivers
edge. Unfortunately, during this period of great railroad expansion in
Florida, Orange Springs was by-passed. The line from Palatka to Ocala
was routed through Gainesville, and Orange Springs was left largely
dependent upon steamboats on a river which after 1890 rapidly lost
its utility as a water route. At the same time. South Florida w'as being
opened up to the winter trade. Visitors slowed to a trickle, and when
a branch rail line finally reached Orange Springs in 1912, it was really
too late as far as the spa was concerned. Some invalids, mainly arthri-
tics, condnued to come until 1925, when the branch was abandoned. ^^

Since that time the spring has had only local use and has recently
been converted to a kidney-shaped public swimming pool. Orange
Springs is a tiny community presently rejoicing in their location near
Lake Oklawaha, which was created in connection with the ill-starred
Cross-Florida Barge Canal and whose waters have covered the steam-
boat landings of the past.

NEWPORT

The shortest lived of the four ante-bellum spas of Florida was
Newport, sometimes called Newport Springs, on the St. Marks River
about three miles above its confluence with the Wakulla, and approxi-
mately twenty miles south of the state capital, Tallahassee. Newport
had been established as a small cotton shipping port in 1844. Not far
upstream was a good-sized sulphur spring which must have been familiar
to many of the first settlers, for it lay very near the remnants of an earlier
town, Magnolia, from which they had moved some years before. Re-
sort activity developed in connection with the spring at least by 1846,
and in 1850 there were two hotels in operation, one at the big spring
and a second thought to have been across the river near a smaller spring
then running.3

In the years prior to the Civil War, Newport became a convenient
health resort for the Middle Florida area, where much of the state's
early development had been focussed. Reportedly it drew additional
trade from beyond the South, perhaps stimulated through the port's
commercial linkages with the Eastern Seaboard. ^i It offered facilities
for bathing and drinking at the spring, but in addition it provided
dancing and other social benefits, plus the opportunity for inlanders
to enjoy fish and oysters in season. It functioned primarily as a summer
resort. 32 There was no railroad to Newport, but the distance by stage

64

from Oil Station on the Tallaiiassee-St. Marks line was less than four
miles. Visitors from the capital came by way of mule-drawn cars over
that railroad until 1859, when it was converted to steam. Meanwhile,
after the mid-1850"s a plank road led directly to Newport from Talla-
hassee, and Jefferson County areas east of Tallahassee were served by
a branch of this wooden roadway. Arrivals by sea could not have been
very significant to the spa activity of Newport, for it was far upstream
and handled small cargo vessels brought up on the incoming tide.
Newport was sacked by Federal troops during the Civil War, and
by war's end the spring was described as "neglected and forsaken."
The hotels were gone, and the bathhouse was abandoned and dilapi-
dated. ^^ Never again were facilities to be provided for invalids. Newport
the town revived in a small way, but the spring was used only by those
who came to camp nearby for short periods. ^^ Many visitors during
the last thirty years of the 19th century lamented the disuse of a spring
whose waters were known to have marvelous curative properties. ^^
Since the turn of the century the spring has seen little more than
recreational use. A private bathhouse and several cottages were erected
near the spring about 1910 for such purposes. ^^ Only one of the cot-
tages survives today, but the spring pool remains, its wooden walls
rotting away. Occasionally used as a swimming hole, it lies on private
property.

GREEN COVE SPRINGS

The most highly touted and fashionable of Florida's spas was Green
Cove Springs, developed just following the Civil War on the west bank
of the St. Johns River north of Palatka. A small settlement had been
made here as early as 1830, and the sulphur spring, visible from the
river, became well-known prior to the war. No facilities were provided
at the spring, apparently because of opposition of the owners to develop-
ment. By the close of the war period, several private dressing houses
had been constructed along the spring run, which is about a quarter
mile in length.

The first report of a hotel and boarding house near the spring ap-
peared in 1869, indicating that they must have opened a year or so
previously. The spa function was developing rapidly, for there were
also rooms available for guests in private homes. While the spring it-
self remained unimproved, its waters had already gained a reputation
as a curative agent. ^'^ The main growth of Green Cove Springs came
after the end of Reconstruction. The location of the spring on the St.
Johns was advantageous to its development, for the river was at that
time the principal highway of Florida. Suitable docking was soon con-
structed on the waterfront, and Green Cove Springs became a regular
stop on the steamship schedules up and down the river. A total of ten

65

hotels were constructed here during the seventies and eighties, some of
them open only during the winter, others the year around. ^8 Most of
them offered therapeutic bathing, but their real base was the winter
resort trade. Green Cove Springs drew its clientele almost entirely
from beyond the borders of Florida and was the only Florida spa that
could be said to have had a national reputation. ^^ The supporting
features, such as band concerts, horse racing, dancing, and other amuse-
ments, led some to call this the "Saratoga of the St. Johns."

Magnolia Springs, a smaller but also fashionable resort three miles
north of Green Cove Springs, was in a real sense an adjunct of the
larger center. Its small spring was replaced by a driven well in 1882,
and its patrons walked or rode to bathe in the mineral pools of Green
Cove Springs.'^"

Green Cove Springs was at its peak during the period 1875-1895.
By its end the steamboat era was beginning to pass under competition
from the railroads, and in turn the new rail lines were transporting
winter visitors in larger numbers well south of Green Cove Springs as
peninsular Florida entered its boom. Hotels began to close and decay
by the turn of the century, and the northern trade was about over when
steamboat traffic into Green Cove Springs was terminated in 1917."*^
A small in-state patronage kept the spa function alive until the Depres-
sion.

The spring today is an attractive feature of a city park, complete
with municipal swimming and wading pools. No therapeutic use of its
waters has been made for forty years, but one of the smaller hotels
of the 1880's still stands and accepts paying guests.

WORTHINGTON SPRINGS

One of three Florida spas developed during the decade of the
1890's was Worthington Springs, on the north side of the Santa Fe
River about seventeen miles north of Gainesville. It was based upon
a very small sulphur spring discovered and enlarged by the original
owner of the property in the early 1840's and used from time to time
by invalids for fifty years before any facilities were constructed. A
reference to a visit in 1854 suggests that the curative properties of the
spring had been recognized prior to that date.^^ Such occasional use
of the mineral waters seemingly continued throughout the years follow-
ing the Civil War.^^ Qne might surmise that the location of the spring
at the base of the valley slope made it possible for visitors to camp near-
by unobtrusively. The lack of accomodations during this long period
may have reflected the personal desires of the landowners, but whether
or not this was the case, it is certainly true that Worthington Springs
was relatively isolated, for a rail line did not reach this point until the
turn of the century.

66

Rail construction was extended as far as Lake Butler, a few miles
to the north, in 1889, and the Jacksonville-Gainesville line was com-
pleted through Worthington Springs in 1900. The spa dates from 1895,
when the first shelter was constructed over the spring and a dressing
room was built, while the pool was divided into two parts, one for men
and one for women. '^ A hotel was built in the village, also in 1895,
and before 1900 two others appeared. With the establishment of rail-
road service, people also began to come to Worthington Springs for
Sunday outings, some from Gainesville, but most of them from Jack-
sonville. Excursion trains ran during the summer season and poured
thousands of merrymakers into the spa. Few among them were interest-
ed in hydrotherapy. However, retired people came to settle in Worthing-
ton Springs to be close to the mineral waters, and bottled water was
widely marketed.

About 1906 the pool was enlarged, surrounded by a heavy concrete
wall, and re-covered; and a two-story pavilion was built adjacent to
it, equipped with dressing rooms and a dance hall. Cottages were built
on the slope above the spring, while another hotel was constructed in
town. Despite a disastrous fire in 1906 in which the older hotels were
destroyed, and a later fire in 1910, the spa remained a popular recrea-
tion spot until the Depression. The number of invalids among the
visitors was always very small, and they ceased entirely with the de-
struction by fire of the last of the hotels in 1937.^5

The recreational functions of the spring and its facilities continued
on a more and more local basis until abandoned in the mid-1950's.
The structures were later torn down. Today the wall remains around
the spring pool but is deteriorating, and the spring boil is difficult to
detect. Two abandoned cottages still stand on the adjacent slope, but
only the footings may be seen of the structures which rose beside the
spring.

SAFETY HARBOR

The most southerly of the historic spas and the only one of them still
functioning is Safety Harbor, on the western shore of Old Tampa Bay.
Although it is advertised as "Florida's first spa," the springs having
been visited by DeSoto in 1539, its initial development came in the
decade of the 1890's after railroad construction had opened up the
Tampa Bay area. It was first known as Green Springs, and was based
upon an unusual clustering of four springs within a radius of twenty-
five feet, each offering a somewhat different mineral content.

The few pioneer settlers along the eastern side of the Pinellas Penin-
sula knew the springs and made some use of them from the 1820's.
After the Seminole War, visitors began to come across the bay from
Fort Brooke, which became the nucleus of Tampa, to spend varying
lengths of time at the springs. This practice continued in the years
following the Civil War, and groups camped along the bay shore near

67

the springs, sometimes erecting palmetto-thatched huts for shelter.
Several houses had been built in the vicinity by 1890, some of which
were offered for rent. This informal grouping of dwellings was named
Green Springs in 1892. although it had no post office, or even a store
at that time. Shortly thereafter, the year not of record, a Tampa phy-
sician established a sanitorium under canvas near the springs, and
his patients formed a small tent city around it. This was a winter phe-
nomenon and was a feature of Green Springs for several years. "^^ Thus
a spa of sorts developed in the mid i890's.

About at the turn of the century a less ephemeral type of health
resort appeared at Green Springs. The springs property had changed
hands, and the new owner erected a hotel and bathing pavilion, a shel-
ter at the springs, and a plant for bottling the mineral waters. Pumps
were installed in each of the four springs. On the bayfront, a dock a
half mile in length was constructed, and to it began to come excursion
boats from Tampa on weekends and holidays.'*'^ The long pier was
a response to the tidal range over a gently shelving shore. Access was
of necessity by water, for while all patrons came from or by way of
Tampa, no rail had yet reached the Pinellas Peninsula; and the road
from Tampa to Green Springs was a sandy trail around the rim of the
bay. The community grew with the resort trade, and in 1910 a post
office was established and named Safety Harbor, after an earlier center
several miles to the north. A rail line being extended to St. Petersburg
reached Safety Harbor in 1914, but the benefits were shortlived. In
the following year a fire destroyed much of the town including the hotel
and bathhouse, and for the next eight years there was no spa at Safety
Harbor.

A new cycle of development was initiated in 1923, when a new re-
sort hotel was built over the springs, and the commercial bottling of
mineral waters was resumed.*^ It is the basic structure of these facili-
ties which underlies the much enlarged spa of 1973. Redevelopment
occurred during the Florida Boom and, compared to the other historic
spas of the state. Safety Harbor was more favorably located with
reference to the principal growth centers of the time. The Depression
and changing habits, however, struck hard at Safety Harbor, and un-
fortunately the inferior bay shoreline did not serve as a compensatory
factor.

It was a very limited operation that new management took over in
1945. Since that time the historic spa has been converted to a luxury
winter resort, with 75% of its clientele drawn from the New York-
Boston area, and much of the remainder from eastern Canada.^^ The
four historic springs, fitted with glass covers, constitute part of the decor
in the main dining room of the hotel, while their waters are piped to
each room, where fountains numbered 1, 2, 3, and 4 identify the individ-
ual sources. Water from one of them is still bottled and sold commercially.
A fifth spring recently tapped, feeds a therapeutic pool. Safety Harbor

68

is promoted as a health resort based upon mineral springs a spa and
a limited use of the mineral waters is continuing. However, much of
the treatment involves a regimen of exercise and diet, and few of its
patrons could be classified as invalids.

PANACEA

The third of the spas of 1890's origin is Panacea, located about 35
miles south of Tallahassee on an arm of Apalachee Bay. It was de-
veloped upon a concentration of small sulphurous springs, about twenty
in number, of which several were at times put to use. An Indian mound
less than a mile away suggests an ancient congregation at these springs,
and in the years prior to the Civil War local people came seeking cura-
tive waters from time to time.^ Such limited use of the springs, then
called Smith Springs, continued through the long post-war years, and
development of the property was discouraged by its relative isolation.
In 1893, however, a railroad was completed from Tallahassee to Carra-
belle on the Gulf, and this line passed within seven miles of Smith Springs
at the community of Sopchoppy.^^ Also in 1893, the springs property
was acquired by northern interests, who gave to it the name Panacea
Springs. The stage was thus set for development.

The Panacea Springs spa dates from 1898, when the first hotel was
opened for business. Patrons arrived from or through Tallahassee and
detrained at Sopchoppy, thence by stage to the springs. After 1902,
through rail service was available from Georgia points over the Talla-
hassee-Bainbridge line, and visitors could conveniently reach the
springs from a greater distance. Excursion trains were operated during
the summer resort season from Cuthbert, Georgia, to Carrabelle, and
one of the connecting trips was to Panacea Springs from the station
at Sopchoppy. The intervening seven miles was covered by a tram
line using horses or mules for motive power. The tram line was aban-
doned about 1917, and subsequently visitors to the spa came by buggy
or the rare automobile over oystershell roads leading from the sta-
tions at Sopchoppy or Arran. Panacea Springs was described as a
"watering place of considerable repute," and it offered the additional
attractions of boating and fishing. ^2 jyiq medicinal waters remained
the focal point. A Bathing pool was built, with wooden sides and a
roof, and the public was allowed free access to it. Some people came
mainly to drink the waters. For those who could not come, mineral
waters were bottled under label and marketed in north Florida and
adjacent south Georgia. ^^

Despite a fire in 1924 in which a hotel was destroyed. Panacea
Springs prospered, and in 1925 two additional hotels opened. Also
during that year a pier was built with a dancing pavilion at the end.
The years 1925-1928 were the peak period of spa activity here. A more

69

direct connection with Tallaiiassee by way of improved roads converted
Panacea Springs to a playground for the region, and the role of the
mineral springs became less important. While the summer resort trade
remained characteristic, an important winter season of fishing and
hunting activities developed, particularly drawing upon a Georgia
clientele. Many seasonal homes were built in the Panacea Springs area,
and several subdivisions were developed. Invalids were rarely encoun-
tered. The boom survived a hurricane in 1928, in which two hotels
were badly damaged, but came to an end with the Depression. Reports
of the time indicated great optimism for Panacea even late in 1929,
well into the national crisis. ^^ By the mid 1930's, however, the remain-
ing hotels and the pavilion were closed, and the springs property had
fallen into neglect. ^^

Today Panacea is primarily noted for commercial and sports fish-
ing, but evidences of its past may be seen. A community park has been
developed on the springs land, and some of the improvements made to
the springs at various times have been protected. The bathing pool
remains, but its concrete wall is crumbling. One spring fitted out for
drinking is still used to some extent. Two of the shelters standing are
reputed to have been built during the boom period. While there is no
indication of the alignment of the old tram line, and all of the hotels
are now gone, a double row of weathered pilings mark the former posi-
tion of the amusement pier.

HAMPTON SPRINGS

Last of the historic spas to develop was Hampton Springs, built
around a long-used sulphur spring in the pine flatwoods five miles
southwest of Perry, in Taylor County. Although the family for whom
the spring was named came here before the Civil War, purportedly di-
rected by an Indian medicine man, the healing power of its waters be-
came more widely known only after the war, and the first references
to it appear in the 1870's and 1880's.^^ Those who journeyed here for
the cure made camp nearby. The mainstream of Florida's economic
growth had by-passed Perry to this time, and the sulphur spring was
far from any travelled route.

The first development of the spring came after Perry had become a
lumber center and rail connections had been established. In 1908 a
small hotel and a bathhouse were built at Hampton Springs. While the
resort centered upon the mineral waters, the hunting and fishing pos-
sibilities in the area gave it a wider appeal. ^^ Water from the spring
was bottled and sold commercially.^^ Railroad interests acquired the
property in 1915 and extended a spur line from Perry. By the end of
World War I, a new and larger hotel had been constructed, a nine-
hole golf course had been added, and the winter resort was being pro-
moted vigorously. Excursion trains arrived from Georgia points on

70

weekends, and the road from Perry was improved. ^^ After 1920, how-
ever, business decHned, and the hotel was closed by the mid-1920's. A
new cycle of development began in 1927 with the leasing of the springs
properties by a Chicago-based organization. In addition to benefitting
from improvements in the road system of the Southeast, Hampton
Springs was accessible to the Mid-west by through rail routes, utilizing
an interchange at Adel, Georgia. Many of the spa's guests during the
late twenties came from the Chicago area. The resort offered sulphur
baths, either steam, tub, or shower, and boasted of the efficacy of its
waters in a myriad of ailments. It also played up its recreational features
and the attractions of the Gulf coast region. ^*^ Winter was its busy
season.

The third cycle of development at Hampton Springs was a short one,
for the Depression eliminated most of its clientele. By 1937 the hotel
was operating only on a part-time basis. ^^ A last attempt to revive the
resort was made in 1946, in the boom days after World War II, and the
hotel was renovated.^^ jhjg y^^s unsuccessful, and by 1950 the hotel
had closed its doors, bringing the spa era here to an end. The build-
ing was used as a boarding house until its destruction by fire in 1954.

Today the springs property is fenced and the gates are chained
shut, while the railroad spur has been torn up beyond the outer limits
of Perry. Of the facilities at the spring, only concrete slabs and remnants
of masonry mark the position of the hotel, which in its prime stretched
for a length of 300 feet; and the foundations of the bathhouse and bottling
works can be seen. The spring boil is still confined within walls con-
structed years ago, and the paved driveway and some of the ornamental
plantings remain. A village was never established around the spring, but
a small grocery store nearby continues to serve residents dispersed
through the area, and the name Hampton Springs is used for this loosely
structured community.

THE SPAS IN RETROSPECT

The historic spas of Florida developed far from the major concen-
trations of the nation's population at a time when few people possessed
the means by which to travel such distances and well after mineral
springs more advantageously located had been developed. That several
spas did arise within Florida is a reflection of a rather universal demand
at the time for the benefits presumed to derive from the use of mineral
waters and of a growing population within Florida and adjacent Georgia
as the immediate source of that demand. Only in the case of Green Cove
Springs was a clientele from afar an initial factor. It is significant to note
that it was customary for the local trade to take the waters only during
the summer months. Conversely, visitors from outside the area came
almost without exception in the winter. It becomes obvious, then, that
from the start the spas were at least as much vacation spots as health

71

resorts. It is appropriate tiiat this was the case, for the benefits gained
from a visit to a spa came largely from fresh air, balanced diet, cleanli-
ness, relaxation, and pleasant companionship, rather than from some
miraculous quality of the water.^^

Analysis of the development cycles of the Florida spas has revealed
that they were responsive to changing economic and social conditions;
and that while the resources upon which they were based the mineral
springs could be considered as a constant and differed little in utility
from one spa to another, their relative location and accessibility were
critical variables subject to modification over time. Each spa was an
independent entity in a functional sense, although its trade territory
might overlap with that of another, and its time span was determined
by its own unique set of controls; yet there were certain striking parallels,
evidence that some factors operated across the board. A composite
view of the era of the spas in Florida is provided by Figure 2, which per-
mits a quick inspection of the general trends of development over a 130
year period. Noteworthy are the effects of the Civil War and Recon-
struction, the revival and expansion of the spas after 1870, the peaking
of activity in the years 1910-1915, and the dramatic decline after 1930.

Several pervasive factors may be recognized. The ante-bellum spas
all drew their trade from the plantation belt and were therefore simi-
larly affected by the economic and social disruptions of the Civil War
and its aftermath. They languished until a new class of patron appeared
on the scene, either the townsman or the wintering northerner. Both
the old and the newer spas benefitted to varying degrees from the ex-
pansion of railroad mileage across the state and the general return of
prosperity. The crest of the wave of spa activity was reached about
1910, when well developed public transportation influenced a concen-
tration of people at certain playgrounds and vacation spots, and most
of the Florida spas had provided attractive diversions in addition to the
basic bathing and drinking facilities.

The rather precipitous decline of the spas came largely in response
to a set of external factors. The introduction and popularization of the
automobile was one of these, and from the time of the first World War,
the private auto had fostered the search for and use of alternative
resort and recreational opportunities. Medical knowledge, both pro-
fessional and lay, was discouraging reliance upon mineral springs as
curative agents, and hydrotherapy itself was moving toward more so-
phisticated treatment which did not require water with natural mineral
content. Many of the old ailments had stemmed from poor diets, limited
sanitation, and drafty homes, and were no longer prevalent. The rapid
closing of Florida spas after 1930, however, was most immediately the
result of the Crash of 1929 and the Depression which followed. Adjust-
ment to most of these external factors was possible through a further
emphasis on the broader resort functions, but it was difficult to com-
pensate for a nearly complete loss of customers.

72

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73

It is probably fruitless to speculate about what might have been the
fate of the Florida spas had there not been an economic crisis of major
proportions, although one might suspect that obsolescence would have
caught up with them eventually. The fact remains that the spa function
did not survive the Depression in any meaningful way. Thus the Florida
spas became features of historic interest.

FOOTNOTES

^ John Lee Williams, The Territory of Florida, facsimile reproduction of 1837
edition (Gainesville, Fla., 1962), pp. 134, 147-48.

2 The only comprehensive survey of Florida springs provides useful informa-
tion on chemical analysis of their waters and on fluctuations in level. Minimal
reference is made to use, and there is no emphasis on mineral springs. See G.E.
Ferguson, C.W. Lingham, S.K. Lx)ve, and R.O. Vernon. The Springs of Florida,
Florida Geological Survey, Bull. No 31, Tallahassee, 1947.

^ This is clearly the interpretation in both American and European references.
See, for example, J.J. Moorman, Mineral Springs of North America: How to
Reach, and How to Use Them (Philadelphia, 1873); S.L. Bensusan, Some German
Spas (London, 1926).

4 Stephen Foster Music Club of White Springs, A Brief History of White Springs,
Florida, First Ed., (Live Oak, Florida, 1950), p. 1.

s Dorothy Dodd, "Florida in 1845," Florida Historical Quarterly, XXIV (July,
1945), 26.

6 George W. Pettengill, Jr., The Story of the Florida Railroads, 1834-1903,
Bull. No. 86, The Railway and Locomotive Historical Society, Boston, July
1952, pp. 21-6.

^ Chades L. Norton, A Handbook of Florida (New York, 1895), pp. 337-38.
8 The Semi-Weekly Floridian, Tallahassee, May 18, 1866; Aug. 20, 1866. Pre-
sumably the period corresponded closely to the resort season of the time.

^ For example, see Sidney Lanier, Florida: Its Scenery, Climate, and History
(Philadelphia, 1876), p. 146. Unfortunately most writers of such volumes did not
visit White Springs and depended upon older reports for their information, as
Lanier seems to have done.

10 Hamilton County Times, Jasper, Florida, 1883, n.d. (Photocopy of adver-
tisement.) Special Collections, Strozier Library, Florida State University. This
item noted the past reknown of the spring for the cure of rheumatism, dyspep-
sia, neuralgia, scrofula, syphilis, general debility, kidney diseases, and "female
troubles."

11 Pettengill, The Story of Florida Railroads, p. 109.

12 Stephen Foster Music Club, A Brief History of White Springs, p. 2.

1-^ Herman Gunter, "Statistics of Mineral Production in Florida in 1928 and
1929," 21st-22nd Annual Report, 1928-1930, Florida Geological Survey, Talla-
hassee, 1931, p. 37.

74

14 Dodd, "Florida in 1845," p. 26.

1^ C.C. Clay, "Letters from Florida in 1851," edited by Olin Norwood, Florida
Historical Quarterly. XXIX (April 1951), 279.

16 The Floridian and Journal, Tallahassee, June 18, 1859, p. 3.

1"^ Pettengill, The Story of Florida Railroads, p. 64.

18 The Suwannee Springs, New York, n.d. This was a promotional brochure
which included testimonial letters revealing evidence of use of the waters by
invalids at least from the mid-1870's. The latest testimonial was dated July
1893, pointing to possible publication in the period 1893-1895. Seventy percent
of the letters were from Georgia, including many from Savannah.

1^ A. A. Robinson, Florida Its Climate, Soil, and Productions (Tallahassee,
1882), p. 180. He reports that a number of new cottages were added in 1881
and that the spring was yearly gaining a reputation for its medical qualities.

20 Pettengill, The Story of Florida Railroads, pp. 65-8.

21 William E. Arnold, Summer in the Winter Time (Philadelphia, 1892), p.
102.

22 W.H. Morse, Suwannee Springs (Westfield, N.J., 1896). This was a promotion-
al pamphlet identified as a "voluntary opinion" which extolled the virtues of the
"Saratoga of the South," and "the American Mecca," whose mineral water
was an infallible cure for an incredible number of ailments. "Kidneys cannot
be out of order in Eden."

23 Interview with Mr. Virgil Jones, a long-time resident, at Suwannee Springs,
Florida, January 25, 1973.

24 Eloise R. Ott and Louis H. Chazal, Ocali Country (Ocala, Florida, 1966), p. 51.

25 Clay, "Letters from Florida in 1851," pp. 641-42.

26 The Floridian and Journal, Tallahassee, May 30, 1857, p. 4.

27 "Florida:' DeBow's Review, XXX (June 1861), 641-42.

28 Lanier, Florida: Its Scenery. Climate, and History, p. 328; Robinson, Florida-
Its Climate, Soil, and Productions, p. 155.

2 Interview with Mr. Don V. Chapman, Postmaster, Orange Springs, January
20, 1973.

30 Elizabeth Smith, "Life Along the Newport Road," Chapter II, Mag-
nolia Monthly (February 1972), n.p.; Chapter III (March 1972), n.p.

31 H.C. Rippy, "Middle Florida," The Semi-Tropical, II (February 1876), p. 97.

32 Editorial comment, however, bewailed the tendency to frequent such resorts
as Montvale Springs, Tennessee, rather than "their own watering places." The
Floridian and Journal, Tallahassee, June 19, 1858, p. 2.

33 The Semi-Weekly Floridian, Tallahassee, June 15, 1866, p. 2.

34 Rippy, "Middle Florida," p. 92.

35 See A Sojourner in Tallahassee, His Letters from Tallahassee (Tallahassee,
1885), p. 15; Mrs. H.W. Beecher, Letters from Florida (New York, 1879), p. 26.
Newport is referred to as "once deemed the Saratoga of Florida," but almost
entirely destroyed during the war.

75

^ George C. Matson and Samuel Sanford, Geology and Ground Waters of
Florida, Water Supply Paper 319, United States Geological Survey Washington,
D.C., 1913, p. 442.

3'^ Ledyard Bill, A Winter in Florida (New York, 1869), pp. 96-100.

38 Daniel F. Tyler, Where to Go in Florida (New York, 1880), p. 43.

3^ Bushrod W. James, American Resorts, with Notes Upon Their Climate (Phil-
adelphia, 1889), p. 131.

^ Joseph W. Howe, Winter Homes for Invalids (New York, 1875), p. 46.

4^ Interview with Mr. C.A. Geiger, Clay County Historical Society, Magnolia
Springs, January 20, 1973.

42 Rebecca Phillips (ed.), "A Diary of Jesse Talbot Bernard, 1847-1857," Florida
Historical Quarterly, XVIII (October 1939), 121.

43 Robinson, Florida Its Climate, Soil, and Productions, p. 86.

44 Mrs. Albert Miller, "Worthington Springs History," in History of Union Coun-
ty Florida, 1 92 1-1971 (Lake Butler, Florida, 1971), p. 36.

45 Ibid., p. 37.

46 Gladys B. Tucker, Pioneer Life in Safety Harbor and Events in the Life of
Dr. Odet Philippe, Ms. 1958, n.p. (Collection of Pinellas County Historical
Museum, Clearwater, Florida.) These were personal reminiscences after many
years and dating of events were imprecise.

4"^ W.L. Straub, History of Pinellas County, Florida (St. Augustine, Florida,
1929), p. 116.

48 Ibid., p. 112.

49 Interview with Mr. Salu Devanani, Managing Director, Safety Harbor Spa,
Safety Harbor, Florida, January 18, 1973.

50 Florida Highways, March 1951, p. 31.

5^ Pettengill, The Story of Florida Railroads, p. 125.

52 Roland M. Harper, "Geography and Vegetation of Northern Florida," Sixth
Annual Report, Florida State Geological Survey, Tallahassee, 1914, p. 301.

53 E.H. Sellards, "Geology Between the Ochlockonee and Aucilla Rivers in
Florida," Ninth Annual Report, Florida State Geological Survey, Tallahassee,
1917, p. 114.

54 Tallahassee Daily Democrat, Tallahassee, Florida, November 22, 1929, p. 7.
This also constitutes a refutation of an oft-repeated story that Panacea Springs
was swept by fire in 1929. A careful review of all issues of this newspaper for
the year 1929 revealed that the disastrous fire was in the village of Woodville,
just south of Tallahassee, rather than in Panacea Springs.

55 Kim's Guide to Florida (St. Augustine, 1935), p. 40.

56 See Lanier, Florida: Its Scenery, Climate, and History, p. 333; Robinson,
Florida Its Climate, Soil, and Productions, p. 56.

5'^ Louise Childers, "The Hampton Springs Hotel, 1908-1954," The Magnolia
Monthly (September 1968), n.p.

58 Matson and Sanford, Geo /og_y and Ground Waters of Florida, p. 415.

76

^^ Childers, "The Hampton Springs Hotel."
60 Hampton Springs (Chicago, 1927), p. 11.
6^ Childers, "The Hampton Springs Hotel."

62 Ferguson, et al., The Springs of Florida, p. 161.

63 None of the historic spas were based upon thermal springs. Only since 1957
has a warm spring (87 F.) been opened to the public in Florida. This is a salt
spring located 12 miles south of Venice along the lower Gulf coast, named Warm
Mineral Springs. It has no accommodations, but offers a pool and water for
drinking, and is the center of a residential development.

77

SUGAR PLANTATIONS IN LOUISIANA:

ORIGIN, DISPERSAL, AND RESPONSIBLE

LOCATION FACTORS

By John B. Rehder

For over 200 years, planters have experimented with sugarcane cul-
tivation on plantations in Louisiana. Their success or failure, and their
location of enterprise and product are all related to a variety of location
factors. The purpose of this paper is to analyze both present and past
plantation distributions and to relate the physical, cultural, and eco-
nomic factors which have contributed to the localization of sugar plan-
tations in Louisiana. The sugar plantation which forms the basis of this
study is an agricultural enterprise exhibiting a landscape complex of
distinctive visual settlement features.^ Towering over the cane fields,
the sugarhouse chimneys denote the location of a sugar factory an
agricultural factory in the field. ^ A cluster of barns and sheds usually
surrounds the sugarhouse forming a centrally located outbuilding com-
plex. Nearby is the quarters, a village grouping of nearly identical labor-
ers' dwellings which is either centered upon a single road in a linear
pattern or grouped in a block pattern based on a grid of streets. In a
location separate and exclusive from the other buildings in the settle-
ment complex, the big house, a prominent structure, is set usually amid
moss-draped oaks. On larger plantation enterprises, a company store
and sometimes a church are located on or near the plantation holdings.
Extensive fields covering hundreds, even thousands, of acres unbroken
by fences stretch long and narrow from levee crests at the stream
banks to backswamps downslope from the streams. Long, straight
ditches divide the fields and give them a characteristic linear appear-
ance. Other cultural appurtenances related to the plantation landscape
include artificial levees long protective dikes which line the banks
of flood-prone streams and "levee roads'" which parallel the streams
just inside the levees and connect plantation landings. Although now
constructed and maintained by the United States Army Corps of
Engineers, levees once were the responsibility of the individual land-
owner.

Louisiana's sugar-plantation landscape is situated in a well-defined
sugarcane growing region concentrated in the Mississippi River Flood-
plain in south-central Louisiana (Figures 1 and 2). The region encom-
passes nearly 12,000 square miles in 20 parishes where 318,177 acres
are utilized for sugarcane cultivation (Figure l).^

Within the area, sugar plantations extend northward as far as Meeker
and southward, 150 airline miles, to Ashland and Valentine. The eastern
limit of the plantation area follows the east bank of the Mississippi River

78

Figure 1

Distribution index map showing parishes, rivers, bayous, and towns of southern
Louisiana.

from a point 15 miles south of New Orleans northward to Baton Rouge.
At its widest point, the region extends 120 miles between New Orleans
and Lafayette. The western limit follows a Hne from Meeker to the Ver-
milion River.

Sugar plantations are confined to the better-drained portions of
natural levees of certain streams within the alluvial floodplain. The
Mississippi River, Bayou Lafourche, Bayou Teche, Bayou Sale, Bayou
Cypremort, the bayous of Terrebonne Parish, the upper Atchafalaya
Basin and a small part of the lower Red River Valley on Bayou Boeuf
are specific areas of plantation locations (Figure 2).

Historically, sugar plantations first appeared in the vicinity of New
Orleans between 1742 and 1795.^ Agriculture in the area was organized
in the early 1700's with plantations of indigo and tobacco,^ and thus
formed a plantation base upon which sugarcane could be commercially
produced.^ New Orleans, the political, economic, and cultural center
of colonial Louisiana served as a focal point for incoming ships from
France and the French West Indies. The latter French area contributed
significantly to the initiation of the sugar industry by supplying the New
Orleans area with sugar makers, sugar technology, and above all the

79

Figure 2
Distribution of Louisiana sugar plantations in 1969.

sugarcane plant itself. Thus, in 1742 New Orleans was the point of re-
ception and initial cultivation for the first canes introduced by Jesuit
priests from St. Domingue.'^ Also in the New Orleans area Louisiana's
first sugar planter, Dubreuil, experimented with sugarcane cultiva-
tion in 1752^ and DeBore later in 1795 produced granulated sugar on
a commercial plantation scale. ^ Prior to these significant events, other
plantation crops declined and thus enabled sugarcane to become the
primary plantation crop of southern Louisiana after 1795.^

Litde is known of the distribution of plantations before 1802, but
by that year, 75 sugar-enterprises of various sizes were distributed along
both banks of the Mississippi River north and south of New Orleans. ^^
The northward expansion of contiguous sugar plantations by 1806 was
probably no farther than St. John-the-Baptist Parish, 35 miles north
of New Orleans. Even there, sugar was being planted less than cotton.
Sugar cultivation was intermittently extended northward to Pointe
Coupee Parish where an outpost of former tobacco enterprises was
described by William Darby in 1806 as ". . . one of the most and best
cultivated settlements on the Mississippi." Here commercially produced
commodities were ". . . cotton, lumber and sugar; the latter yet in very
small quantity. "12 Whereas the frontier of cane cultivation had reached

80

Pointe Coupee by 1806, sugar plantations had not yet become a part
of the landscape in the bayou regions to the west (Lafourche, Terre-
bonne, and the Teche) at this time.

The plantation landscapes of the sugar region west of the Missis-
sippi did not develop until after 1812 when planters, the majority of
whom were from the Upland Anglo-American South, began to arrive
in Louisiana. 13 The region was made attractive by several writers who
had traveled the area and told of a land of opportunity. Perhaps the most
significant and far-reaching account was that of William Darby, who
described Louisiana's lands as '". . . the most extensive unbroken, con-
tinuous body of productive soil on the globe." ^'^

Attracted by the cheap, public lands of Terrebonne Parish, the
lower Teche regions, and the backlands of the upper Lafourche, the
Anglos came, some as land speculators, others as would-be planters. ^^
Between 1812 and 1850 they entered southern Louisiana by water,
traveling on the Mississippi and on the western bayous. The rich, arable
lands which they found available along portions of these waterways
thus became the initial plantation sites where Anglo planters settled.

These migrations of Anglo-Americans were of fundamental impor-
tance to both the distributions and the internal character of plantations
on the landscape. Borrowing from the French along the Mississippi,
Anglo planters learned the techniques of sugar culture. ^^ Yet, they in-
troduced their own ideas of the constituent parts of a plantation in terms
of settlement patterns, buildings, dwelling types, and some agricultural
practices. By 1844, a date by which most initial-occupance planta-
tion patterns had been established, certain cultural patterns were evi-
dent. As indicated in Figure 3, French-owned plantations (shown with
the open symbol) were then concentrated along the Mississippi River;
whereas, Anglo plantations (closed black symbol), whose arrival came
later, appear on the extremities of the distributional pattern.

The westward expansion of the sugar-plantation landscape reached
only as far as the natural levees of Bayou Teche and the two lower
distributary bayous of the Teche, Bayou Sale and Bayou Cypremort.
A further westward expansion was discontinued because lands west of
the Teche were not included in the Louisiana Purchase. Until 1819,
they were still in the possession of Spain and later remained as a no-
man's land buffer area between the United States territory and Spanish
holdings farther west.^"^ Also, the drainable portions of southwest
Louisiana, physiographically composed of Pleistocene terraces, were
not well suited for sugarcane because of the poorer organic composition
and hardpan character of the soils (Figure 4).^^ Other factors, such as
the limited navigability of streams, the lack of good alluvial flood-
plain soils, and distance from the New Orleans market, would have been
additional limiting factors even if the territory had been included in
the Louisiana Purchase. Furthermore, it was not until 1880 that the
regions west of the Teche were effectively settled, and even then settle-

81

ment was by midwestern grain farmers who adopted the growing of
rice the present dominant cultivation west of the Teche.^^

The southern extent of effective sugar-plantation settlement in the
Lafourche, Terrebonne, and Teche areas was restricted by the extent
of drainable lands, all of which are characterized by a progressive

ANGLO-AMERICAN PLANTATION
o FRENCH PLANTATION

EACH SYMBOL EQUALS TWO PLANTATIONS

Figure 3

French and Anglo-American sugar plantations in southern Louisiana in 1844.
Compiled from: P. A. Champomier, Statement of Sugar Made in Louisiana in
1844 (New Odeans, 1844).

narrowing of natural levees averaging a quarter mile wide, or less, as
compared to those of the Mississippi and upper Lafourche which are
nearly three miles wide. Thus at points of extreme levee narrowing,
sugar cultivation terminated.

In the Teche area below New Iberia, plantation settlement was
achieved in the first half of the 19th century by incoming Anglo-
American planters.^^ After 1812, planters found available public lands
in the sparsely settled Lower Teche, Bayou Cypremort, and Bayou Sale
areas. 2^ By 1844, sugar plantations had extended southward to Berwick.
Today, however, the lower limit of sugar plantations on the Teche is

82

NATURAL LEVEES
PLEISTOCENE TERRACE

Figure 4

The physical landscape of southern Louisiana showing the distribution of natural
levees as sites for sugar plantations.

at Patterson, five miles upstream. The lands north of St. Martinville
were settled during the late 18th century by French Acadian and Spanish
small-farming groups; consequently, plantations were never numerous.

Economic factors were also responsible for the development of the
sugar plantation and its specific localization in Louisiana. Under the
French and Spanish domination sugar-producing areas were located
elsewhere in Central America and the Caribbean, and each had its own
European market. When acquired by the United States in 1803, however,
LxDuisiana had sugarcane as an attractive product which could be mar-
keted in the United States. ^^ In addition, the market was improved by
the protection of a revenue duty of 2 1/2C per pound on brown sugar. In
1812, the duty was raised to 5C as a war measure, but fell to 3C in 1816.
Sugar selling for 8 1/2C in 1815 included a duty of from 3 to 5C per
pound. With increasingly higher sugar prices potential planters were
drawn into the sugar industry in southern Louisiana. ^3

Besides the national market of consumers in the United States, Loui-
siana sugar planters had the advantage of the local selling market of
New Orleans, the primary outlet for products of the Mississippi Valley. ^^
Although by 1806 sugar plantations had expanded as far north as Pointe
Coupee, they were, at best, meager secondary enterprises. Cotton as
a primary staple had been cultivated as far south as St. John-the-Baptist

83

Parish in 1806 and even westward on small farms in the Lafourche and
Teche region, ^^ simply because cotton prices were good and sugar was
still a rather new and developing crop. Besides, few individuals among
the petits habitants of German, Spanish, and Acadian small-farmers
possessed the necessary capital of S40,000 for a 50-hand enterprise for
developing the sugar plantation in their respective parishes. ^6

The sugar-plantation expansion north of Pointe Coupee to the Red
River area and the conversion from cotton to sugar for plantations
between Donaldsonville and Pointe Coupee came in the 1830's and 40's
with the fall of cotton prices. ^'^ The northernmost sugar parishes and
lower portion of the cotton region evolved into a transition zone where
fluctuations in prices could cause one crop to advance and the other
to retreat. Before 1825, cotton prices had remained relatively high;
consequently, sugar was held back by the "high-price tide" of the cotton
crops. Between 1826 and 1832, however, cotton prices fluctuated down-
ward giving way to the slight northward expansion of sugarcane. Further
expansion of the sugarcane industry came in the 1840's when cotton
prices fell from 15C to 5C per pound (1835-1842). 28

The expansion of sugarcane was encouraged more when a stronger
protective tariff was applied to sugar in 1842.^9 Former cotton planta-
tions converted to sugarcane in the parishes of East and West Feliciana,
Avoyelles, and Rapides. The acceptance of cane was such that in 1845
more than 60 new sugar plantations emerged in Louisiana; the majority
of which were in these northern margins of sugar production. ^^^ The
agricultural writer, Solon Robinson, in 1848 said of the area:

Short crops and low prices of cotton combined with the fact of
several planters in the hill lands between Woodville and Bayou
Sara [Wilkinson County, Mississippi and West Feliciana Parish],
having been very successful in the cultivation of cane the past
season or two, is creating considerable excitement about making
sugar in a region that it would have been considered only a few
years since, madness to talk about. ^^

Although new and converted sugar plantations developed north-
ward deep into the cotton parishes of Rapides, Avoyelles, and even Con-
cordia, Catahoula, and East and West Feliciana, in the 1850"s the in-
evitable was to happen a northern Hmitation of the expansion.

Sugarcane, a tropical crop, requires 12 to 15 months of growing
season to reach full maturity. Louisiana, at best, provides a ten-month
growing season in its southernmost parishes; therefore, the northern
areas are extremely marginal for sugar plantations. ^^ Exceedingly
critical is the first frost and freeze which, if too early, can bring devas-
tation to the cane crop. Freezing causes sucrose contents to diminish,
even sour, while an unseasonally warm period after a freeze (a not un-
common occurrence), produces a sour, almost useless product.
Although molasses can be made from some frost-damaged cane, gran-
ulated raw sugar has always been the product desired by the planter.^^

84

Figure 5

Northern limits of the Louisiana sugar region as indicated by climatic boundaries.
Source: G.W. Cry, Freeze Probabilities in Louisiana, Lx)uisiana Cooperative
Extension Service (Baton Rouge, 1968) pp. 12,15.

In the early 19th century, planters had not ascertained the northern
limits for successful production; consequently, some sugar cultivation
extended beyond the critical frost limits. ^4 The northern expansion
of the sugar plantation ended abruptly in 1856 when a severe early frost
devastated the entire sugar region. The plantations along the northern
fringes later reverted to cotton, a safer, more conducive crop for the
northern margins of sugar cultivation, ^s Today, the northern climatic
boundary is fairly well established along the 250-day isarithm, although
it is more effectively delimited by the average first-frost date of No-
vember 16 (Figure 5).

Another factor important to the northern distribution was the nature
of soils, particularly in the Red River Valley. In the vicinity of Meeker,
the soils of Recent alluvium are rich, fertile, and well drained on natural
levee slopes. ^^ Beyond the Red River Valley alluvium, other soils have
formed on Pleistocene terraces and Tertiary deposits and thus are not
as conducive to the drainage which sugarcane requires. Furthermore,

85

the fertility levels of the terrace soils especially in phosphorus content,
are not as high as those in the Red River and Mississippi floodplain
alluvium.3'7 Variables in soil conditions thus contributed to a locahzed
concentration of plantations in the Red River Valley.

Very little expansion, dispersal, or otherwise significant movement
of the sugar plantation went very far east of the Mississippi. In only
one small area, in the parishes of East Baton Rouge and East and West
Feliciana, did the sugar industry expand, and even then the movement
was short-lived. Plantations above Bayou Manchac on the east bank
of the Mississippi were limited by several factors. Primary limitations
were poor Pleistocene terrace soils, early frosts, an economy long
based on cotton, and an early cultural separation from southern sugar
areas.

Deficient soils have constituted one of the more significant and con-
tinuous limitations in the eastern margins of the sugar region (see Figure
4). Pleistocene terrace soils form the primary surfaces where drainage
is inadequate and oxidation has significantly weakened the soils so that
fertility levels have been unsuitable for sugarcane. ^^

The crucial isostade of November 16 for the first freeze passes south-
ward and across the center of West Feliciana Parish and down through
the eastern part of East Baton Rouge Parish (see Figure 5). This cli-
matic limitation places the parishes northeast of that line beyond the
limits of effective sugar cultivation for expected granulated sugar.

Historically, during Louisiana's experimental period of sugar cul-
tivation (1750-1705), the eastern area above Bayou Manchac was under
British and later Anglo-American domination. ^^ Furthermore, its eco-
nomy was already successfully based upon cotton. ^ Anglo planters,
experienced with cotton cultivation, were reluctant to attempt sugar
cultivation particularly when cotton prices were high. Moreover, when
sugarcane cultivation began to spread northward after 1812, the new
crop was not widely accepted because it was anomalous to the area,
expensive to process, and a common belief was maintained that sugar-
cane could not be successfully cultivated beyond Bayou Manchac. ^i

With the collapse of the cotton prices in the 1840"s,42 however, com-
mercial cane cultivation temporarily extended to the terrace soils north
of Baton Rouge. Here a number of cotton planters attempted the cul-
ture and manufacture of sugar, doing so with a view that sugar was to
be their financial salvation. Some degree of success was achieved be-
cause in 1855 the Feliciana parishes together produced 10,793 hogs-
heads of sugar.'^^ The years following 1855 were marked by damaging
frosts, the Civil War, the planters' realization of inadequate soils, and
an agricultural reversion to cotton; all of which were detrimental to the
perpetuation of the sugar industry northeast of Baton Rouge.

Technology has been an important factor in the development and
perpetuation of the sugar plantation and its industry. Of all the techno-
logical improvements, four elements: cane varieties, sugar mills, boil-

86

ing apparatus, and mechanical-harvesting improvements, emerge as
the more significant factors which allowed the perpetuation of the sugar
industry.

The earliest known sugarcane grown in Louisiana was the Creole
variety. Its cultivation continued from the time of introduction in the
1740's until the 1830's, but because of the soft stalk's susceptibility to
frost and insects, Creole cane declined in use** Another variety, the
Otaheite cane, was introduced to Louisiana in 1797*5 as a companion
cane to the Creole, but it also diminished in use as a result of its sus-
ceptibility to frost and failure to annually regenerate, or ratoon. Both
canes, though soft and easily milled by animal-powered grinding appa-
ratus common at the time,*^ did little towards the northern expansion
of sugar plantations because the canes lacked cold-weather resistance.

The introduction of other more useful varieties of cane came in
1824. Because of their hard outer rinds, the Purple (Cheribon) and
Striped (Ribbon or Striped Preanger) varieties were significant to the
sugar industry because they could be cultivated farther north. ^"^ The
protective rinds were detrimental at first because they could not be
easily milled by animal-powered equipment. However, the milling prob-
lem was overcome in 1825 when the steam-powered sugar mill entered
Louisiana.*^

Besides being more effective at milling the hard Ribbon and Purple
cane varieties, the steam engine was far faster than the cattle-and
horse-powered mills.*^ Speed in milling at grinding time constituted
a significant step in stabilizing the industry and its plantations. Planters
could allow the canes to reach a greater degree of maturation by de-
laying harvest because they could grind more quickly with the steam
mill.

Refinements came to the plantation in the 1840's and 50's when a
change from the crude, open-kettle boiling method to the sealed vacuum-
pan processing of cane juices began. 5*^ Plantations- with vacuum-pan
equipment in the sugarhouse could process more cane juice, faster, and
with better quahty control. This technical improvement not only accel-
erated sugar processing but also contributed to the stability of the
industry.

Although most of these improvements occurred during the 19th
century, one of the more important innovations has been the me-
chanical cane harvester, invented in 1935. ^^ The harvester has allow-
ed for greater speed and efficiency in harvesting the cane crop than
was formerly achieved with hand labor. With this improvement,
planters have been able to delay the cane harvest and thus benefit
from the greater sucrose in the more mature crop.

Except for the Ribbon and Purple canes (which were replaced in
the 1920's by mosaic-resistant hybrids imported from Java),^^ steam-
powered mills, vacuum boiling apparatus, and mechanized harvesters
continue to operate today as technological elements upon which the

87

sugar industry and its plantations vitally depend.

Although the Civil War dealt the sugar industry a severe eco-
nomic blow, by 1870 the industry was approaching recovery. ^^ xhe
sugar area diminished somewhat in size after 1860, but it did not
shrink to any smaller area than its 1844 pattern of distribution (Figure
3). More importantly, the post-war plantation maintained the same
morphologic character that it had in antebellum times. The same
settlement patterns, identical field patterns, and undoubtedly many
of the same plantation buildings remained on the landscape. Unhke
the Upland cotton plantations where the quarter houses were dis-
persed when freed slaves and other laborers became sharecroppers
and tenants, ^'^ the compact settlement of the sugar plantation re-
mained the same in post-war times.

Figure 6

The place of origin and routes of dispersal of sugar plantations in southern
Louisiana.

In summary, Louisiana sugar plantations and their distinctive
landscapes originated with French-Creole planters in the New Orleans
vicinity and dispersed northward along the banks of the Mississippi
River. Incoming Anglo-Americans later stimulated a dispersal of sugar
plantations into the western bayous of the Lafourche, Terrebonne,

and Teche regions. By the mid- 19th century, sugar plantations had
expanded up to and beyond the limits of successful sugarcane cul-
tivation. Throughout the period of initial sugar-plantation origin
and dispersal, the routes followed the lines of current travel via
streams and bayous. Specific sites for plantation location were on
the banks of these streams, on the natural-levee crests and back-
slopes (Figure 6).

The distribution of Louisiana's sugar plantations has been influenced
by several location factors. Physical factors operated in southern Lou-
isiana in setting particular distributions and locations of sugar planta-
tions. Among the more important factors have been: climate as ex-
pressed in the first-frost date for the northern extent of sugarcane grown
for granulated sugar; landforms which provided natural-levee sites for
sugar-plantation settlement; waterways which served as routeways
for the arrival and dispersal of planters as well as for the transport of
sugar products; and soils which differed between the more fertile
soils of the Mississippi Floodplain and the weaker and harder-to-drain
Pleistocene terrace soils.

Particularly significant are the historical factors, such as the demise
of other plantation crops and the introduction of sugarcane. Early con-
tacts between the French colony of Louisiana and the French West
Indies sugar industry resulted in the arrival from the French Caribbean
of sugar mills, sugar makers, immigrants from St. Domingue, dwelling
traits, and even the sugarcane plant itself.

Cultural factors were instrumental in the origin, dispersal, and dis-
tributions of plantations in the area. The initiation of sugar plantations
near New Orleans followed by a dispersal along both banks of the Missis-
sippi were precipitated by French Creoles. Anglo-Americans, with their
former experience with cotton, carried the plantation system based on
sugarcane into the western and northernmost margins of the sugar re-
gion. Peasant farmers, such as the Acadians, Germans, and Spaniards,
hindered the expansion of sugar plantations by their occupation of po-
tential plantation lands, and thus influenced incoming planters to seek
lands elsewhere.

Political factors also affected the early sugar industry and its plan-
tation localization. The Louisiana Purchase opened the Louisiana Terri-
tory to waves of incoming Anglo-American planters. Conversely, terri-
torial boundary disputes hindered land settlement and plantation ex-
pansion west of the Teche region. The differing policies of Louisiana's
colonial possessors affected origins and dispersals of sugar enterprises.
France and Spain discouraged the development of sugar and indigo as
commercial crops in Louisiana. After 1803, Louisiana's budding sugar
industry was encouraged by government support. Today plantations are
politically and economically supported and controlled by United States
government subsidies, tariffs, and quota systems which effectively per-
petuate the plantation and its sugar industry. ^^

89

In addition, economic factors have played a role historically in the
development of sugar plantations in Louisiana. The initial establishment
of an American market for Louisiana sugar and protective tariffs,
although a result of political policies, were basically economic factors
which encouraged the spread of sugarcane plantations. Also significant
was the fluctuation of sugar and cotton prices which were partially
responsible for dispersing the sugar plantation northward into the cotton
kingdom.

Perhaps the silent factor of inertia is the real reason that sugarcane
plantations persist as they do in Louisiana today. With all economics
and politics aside, inertia has fostered a traditional continuation of a
plantation landscape and its product to the present time.

FOOTNOTES

^ John Burkhardt Rehder, "Sugar Plantation Settlements of Southern Louisi-
ana: A Cultural Geography" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Louisiana State
University, 1971), pp. 10-2.

2 Today only one out of every four plantations has a sugarhouse because of a
centralization of sugarhouses and milling functions. During the 19th century,
however, every sugar plantation maintained some semblance of a mill (either
steam or horse-powered) and a boiling facility collectively called a sugarhouse.

3 U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, United States Census
of Agriculture: 1964, Vol. I, State and County Statistics, pt. 35, Louisiana, p. 400.
'^ Avequin, "Sugarcane in Louisiana," DeBow's Review, XXII (1857), 616.

^ Nancy M. Miller Surrey, The Commerce of Louisiana During the French
Regime 1699-1763, Columbia University Studies in History, Economics, and
Public Law, Vol. LXXI (1916), pp. 157-59.

^ Lewis C. Gray, History of Agriculture in the Southern United States to 1860,
2 vols. (Gloucester, Mass., 1958), I, 302.

"^ C.C. Robin. Voyage to Louisiana, trans, and abridged by Stuart O. Landry,
Jr. (New Orleans, 1966), pp. 108-09; Jean Delangles, The French Jesuits in
Lower Louisiana 1700-1763 (Washington, 1935), p. 390.

^ Henry P. Dart, "The Career of Dubreuil in French Louisiana," Louisiana His-
torical Quarterly, XVIII (1935), 286.

^ Charles Gayarre, "A Louisiana Sugar Plantation in the Old Regime," Harper's
Magazine, LXXIV (1889), 607.

10 Avequin, "Sugarcane in Louisiana." pp. 615-19.

11 Robin, Voyage to Louisiana, p. 109.

12 William Darby, A Geographical Description of the State of Louisiana (2nd.
ed.; New York, 1817), p. 143.

13 American State Papers: Documents Legislative and Executive of the Con-
gress of the United States, Class III, Public Lands (Washington. D.C.: Gales and
Seaton, 1843), Vol. Ill, pp. 119-21, 67-77; and in Pierre A. Degalos, "Statement

90

of Sugar Made in 1828 and 1829," Louisiana Planter and Sugar Manufacturer,
IX (July 23, 1892), 67.

^'* Darby, Louisiana, p. 45.

15 W.W. Pugh, "Bayou Lafourche from 1840-1850: Its Inhabitants, Customs,

PuTsxihs," Louisiana Planter and Sugar Manufacturer, I (1888), 143-67.

1^ Pugh, "Bayou Lafourche," p. 167; American State Papers, III, pp. 119-21.

1^ Frank Bond, Historical Sketch of 'Louisiana" and the Louisiana Purchase,
General Land Office U.S. Department of Interior (Washington, 1912), pp. 3-12;
Charles Wilson Hackett, ed. and trans., Picardo's Treatise on the Limits of
Louisiana and Texas, 4 vols. (Austin, 1946), IV, pp. ix, 214.

1^ This fact was recognized by Darby in 1806, Louisiana, p. 103.

1^ Mildred Kelly Ginn, "A History of Rice Production in Louisiana to 1897,"
Louisiana Historical Quarterly, XXIII (1940), 559-60.

20 E.D. Richardson, "The Teche Country Fifty Years Ago," Southern Bivouac,
IV (1886), 593.

21 American State Papers, III, pp. 119-21.

22 Richard Pares, War and Trade in the West Indies 1739-1763 (London, 1963),
pp. 327-28, 506; J. Carlyle Sitterson. Sugar Country (Lexington, 1953), pp. 188-93;
J.D.B. DeBow, "Louisiana and Her Industry," DeBow's Review, VIII (1850),35.

23 Gray, History of Agriculture, 11,744; February 1815-8-1/2C per lb.; December
1815-13C; May 1816-16C. By comparison when sugar was selling at 4-1/2C per
lb. and cotton at 6C per lb. the profits were considered about equal.

24 "Commerce of American Cities: New Orleans," DeBow's Review, IV (1847),
391-400; "The Present and Future of New Orleans," DeBow's Review, XIX
(1855), 688-93; Sitterson, Sugar Country, pp. 169-70, 188-93.

25 Darby, Louisiana, p. 78; William O. Scroggs, "Rural Life in the Lower Missis-
sippi Valley about IS03,'' Mississippi Vallev Historical Association, VIII (1914),
268.

26 An Account of Louisiana, Being an abstract of documents in offices of the
Departments of State and Treasury (Washington, 1803), pp. 6-7; Robin, Voyage
to Louisiana, pp. 114-15; Darby, Louisiana, p. 222.

2"^ "Extension of the Louisiana Sugar Region." DeBow's Review, II (1846), 442;
Gray, History of Agriculture, II, 748-1027.

28 Gray, History of Agriculture, II, 697, 715, 1027.

29 I. Smith Homans and William B. Danna, eds., "Tariffs of the United States
for 1842, 1846, 1857, and 1861," Hunt's Merchants' Magazine and Commercial
Review, XLIV (1861), 511.

^ P. A. Champomier, Statement of Sugar Made in Louisiana in 1844 (New Or-
leans, 1844), p. 10.

31 Herbert Anthony Kellar, ed., Solon Robinson, Pioneer and Agriculturalist:
Selected Writings, 2 vols. (Indianapolis, 1936), II, 146.

32 L.P. Herbert, Culture of Sugarcane for Sugar Production in Louisiana, Agri-
culture Handbook No. 262, Agriculture Research Service, U.S. Dept. of Agri-
culture (Washington, 1964), pp. 2-4.

91

33 R.E. Coleman, "Studies on Keeping Quality of Sugarcane Damaged by Freez-
ing Temperatures During the Harvest Season, 1951-52," Sugar Bulletin, XXX,

342-43, 377-80.

^ "Extension of the Louisiana Sugar Region," p. 442.

^ Champomier, Statement of Sugar Made in Louisiana in 1856 (New Orleans,
1856).

36 S.A. Lytle, The Morphological Characteristics and Relief Relationships of
Representative Soils in Louisiana. Louisiana State University Agricultural Ex-
periment Station, Bulletin 631, November 1968, pp. 17-8.

3'^ D.S. Byrnside and J.B. Sturgis, Soil Phosphorus and its Fractions as Related
to Response of Sugar Cane to Fertilizer Phosphorus, Agricultural Experiment
Station Bulletin 513 (Baton Rouge, 1958), pp. 13-6; W.J. Peevy and R.H. Brup-
backer, "Fertility Status of Louisiana Soils: No. 3: Phosphorus," Louisiana
Agriculture, V (1962), No. 4, pp. 12-3.

3^ Ibid.; Lytle, "Soils in Louisiana," pp. 17-8.

39 Judge Carrigan, "Statistical and Historical Sketches of Louisiana: Baton
Rouge," DeBow's Review. XI (1851), 616; Cecil Johnson, "The Distribution of
Land in British West Florida," Louisiana Historical Review. XVI (1933), 539-53.

40 Ibid.: Berquin-Duvallon, Travels in Louisiana and the Floridas in the Year
1802. trans, by John Davis, (New York, 1806), p. 166.

4^ "Extension of the Louisiana Sugar Region," p. 442.

42 Gray, History of Agriculture, 11, 687, 748, 1027.

43 One hogshead = 1000 lbs. of sugar; Louisiana's total sugar production for
that year was 346-635 hogsheads. Champomier, Statement of Sugar. 1860, p. 3.

44 J.D.B. DeBow, The Southern States (Washington, D.C. and New Orleans,
1856), pp. 196, 275; Noel Doerr, "The Identity of the Creole Cane of the West
Indies" International Sugar Journal, XXX (1928), pp. 11-2.

45 Avequin, "Sugarcane in Louisiana." p. 618.

46 F.S. Earle, Sugar Cane and Its Culture (New York, 1928), pp. 62-3.
4"^ Avequin, "Sugarcane in Louisiana," p. 619.

4^ DeBow, The Southern States, p. 275.

49 J.D.B. DeBow, ed., "Sugar, Its Cultivation, Manufacture and Commerce,"
DeBow's Review, V (1849), 157-59.

^ J. P. Benjamin, "Louisiana Sugar," DeBow's Review, II (1946), pp. 334-43;
Norbert Rillieux. "Sugarmaking in Louisiana," DeBow's Review. V (1848),
285-88, 291-93.

51 F.A. Vought, "Windrowing and Harvesting Machines," Gilmore's Louisiana
Sugar Manual. 1940-1941 (New Orleans, 1941), p. IX.

52 Herbert, Culture of Sugarcane, p. 8.

53 Walter Prichard, "The Effects of the Civil War on the Louisiana Sugar In-
dustry," Journal of Southern History, V (1939), 318-32.

92

^ Oscar Zeichner, "The Transition from Slave to Free Agricultural Labor in
the Southern United States," Agricultural History, XIII (1939). 22-32; David
C. Barrow, "A Georgia Plantation," Scribner's Monthly, XXI (1880-1881),
832-33.

^ Marcel Voorhies and W.M. Grayson, "An Outline of Recent Sugar Control
Programs and their Effect on the Louisiana Sugar Industry/' International
Society of Sugarcane Technologists Proceedings of the Sixth Congress (Baton
Rouge, 1938), pp. 514-23.

93

>^.

/^?/

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XIII

June, 1974

AMERICAN DIPLOMATIC HISTORTTl;
ISSUES an; ) METHODS -^

1374

DEC-

PEklODlCALS DtPARTiVlENT
GEORGIA COLLEGE LIBRARY
ROLLTON, GEORGIA

Published By

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

A Division of the University System of Georgia

CARROLLTON, GEORGIA

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XIII June, 1974

AMERICAN DIPLOMATIC HISTORY:
ISSUES AND METHODS

CONTENTS

Introduction Robert W. Sellen and 1

Thomas A. Bryson

Isolationists of the 1930s
and 1940s: An Historiographical
Essay Justus D. Doenecke 5

The Resurgence of Isolationism

at the End of World War II Thomas M. Campbell 41

Untapped Resources for American
Diplomatic History in the
National Archives Milton O. Gustafson 57

Texts and Teaching: A Profile
of Historians of American

Foreign Relations in 1972 Sandra C. Thomson and 65

Clayton A. Coppin, Jr.

Copyright 1974, West Georgia College

Printed in U.S.A.
Thomasson Printing Co., Carrollton, Georgia 30117

FIRST PRINTING
Price $2.00

CONTRIBUTORS

ROBERT W. SELLEN received the B.A. degree from Washburn Uni-
versity, and the A.M. and Ph.D. degrees from the University of Chicago.
His teaching and research interests are in American foreign relations.
Dr. Sellen has contributed numerous articles to American and foreign
journals, including Mid-America, International Journal, The Pennsyl-
vania Magazine of History and Biography, and // Politico. He is the
author of Myths and Misperceptions: American Images of China and
Japan and (with Paul S. Holbo) The Eisenhower Era. Dr. Sellen is Pro-
fessor of History at Georgia State University, Atlanta.

THOMAS A. BRYSON received the B.A. degree from Georgia
Southern College and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University
of Georgia. His teaching and research interests are in the field of Ameri-
can foreign relations, especially in the area of American diplomacy
with the Middle East. Dr. Bryson has published widely, contributing
articles to Muslim World, International Journal of Middle East Studies,
Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Records of the
American Catholic Historical Society, and other journals. He is the
author of American-Middle Eastern Diplomacy, 1945-1973 and The
Philadelphia Lawyer: Walter George Smith. Dr. Bryson is Associate
Professor of History at West Georgia College.

JUSTUS D. DOENECKE received the B.A. degree from Colgate Uni-
versity and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from Princeton. His teaching
and research interests have focused on American isolationism, an area
of American foreign relations on which he has published widely. Dr.
Doenecke is the author of The Literature of Isolationsim, and his latest
essay, a brief history of the No Foreign War Committee, will appear in
a forthcoming issue of the Journal of Contemporary History. He is
Associate Professor of History, New College, Sarasota, Florida.

THOMAS M. CAMPBELL received the B.A. degree from Randolph-
Macon College and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University
of Virginia. His teaching and research interests have broadly focused
on American foreign relations. Dr. Campbell is the author of several
journal articles published in International Organization and The Mas-
querade Peace: America's U.N. Policy, 1944-45. He is presently editing
the papers of Secretary of State Edward R. Stettinius, Jr. Dr. Campbell
is Associate Professor of History at Florida State University,
Tallahassee.

MILTON O. GUSTAFSON received the B.A. degree from Gustavus
Adolphus College and M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University of
Nebraska. His research interests include U.S. foreign relations since

World War II, the administrative history of the Department of State,
and archival topics. He has edited The National Archives and Foreign
Relations Research (forthcoming), which represents the proceedings of
a recent National Archives Conference. Dr. Gustafson is Chief of the
Diplomatic Branch of the National Archives of the United States,
Washington.

SANDRA C. THOMSON received the B.A. degree from Stanford and
the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University of Colorado. Her
teaching and research interests center on American-East Asian rela-
tions. Dr. Thomson has published in the Pacific Historical Review
and the Journal of Religious History. She is Associate Professor of
History, University of Utah, Salt Lake City.

CLAYTON A. COPPIN, JR. received the B.A. and M.A. degrees from
the University of Utah and is presently a doctoral candidate at the
same institution. His principal area of academic interest is twentieth
century American diplomatic history. Mr. Coppin is an instructor at
the University Extension Branch, University of Utah, Woods Cross.

IV

FOREWORD

This volume continues the precedent of utilizing the services of two
volume editors working under the loose supervision of a general editor,
a policy which began with last year's issue of The Studies in the Social
Sciences. The volume editors were responsible for selecting the theme
and papers herein included, and initial editorial refinement. The general

editor's role was limited to broad consultation, final editing, and liaison
with the printer.

The journal is financed by the University System of Georgia and is
distributed gratis to libraries of colleges and universities in Georgia,
and to the larger institutions of higher learning in each of the southern
states. Interested individuals or other libraries may purchase copies for
$2.00 to help defray printing costs.

It is with pleasure that we submit to you this volume on American
diplomatic history.

John C. Upchurch
Associate Professor and Chairman
Department of Geography
General Editor

PREFACE

The essays in this volume were presented before a regional meeting
of members of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Rela-
tions held at Georgia State University on February 24, 1973. All have
been edited for purposes of publication, but Justus Doenecke and
Thomas Campbell revised their essays extensively.

The conference consisted of two sessions, one on the tensions be-
tween American involvement and non-involvement abroad and one on
"what are the boundaries of American diplomatic history?" The two
themes were chosen because a majority of the members of the society
in the Southeast considered them to be the most pressing topics for
discussion.

The Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations was
founded in 1967, has several hundred members, and for several years
has held sessions at the annual meetings of the American Historical
Association, the Organization of American Historians, and the Southern
Historical Association. It is now moving to its own independent
meetings, and the conference in Atlanta was the first such among mem-
bers of the society.

The volume editors, who were co-chairmen of the conference, ex-
press their thanks to the Departments of History at West Georgia
College and Georgia State University, which sponsored the meeting,
and to the Georgia State University Foundation for financial aid. Ap-
preciation is also extended to West Georgia College for its publication
of this volume.

Robert W. Sellen
Professor of History
Georgia State University

Thomas A. Bryson

Associate Professor of History

West Georgia College

Volume Editors

Vll

INTRODUCTION

Louis J. Halle, former State Department official and now Professor
of International Relations in the Graduate Institute of International
Studies in Geneva, Switzerland, has identified a constant theme in
American foreign relations from the founding of the republic to the
present. It has dominated almost every debate and decision in foreign
policy, he writes, and

takes the form of a tension, a polarity in our thinking, a con-
flict in our national desires or attitudes which at critical mo-
ments in history has divided our people, sometimes bitterly.
The tension is that between participation in world politics
and withdrawal or aloofness or abstinence; between involvement
and isolation, between alignment and neutrality. ^

Halle's words of 15 years ago remain valid. Though World War II
supposedly made the United States a permanent participant in world
affairs, even a dominant one, the war in Vietnam revived the tension
between involvement and withdrawal. "Hawks" argued that such in-
volvement was necessary to American interests as well as future peace,
while "doves" demonstrated against the war's unsavory aspects and
argued that America could not do everything, everywhere.

Not only have scholars begun to rethink the question, ^ but Richard
Nixon, who in 1954 had urged American intervention in then French
Indochina, as President promulgated in 1969 the "Nixon Doctrine" of
selective involvement instead of world-wide commitment.

A fourth Arab- Israeli war and an Arab oil embargo have made the
Middle East another region which causes Americans to be ambivalent
about involvement. To remain aloof and heedless of Israel's fate would
cost Americans emotionally, for there is a sentimental attachment to
Israel. Perhaps this arises in part from American guilt over the fate of
millions of European Jews during World War II, a time when anti-
semitism was widespread in the United States and when government
officials discouraged migration to America. Yet there is real economic
pain in being deprived of oil from the Arab countries, along with per-
sonal discomfort.

Sentiment thus opposes national interest, leading many Americans
to wish to escape such a dilemma by non-involvement. One senses
an emotional atmosphere similar to that of previous times of crisis,
when Americans were torn between sentimental attachments and what
they conceived to be the national interest.

Justus Doenecke returns to the most famous period of ambivalence,
the years preceding, during and after World War II. Examining the
people known as "isolationists," he summarizes their reputation, new
revisionist analyses of events which the isolationists criticized (especial-
ly U.S. entry into World War II), and summarizes what we know about
isolationism.

His paper is of value to students of American history generally,
and especially to diplomatic historians in explaining what remains to

1

be studied in American isolationism. His analysis ranges from isolation-
ist groups not yet studied through isolationism's intellectual roots and
sociological aspects, isolationists' activities during World War II and
the Cold War, and, most intriguing of all, areas of agreement between
isolationists and interventionists. Some of the latter, he suggests, include
defeating the Axis and promoting free enterprise captialism.

Few if any historians have seen any blurred edges where isolationism
and interventionism could meet. Thomas Campbell finds a startling
one in his study of the last years of World War II. Seeking to learn what
happened to isolationism during the war and what Americans thought
about involvement abroad after the war, he reveals that many looked
to the new United Nations as "an inexpensive means of keeping peace"
and of avoiding the burden of large armies or direct involvement over-
seas. When these hopes proved futile and faith in the UN at least par-
tially misplaced, many "reacted initially by a growing hostility to Russia
and communism" and America experienced the "red scare" of the late
1940s and early 1950s. 3

Campbell's study of American attitudes toward the nascent UN
reveals the tensions within the government and in the public between
isolation and involvement in world affairs. It challenges historians'
previous assumptions about American acceptance of a world role.

There are tensions, too, within the community of American diplo-
matic historians. A "generation gap" may exist, for at least three groups
are active. There are those who began their careers as early as the 1920s
or before, the depression-war group of the 1930s and early 1940s, and
the Cold War generation,'* which might be subdivided into those now
becoming "middle Turks" and those who began their careers in the late
1960s and since.

More than age is involved. Norman Graebner, in his presidential
address to the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations in
December 1972, raised the question of a relationship between knowledge
of history and effective democratic government. Would deeper knowl-
edge of history safeguard us against future Vietnam type wars? Did we,
in 1964, "lack information which mieht have oredicted the consequences
of a major United States involvement in Vietnam?" Or was the problem
"inertia of established policies" within the government and "the inertia
of apathy" in the public? Since a majority of Americans were "hawks"
the "educational system was either performing heroic service on behalf
of United States policy or education in foreign affairs was quite properly
uncritical, irrelevant, or nonexistent on American college and uni-
versity campuses."^

Is the teaching of American diplomatic history effective? How is
it done? On what, if anything, do diplomatic historians agree?

There is yet another division among diplomatic historians. A com-
mittee of Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations mem-
bers, charged with exploring the possibility of a new bibliographical
guide to the history of American diplomacy, reported that in the guide
published in 1935,^ Samuel Flagg Bemis and Grace Gardner Griffin

defined diplomatic history narrowly, as the execution of or implemen-
tation of the U.S. government's foreign policy. This was the traditional
definition, accepted then by most diplomatic historians. As the com-
mittee pointed out, however, diplomatic history has changed radically
since 1935, and now includes studies of pressure groups, international
economics, cultural-social relations, and other such topics.'^

Apropos of changing diplomatic history, Milton Gustafson explains
the kinds of material available in the National Archives, how they are
arranged, how they can be used, and what sorts of material have never
been used or are little used. His essay is thus of deep interest to estab-
lished historians as well as beginning students.

Even by the traditional definition of diplomatic history, Gustafson
points out, historians have not dealt with all the interesting tales of
American diplomacy. But certain files outside the traditional area have
been ignored, such as those of the Division of Defense Materials, crucial
in World War II logistics, or the Research and Analysis Branch of the
Office of Strategic Services, which "prepared reports for informational
and intelligence purposes on cultural, economic, military, political,
and social matters of most areas of the world. "^

Other untapped records include those of the consular courts in
countries where the United States had extraterritoriality, which reveal
the quality of justice in such courts and what kinds of difficulty Ameri-
cans got into abroad. At a higher level, records of American participa-
tion in international conferences contain much unpublished and unused
material, including private remarks by Winston Churchill to Franklin
Roosevelt at Yalta.

Historians differ in their definition of diplomatic history, in their
use of materials and also in attitudes. A deep division exists among
"traditionalists" (who accept American successes such as the acquisition
of territory during the 19th century), "realists" (who seek to analyze
power relationships and other such factors), and the "New Left" (whose
members generally "tend to measure success, not by the policy's rela-
tionship to the national welfare, broadly defined, but by its capacity
to achieve the specific objectives of governing elites").^

Sandra Thomson and Clayton Coppin explore these divisions
through historians' views of themselves and their field. By means of a
questionnaire sent to all members of the Society for Historians of Amer-
ican Foreign Relations, they ascertained diplomatic historians' age
groups, choice of teaching materials, political attitudes, and inter-
pretations of American foreign relations. They also discovered in what
ways diplomatic historians have changed their views and, perhaps, to
what extent the war in Vietnam is responsible for such changes. Their
essay reveals something of a "generation gap" but an even larger atti-
tudinal gap (the split among radicals, moderates and traditionalists),
and also the fact that most make at least some attempt to keep their
own political views out of the classroom.

Campuses in general are quieter now than in the 1960s, when every-
thing was open to question from scholarly topics to life styles. Deepen-

ing war in Vietnam, inconclusive and frustrating as it was, radicalized
many American academicians. One wonders if the combination of
American withdrawal from Vietnam and the crisis of energy supply
will bring the study of American foreign relations back to an emphasis
on realism and national interest.

Robert W. Sellen
Thomas A. Bryson

FOOTNOTES

^ Louis J. Halle, Dream and Reality: Aspects of American Foreign Policy
(New York, 1959), p. 1.

2 One example is Robert W. Tucker, A New Isolationism: Threat or Promise?
(New York, 1972).

3 See p. 43 below.

"* Robert H. Ferrell, "Three Generations of Diplomatic Historians," The So-
ciety for Historians of American Foreign Relations Newsletter, III (May 1972),
1-8.

^ Norman A. Graebner, "The State of Diplomatic History," The Society for
Historians of American Foreign Relations Newsletter, IV (March 1973), 2-3.
^ Samuel Flagg Bemis and Grace Gardner Griffin, Guide to the Diplomatic
History of the United States (Washington, 1935.

^ Bibliographical Planning Committee of the Society for Historians of American
Foreign Relations, The Case for a New Bibliography in American Foreign Re-
lations (mimeographed), pp. 1-7.

^ See p. 61 below.

^ Graebner, "State of Diplomatic History," pp. 4-7.

ISOLATIONISTS OF THE 1930s and 1940s:
AN HISTORIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY

By JUSTUS D. DOENECKE*

Isolationists have seldom had a good press. Perhaps the first battle
they lost was the battle over definition. The very label "isolationist,"
at least by the 1940s, connotes an ostrich-type mentality, oblivious to
impending threats. Like those religious groups whose popular identity
originally came from the epithets of critics Mormons, Quakers, "the
people sometime called Methodists" isolationists have been given a
name they do not want and yet cannot change.

Whenever possible they would contest the name. Professor Edwin
Borchard of Yale, for example, said that the term was "essentially dis-
honest," an effort to vilify those "who preferred not to enter a European
or Asiatic war" whose aims could only lie "in visions." Colonel Robert
R. McCormick, publisher of the Chicago Tribune, declared, "Every
traitor calls every patriot an isolationist."^ His newspaper would refer
to kindred spirits as "nationalists," while historian Charles A. Beard
called his policies "continentalist." The commentator Lawrence Dennis
often used the term "neutralist."

Yet careful scholars are also troubled. Professor Wayne S. Cole
finds the term "isolationist" misleading. The people to whom it usually
applied, he declares, believed in America's unilateral freedom of action.
While opposing binding alliances, particularly in Europe, they differed
from pacifists in favoring strong military preparations and at times
certain forms of imperialism. Says Cole, referring to their opposition to
conflict with the Axis, "It was just that they opposed American involve-
ment in that particular war at that particular time." Manfred Jonas con-
curs, writing that the isolationists of the 1930s sought only to avoid
long-term political commitments. They opposed economic autarchy
and did not want "literal isolation of the United States from the rest
of the world. "2 Yet this inaccurate and misleading term, which has
muddled meaningful political dialogue from the days of Roosevelt to
the days of Nixon, will probably remain with us, perhaps one more
example of man's continued insistence upon irrationality.

The Pearl Harbor attack at once cast the isolationists in the role
of poor prophets, with the supposed wartime "repudiation" of isola-
tionism setting the tone for the history books. The classic account of

*The author wishes to express thanks to the National Endowment for the Hu-
manities and the Institute for Humane Studies for aid in research through such
collections as the America First Committee manuscripts and the papers of such
isolationists as John T. Flynn, Herbert Hoover, Harry Elmer Barnes, Oswald
Garrison Villard, and Frederick J. Libby. He is also much indebted to Harriet
Schwar and Joan Lee for varied bibliographical suggestions and to James J.
Martin for editorial ones. All viewpoints remain the author's own.

American diplomacy during the late 1930s tells how most Americans
"beguiled themselves" with a dual belief: first, that war was inherently
evil, and second, that "the first duty of Americans is to maintain their
unique civilization." The most widely quoted of the war memoirs even
claimed that isolationists who opposed draft extension in 1941 had
placed political expediency ahead of the nation's security (the author
perhaps forgetting his own role in the drafting of Roosevelt's "again
and again" speech). The first comprehensive history of anti-intervention-
ism, Selig Adler's The Isolationist Impulse: Its Twentieth-Century Re-
action, possessed as Wayne S. Cole noted "all the detached objectiv-
ity of a trained historian whp was at the same time a crusading prohibi-
tionist writing a history of the liquor industry." The title alone connotes
irrationality, for Adler described a movement which in 1940 "might have
destroyed the fighting will of those nations still resisting the Axis," and
which, during the Cold War, had become "antithetical to national
survival." At the same time, the first general essay on American paci-
fism asserted that such doctrines as universal disarmament and neu-
trality merely revealed that the peace movement was "intellectually
incapable of fitting its ideas to the facts of international life after 1918. "^

Hence if the isolationists ever received compliments, they were
usually backhanded. Respected historians went so far as to say that
the nation's predominantly non-interventionist sentiments justified
presidential duplicity. Professor Thomas A. Bailey might well have
spoken for many war-time intellectuals when he said that "because the
masses are notoriously shortsighted, and generally cannot see danger
until it is at their throats, our statesmen are forced to deceive them into
an awareness of their long-run interests.""*

Throughout the 1950s few professional historians dissented, or
for that matter offered less impassioned treatment. George F. Ken-
nan's classic American Diplomacy, 1900-1950, intimated that a less dog-
matic policy could have at least avoided the Pacific war. Arthur A.
Ekirch, Jr., in a critique of war involvements, elaborated upon Charles
A. Beard's comment that "in actual truth, internationalism may be a
coverina ideologv for the aggressive nationalism of one or more coun-
tries." Wayne S. Cole's monograph of America First, showing that its
leadership was by no means sympathetic to fascism, offered a marked
contrast to Walter Johnson's strident account of the Committee to De-
fend America by Aiding the Allies. But aside from a school of revision-
ism led by Harry Elmer Barnes, which claimed that Roosevelt had
plotted the Pearl Harbor attack, few scholars attacked America's inter-
ventionist diplomacy.^

Within the last fifteen years, however, the whole meaning of World
War II has been called into question. The assault came in several areas.
First, a historian of modern Europe, applying Metternichian "realism"
to American-Japanese relations, found the United States provoking a
needless war with Japan. Paul Schroeder's prize-winning study of Japa-
nese-American relations before Pearl Harbor claims that the United
States unrealistically insisted upon Japan's total evacuation from China,

when wisdom would have at least demanded a temporary accommoda-
tion with Japan on the China issue. By giving way, if only for a brief
time, the United States could have focused upon the defeat of Germany.
Second, the "Wisconsin school" of diplomatic history has found Ameri-
ca's participation in the conflict rooted primarily in the effort to main-
tain Open Door capitalism at home and abroad. It was, in the words
of William Appleman Williams, "the war for the American frontier,"
an effort to dissolve the closed economic blocs of the Axis. Arguing in
a similar vein, Noam Chomsky, noted linguist and Cold War critic, finds
America's waging of the Pacific war hypocritical, for Japan's suppression
of Chinese nationalism and the rationale for it differed little from
later efforts by the United States in Vietnam.^ Now, with the publica-
tion of Bruce M. Russett's No Clear and Present Danger, a third stage
has been reached. The Yale political scientist claims forthrightly that
the United States should have remained aloof from the entire conflict.
Without American participation, the European war would have resulted
in mutual exhaustion on the Eastern front, while Japan would have been
bogged down on the Asian mainland. "Just possibly," he writes, "the
isolationists were right in their essential perspective."'^

At the same time the conduct of the war itself has undergone radical
re-examination. While only obscure neo-Nazi tracts attempt to justify
Hitler, new monographs from Western scholars find little to defend
either in the way the Allies waged the war or in the material goals that
they apparently sought. First, while Administration spokesmen often
defined the conflict in humanitarian terms, recent research discloses
official indifference toward those whom Nazism claimed as its greatest
victims. An entire spate of monographs has found Roosevelt timid, and
his State Department hostile, toward relief efforts for Europe's doomed
Jews.^ Second, the callousness of Allied war methods is now stressed,
with British historians A.J. P. Taylor and B.H. Liddell-Hart offering
scathing commentary upon the saturation bombing of Germany. In
the words of Professor Taylor, "The British outdid German frightful-
ness first in theor>', later in practice, and a nation which claimed to be
fighting for a moral cause gloried in the extent of its immoral acts."^

Third, Allied diplomacy is coming under a many-sided attack. Lid-
dell-Hart calls the conflict "the unnecessary war," triggered by a foolish
guarantee to Poland and prolonged by the folly of the unconditional
surrender policy. The war, he writes, "proved of profit only to Stalin
by opening the way for Communist domination of central Europe."
Roosevelt's latest biographer, James MacGregor Burns, by no means
unsympathetic to the man he considers the war's leading "soldier of
freedom," declares that the President's cloudy rhetoric and expediential
diplomacy not only led to cynicism at home, but "helped sow the seeds
of the Cold War." At the same time, writing in an entirely different vein,
some of the newer revisionists portray the Allies as a counter-revolu-
tionary coalition. Gabriel Kolko, for example, claims that the United
States supported forces of reaction everywhere, while Stalin (described
in terms that a Trotskyite would relish) made continued efforts to sup-

press national liberation movements in both Europe and Asia.^'' Al-
though some of these critiques originated before the Vietnam crisis
was well underway, events in Southeast Asia have led to renewed at-
tention to such topics as terror bombing and supposed Soviet com-
pliance with Western counter-insurgency.

Revisionists of the "Wisconsin School" believe that American Open
Door imperialism strengthened immeasurably by World War II
victories led inevitably into confrontation with Russia. Of course,
not all historians of this persuasion go as far as Gar Alperovitz in claim-
ing that the atomic bomb was deliberately dropped upon cowed Japa-
nese in order to prevent Russian control of Eastern Europe and Man-
churia. However, the broader sweep of Cold War revisionism with
its stress upon America's own responsibility is well under way, find-
ing evidence of a United States bid for world hegemony in such issues
as postwar credits, access to Eastern Europe and an atomic monopoly. ^^

Such diverse but hardhitting attacks upon New and Fair Deal diplo-
macy were bound to lead to wholesale reevaluation of isolationists and
pacifists. Several new students have pioneered. Manfred Jonas, examin-
ing the non-interventionists in the years immediately before Pearl Har-
bor, finds more to their views than "simple obstructionism based on
ignorance and folly." Contrary to myth, the isolationists had "a positive
view of the world and of the role that should be played in it by the
United States." While other historians should elaborate upon his study
to differentiate further between isolationists and pacifists, his lucid work
places all subsequent historians in his debt. Thomas G. Paterson uses
Jonas' findings among others to declare that impassioned politicans
and academicians, by maligning isolationsim, have distorted "a useful
heritage." According to Paterson, such liberal isolationists as Gerald
P. Nye and William E. Borah offered trenchant critiques of a burgeoning
military-industrial complex, opposed United States armed intervention
in Latin America, and predicted the "garrison" nature of a warfare state.
While Paterson's interpretation is still by no means the dominant one,
such a universally respected scholar as Otis L. Graham, Jr., questions
whether "Roosevelt was a wiser liberal than those few old reforms that
went from a domestic liberalism that was considerably warmer than his
own to the America First Committee."

Pacifism, too, has been reexamined. Charles Chatfield's sensitive
history of interwar pacifism, written with an unmatched grasp of the
sources, reveals its often penetrating analysis of global power rivalries
as well as early experimentation with direct action and radical non-
violence. Similarly, Lawrence Wittner's organizational study of World
War II and Cold War pacifism finds its proponents often more "realis-
tic" than its critics, for they saw through the shams of wartime hysteria
and predicted the destructive impact of total conflict. ^^ There has,
however, been no similar survey of Cold War isolationists.

It would, however, be unfortunate if the more recent interpretations
simply led to a refighting of the old battles of "isolation" versus "inter-
vention," a return to what William Appleman Williams used to call

8

the "era of violent partisanship." The historical task requires far more
than simplistic polemics over who in the long run was "right."
Rather, it involves examining the entire ethos of a society in order better
to gain perspective on our own.

Wayne S. Cole suggested, as far back as 1957, that historians devote
far more attention to the ideological and emotional factors leading to
American participation in World War II. Much of the energy then going
into the debate between "revisionists" and "court historians" could
according to Cole have been better spent attempting to understand
the foreign policy perceptions of an entire generation of Americans.

There was, he said, special need for investigation into biography,
ethnic and religious groups, and economic and psychological in-
fluences. ^^ Since the time that Cole issued his call for a less polemicized
and more comprehensive pattern of research, there has been an abun-
dance of specialized studies, at times showing new patterns of looking
at the relatively recent past, at times opening entirely new fields for
further investigation.

Such detailed studies, shedding light on more narrow topics, avoid
one pitfall of the generalist: the danger that broad unqualified inter-
pretation can lead to serious distortion. Both Roosevelt's defenders
and detractors are still sometimes guilty of not qualifying their con-
clusions, which at times more resemble legal indictments than cogent
analysis. Robert H. Ferrell has wisely said, "It is possible to plunge into
the morass of research materials and come out with something re-
sembling support of almost any thesis." George Dangerfield commented
that "any young historian who has a gift for research, who doesn't cook
his evidence, and who keeps his hypotheses within reasonably scientific
limits can 'overthrow' any earlier interpretation."^"* No serious historian
today can afford to call a halt to the continued revision of accepted
tenets. Yet more accurate revision, leading to fresher ways of viewing
the past, might better be discerned by building upon smaller blocs of
research. Wholesale (and often preconceived) assaults upon major
interpretations usually end up eventually in equally sweeping retaliation.
Progress is of course made, but often at a disproportionate cost.

At long last there are significant public opinion studies for the 1930s.
If carried through with sensitivity and thoroughness, they can greatly
aid in a study of American isolationism. While mass sentiment was not
measured systematically until public opinion polls were collected in
1935, few could argue with Gabriel Almond's longtime focus upon a
relatively small group of "opinion elites." It is this "attentive public,"
he claims, whose editorials and mass organizations articulate the senti-
ments and offer the proposals which determine the boundaries in which
policy-makers must operate. ^^

Newer studies of both diplomacy and public opinion reveal much
initial reluctance to check what later became the Axis. Arnold A. Off-
ner has traced Roosevelt's appeasement of Hitler, while Dorothy Borg
shows America's continued reluctance to engage the Japanese. ^^ Rich-
ard W. Alsfeld notes that the American public found little conflict be-

tween its hatred of the Nazi regime and its desire for non-involvement
in Europe. Daniel S. Day shows that American business was not overtly
hostile towards Hitler until 1936, when Germany adopted a "socialis-
tic" four year plan. Frederick I. Murphy reveals that much of the de-
nominational press, determined not to repeat the anti-German excesses
committed by religious spokesmen during World War I, bent over
backwards in an effort to be fair to the Third Reich. While of course
deploring the Nazi dictatorship, it blamed Versailles and harsh Allied
policies for Hitler's rise. Donald Mcllvenna asserts that immediately
after Pearl Harbor the isolationists were still reluctant to fight Germany,
hoping that the conflict could be limited to Japan." Yet even more
research is necessary, for while there is an abundance of sources show-
ing America's reaction to the Spanish Civil War, there are as yet no full-
scale treatments of such crises as the Rhineland, Austria, Munich, and
Danzig. 1^

American reaction to Italy and Japan has been sporadically covered.
John P. Diggins observes that much American public opinion approved
of Italian fascism until the Abyssinian venture. ^^ Justus D. Doenecke
notes that most opinion leaders were outraged by Japan's invasion of
Manchuria and hoped for her immediate withdrawal from the area.
Yet, as in the case of Germany, proposals for economic coercion met
with firm resistance, with many Americans believing that internal eco-
nomic pressures alone would cause Japan's downfall. While older studies
by John W. Masland, Ernest B. Bader, Eleanor Tupper, and George
E. McReynolds trace many of the various elements at work in the form-
ing of public response to events in the Pacific, only Manny T. Koginos,
in passing, shows public reaction to a single crisis. Justin H. Libby, how-
ever, has taken advantage of recently opened Congressional manu-
scripts to note the growing erosion of any pro-Japanese sentiment with-
in Congress. 20 A systematic survey of American public opinion from
1933 to 1941. focusing upon Asian events after the Marco Polo Bridge
attack, would prove most fruitful.

Studies concerning American reaction to Russia are fairly plenti-
ful. The opening of new manuscripts would probably cause considerable
expansion of Ira S. Cohen's 1955 study of Congressional attitudes, ^i
James J. Martin describes liberal hostility towards Nazi Germany and
diverse liberal reactions to Stalin's purges and the Molotov-Ribbentrop
pact. Frank A. Warren III stresses great diversity of opinion among
the Left, which was by no means unanimously sympathetic (particularly
after the Hitler-Stalin Pact) either to the cause of Russia or to domestic
Communism. Raymond H. Dawson shows how strongly isolationists
opposed lend-lease aid to Russia, even during the crucial battles of
autumn, 1941.22 Still needed is a thorough account of America's re-
sponse to the Finnish war, for both the French and British Right con-
sidered extensive intervention on Finland's behalf. ^3

It has also been argued though not always with success that anti-
Bolshevism had been the prime impetus in western appeasement of
Hitler. 24 Hence, it might be helpful to discover the degree to which

10

"isolationism" was ever transformed into latent containment of Russia.
Surely Lindbergh was not alone in feeling that continuation of the Euro-
pean war could only result in a Communist-dominated Europe, for even
the pacifist leader Frederick J. Libby shared similar sentiments. Nor
was Herbert Hoover alone in predicting that unsettling social change
at home would invariably result from American intervention.

New studies now cover the entire range of American "fascism."
During the 1940s popular tracts had tried to link the isolationists with
both Axis espionage and domestic forms of 'subversion. '^5 In the 1950s
efforts to search the American past in order to account for the supposed
mass base of McCarthyism also led scholars to portray homegrown
"fascist" movements as demented forms of Populism. ^6 Such interpre-
tations of the extremist forms of non-interventionism have been an-
swered in a number of ways. First, Manfred Jonas claims that many
Congressional isolationists far from applauding the rise of dictator-
shipssympathized with such besieged groups as Ethiopians, Spanish
Loyalists, Chinese, and, in 1940, the British. ^'^ Second, recent research
on the German- AmericanBund portrays it as a foundering organization,
never a serious threat to American institutions and even an embarrass-
ment to the Wilhelmstrasse.2^ Third, fresh examinations of domestic
"fascism" reveal that any American brand had little in common with
Europe. Both James Shenton and Charles J. Tull deny that Father!
Coughlin who combined his inflationary panaceas with anti-Semitism
and isolationism was ever a fascist, while David H. Bennett and David
O. Powell find the Couglin-backed Union Party of 1936 essentially
an effort to restore rural and frontier values. ^^

There is additional research. Geoffrey S. Smith claims that the inept
ideologies of Bundist Fritz Kuhn, Coughlin, and Silver Shirt leader
William Dudley Pelley were linked to the broader isolationist movement
by its enemies in order to create support for Roosevelt's interventionism.
Victor K. Ferkiss' "Populist" explanation for American "fascism" has
been challenged by Paul S. Holbo, while Leo Ribuffo stresses diconti-
nuity between European and American brands of extremism. Ribuffo
claims, for example, that Lawrence Dennis (branded as a European-
type fascist by those who never read his Coming American Fascism)
was motivated primarily by a vision of a corporatist economy which
would keep the nation aloof from world embroilments. Similarly, the
Reverend Gerald Winrod (sometimes called the "Jayhawk Nazi") can
only be understood in light of the premillennial theology he adopted, ^o

Such claims are supplemented by biographies of those long consid-
ered fascists. Albert E. Stone, Jr. shows that Seward Collins' American
Review was primarily concerned with the economics of distributfon-
alism an economic system centering around the restoration of a rural-
based society and values of neo-scholasticism and Humanism. Collins
preferred G.K. Chesterton, Hilaire Belloc, Irving Babbitt, and T.S.
Eliot to such Nazi sages as Gottfried Feder, Alfred Rosenberg, and
Dietrich Eckart. Victor Ferkiss' claim that Ezra Pound was essentially
a populist, flailing out at the "money power," is placed in a far wider

11

context by Noel Stock. Niel M. Johnson's study of George Sylvester
Viereck denies that the German propagandist acted simply as a tool
of the Third Reich or that his isolationism was merely expediential.^i
However, broader studies are needed of Axis propaganda.32

There is no question that the America First Committee has been
the victim of many a false stereotype. Wayne S. Cole has shown that
most AFC leaders did not want a British defeat, endorsed strong conti-
nental military defense, made efforts to purge anti-Semites from their
ranks, and forced Roosevelt to temper his interventionism. Students,
however, could supplement Cole by detailed accounts of local chapters
whose leadership was at times less responsible. Once Harriet Schwar's
forthcoming study of the interventionists is ready, one might be able
to compare their doctrines and techniques to those of America First. ^

Despite the plethora of recent research, there is still far more to be
done. First, studies could be made of several other isolationist groups.
Textbooks are extremely misleading when they associate isolationism
per se with the activities of the America First Committee. Justus Doe-
necke has briefly surveyed Verne Marshall's No Foreign War Com-
mittee, showing why it could never hope to rival America First's activi-
ties. Yet more could still be done on this group, as well as on the activi-
ties of Norman Thomas. Thomas' Socialist Party spearheaded such
groups as the Keep America Out of War Congress, the Labor Anti-
War Council, and the Youth Committee Against War (whose national
chairman was a young black named James Farmer).** One also looks
for studies of both Communist and Trotskyite opposition to
intervention.

Second, systematic investigation of the isolationist press is in order.
So far we have studies of Father Coughlin's Social Justice, Colonel Mc-
Cormick's Chicago Tribune, Garet Garrett's editorials in the Saturday
Evening Post (which fatalistically accepted the inevitability of inter-
vention by 1941), the LaFoilette house organ the Progressive, and Al-
fred M. Bingham's Common Sense.^^ Research, however, is still needed
for such isolationist journals as the Socialist Call, the rightist Scribner's
Commentator, Porter Sargent's Bulletin, the Writer's Anti-War Bureau
newsletter Uncensored, George Seldes' In Fact (which became inter-
ventionist with the invasion of Russia), and the rural conservative weekly
Pathfinder. While we have some popular accounts of the McCormick
dynasty, namely the Colonel and his sister "Cissy", ^6 good studies are
still needed of Captain Joe Patterson of the New York Daily News,
Frank E. Gannett of the up-state New York newspaper chain, Joseph
Pulitzer, Jr. of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and William Randolph
Hearst. 3'^

Radio is finally coming under study. David H. Culbert notes that by
1941 almost all news commentators were so pro-interventionist they
"were no longer fulfilling their function as an independent critic." Iso-
lationist Boake Carter, possessing a "zoot suit voice" and given to such
banalities as "The ferment in Europe continues to gurgle and bubble,"
was taken off the air by 1938. Thereafter the only remaining anti-inter-

12

ventionists were Fulton Lewis, Jr., and Quincy Howe.^

Isolationist groups and publications active during both World War II
and the Cold War still need research, as do organizations which strongly
attacked the isolationists. Such groups as Edward Rumely's Committee
for Constitutional Government, Merwin K. Hart's National Economic
Council, Joseph Kamps' Constitutional Educational League, Stanley
Burke's American Defense Society, John B. Trevor's Coalition of Patrio-
tic Societies, and Catherine Curtis' Women Investors of America await
fuller investigation, as do such post- World War II groups as American
Acti6n, America's Future, Spiritual Mobilization. We, the People, the
Congress of Freedom, the Committee of Endorsers, the Mansion For-
um, For America, and Students for America.'*'' Most studies available
of the American Legion do not delve deeply into the internal politics
of that organization, nor are there good studies of such Legion wheel-
horses as General Hanford MacNider. There have been no major dis-
cussions of such periodicals as Felix Morley and Frank Hanighen's
Human Events, Frank Chodorov's analysis (even manifesting its in-
dividualism by use of the lower case in its title), Garet Garrett's Ameri-
can Affairs. Spiritual Mobilization's Faith and Freedom, J. Russell
Maguire's American Mercury, and John Chamberlain's Freeman. Only
recently has an historian examined the absolutist isolationism of Law-
rence Dennis, editor of the Weekly Foreign Letter and later the Appeal
to Reason, and leading defendant in the Sedition Case of 1944.'*^ By
the same token, one should look at such opponents of isolationism and
political extremism as Henry R. Luce's Council for Democracy, the
journal The Hour, the Reverend L.M. Birkhead's Friends of Democracy,
Rex Stout's Society for the Prevention of World War III, the Non-
Sectarian Anti-Nazi League to Champion Human Rights, James Loeb,
Jr.'s Union for Democratic Action, the Council Against Intolerance in
America, the Anti-Defamation League of B'nai B'rith, the Committee
for National Morale, the American Council on Public Affairs, Freedom
House, the Institute for Living Law, Joseph P. Lash's International
Student Service, United Youth for Defense, and Student Defenders of
Democracy (the latter three opposing Communist influences in the
American Youth Congress and the American Student Union).

A third category of investigation concerns the agrarian roots of
isolationsim. While this factor is most heavily stressed in Wayne S.
Cole's life of Gerald P. Nye, other biographies Alfalfa Bill Murray,
George N. Peek, William Langer, and William Lemke all note the
Populist roots of non-interventionism.^^ Yet one should realize that in
prosperous farm areas such as Senator Hugh Butler's Nebraska or
Congressman John Taber's upstate New York farm grievances were
not at the root of isolationism. ^^ Yet even as the agrarian backbone to
Populist non-interventionism grew more conservative as it became more
prosperous, it could scarcely empathize with those advocates of a "large
policy" who saw America's interest tied to French and British hegemony
in Europe or to the survival of an independent China.

This naturally leads to a fourth area of investigation, geography.
Many Gordian knots could be cut if, instead of continually referring to

13

Midwestern isolationism, historians spoke more in terms of an urban/
rural split. ^^ Ralph Smuckler, for example, shows that during much of
the 1930s Congressmen from northern New England were relatively
more isolationist than those from any other region. While not complete-
ly denying the "Mid-western hypothesis," Smuckler stresses that dis-
tance from the oceans is not an accurate gauge. Similarly, David L.
Porter notes that Pacific Coast Senators and New England Congressmen
voted interventionist far less than one would expect, while George
Grassmuck emphasizes the general factor of party affiliation.'*^ Such
explanations might account for such eastern rural legislators as Daniel
Reed, George Aiken, Robert Rich, and Joseph W. Martin, Jr.

The South still deserves another look. Wayne S. Cole, in attempting
to discern why America First did not take strong hold south of the
Mason-Dixon line, notes the region's militaristic background. Demo-
cratic Party leanings, almost pure Anglo-Saxon stock among whites,
and dependence upon federal relief and defense spending.'*^ Julian M.
Pleasants offers a lengthy life of "Buncombe Bob" Reynolds (the only
senator to kiss Jean Harlow on the Capitol steps), and William E. Coffey
has analyzed "The Boy Senator" Rush Holt.^' Yet a wider framework
is necessary. Attention is needed for such isolationist-leaning solons
as Hugh Peterson, John Rankin, Allen Ellender, and "Cotton Ed" Smith.
In addition, southern foreign policy attitudes need to be seen more in
the light of the section's economic and social changes during the 1930s
and 1940s.

A fifth area for research involves American business. While both
William A. Weinrich and Roland N. Stromberg have examined the busi-
ness press, individual editors deserve focus. John H. Bunzel's analysis
of the isolationist perception of the small businessman could also apply
to certain larger firms, particularly if they are family-owned and self-
financing. Lloyd C. Gardner's study of New Deal diplomacy needs a
counterpart dealing with the critics of Roosevelt and Hull. It is probably
no accident, for example, that defenders of the economic autarchy
promoted during the First New Deal George Peek, Hugh Johnson,
Charles A. Beard, and Raymond Moley moved to the isolationist camp
by 1940. Wayne S. Cole has noted that the Nye Committee itself offered
a broad economic interpretation for American entry into World War I,
an explanation perhaps similar to Open Door arguments advanced more
recently by the "Wisconsin School" of historians.^

Other investigations are being made. Justus D. Doenecke, survey-
ing lists of leading America First contributors and the committee's eco-
nomic pronouncements, claims that the isolationist productive orbit-
based upon the union of "wheat" and "steel," spanning an area ranging
from the Chicago stockyards and Duluth grain elevators to Gary steel
mills and River Rouge auto plants permitted the isolationists to remain
firm believers in economic self-sufficiency. Yet, while acquiescent to
Axis domination of the Old World, non-interventionist businessmen
often saw Latin America as their natural "frontier." Such a claim is
buttressed by Gabriel Kolko, who stresses industrial ties to Axis
cartels.'*^

14

Biographies of isolationist business leaders are still needed. While
both hostile and friendly accounts exist of Henry Ford, such individuals
as General Robert E. Wood of Sears, Ernest Weir of National Steel,
Sterling Morton of the salt company bearing his name, and Edward L.
Ryerson of Inland Steel are not covered. Sidney Hyman's life of liberal
businessman William Benton notes his enthusiasm for America First.
However, Benton's advertising partner, a man named Chester Bowles,
conveniently begins his autobiography with Pearl Harbor, hence skirt-
ing his deep involvement in that isolationist lobby. ^

Sixth, the whole role of American labor needs study. Maxwell C.
Raddock has given us a biography of "Bie Bill" Hutcheson, the car-
penters' leader who served on the national committee of America First,
and Henry W. Berger has just offered a picture of John L. Lewis' isola-
tionism. Lewis, represented on the America First Committee by his
daughter Kathryn, endorsed non-intervention in Europe while hoping
to preserve Latin America for United States economic penetration. ^^
Treatment is also needed of the Labor Anti-War Council, as well as the
isolationism of various railroad brotherhood leaders.

Seventh, research dealing with Congressional issues and parties re-
mains spotty. While there has been prodigious research on the Nye
Committee^^ and the Ludlow Amendment, ^3 o^e must wait until
Wayne S. Cole finishes his general study of Roosevelt and the isolation-
ists before one has a survey-in-depth. In the meantime, Thomas N.
Guinsberg promises an exciting book on Senatorial isolationism from
1919 to 1941. Denying that most Americans during the inter-war period
were rigid isolationists or that there was a large and cohesive Senate
bloc, Guinsberg plays down ethnic, sectional, and party factors to stress
the ideological dedication of such men as Borah and Johnson. David
L. Porter has surveyed Congress at the outbreak of the European war,
while Robert A. Divine has offered an extensive account of the neu-
trality debates. As yet there has been no indication of the role that
isolationism might have played in the Democratic speculation concern-
ing the short-lived 1940 Presidential candidacies of Burton K. Wheeler
and James A. Farley, or in the Republican bids made before the 1940
convention by Robert A. Taft, Herbert Hoover, Arthur V'andenberg,
publisher Frank Gannett, Iowa businessman Hanford MacNider, Gov-
ernor Harlan Bushfield of South Dakota, or Senator Arthur Capper of
Kansas. Even though the Herbert Hoover papers are now open, we do
not yet have a full account of Hoover's post-presidential years nor biog-
raphies of such Hoover stalwarts as William R. Castle or J. Reuben
Clark. While full-scale studies exist of Alf Landon, Frank Lowden, and
the Wilkie movement and its opponents, much could be learned by ex-
amining such party wheelhorses as national chairman John M. Hamilton
and Governor John W. Bricker of Ohio.^

The record for Senatorial and Congressional biographies is also
sketchy. James T. Patterson's new life of Robert A. Taft stresses the
Ohio Senator's partisanship and fervent anti-Communism, which
Patterson claims led him easily into McCarthyism and an Asia-first

15

strategy. Henry Berger, on the other hand, emphasizes Taft's principles
of non-intervention, while Russell Kirk focuses upon Taft's anxiety over
global Communism. ^^ C. David Tompkins has surveyed Arthur Vanden-
berg's career to 1945, but one must depend upon those excerpts included
in his published diary to cover his Cold War career. Hopefully, future
historians will ask more pointedly if Vandenberg's so-called conversion
to internationalism in January, 1945, was not simply a more sophis-
ticated form of his militant nationalism.^ The influence of both Taft
and Vandenberg has yet to be appraised. Did Taft really lead the "Taft-
ites" into slightly more accommodating positions, and was Vandenberg
doing anything more than speaking to a mere handful of the already
converted?

A few other isolationist senators have been surveyed. The opening
of the Hiram Johnson papers has resulted in two new studies, with Peter
G. Boyle finding Johnson's isolationism a well-reasoned manifestation
of his progressivism, and Howard A. DeWitt claiming that the Cali-
fornia Senator has greater insight than either his rhetoric or voting
record might suggest.^'' "The Lion of Idaho," William E. Borah, remains
as much a subject of controversy as he did during his lifetime. While the
New Left finds Borah a prophet against global anti-communism and a
garrison state at home, other monographs still stress his agrarian pro-
vincialism.^ Unfortunately, Burton K. Wheeler's autobiography and
the one dissertation devoted to the Montana Senator do little with his
isolationism, and biographies of such senators as Henry Cabot Lodge,
David I. Walsh, and Arthur Capper are hardly more helpful. ^^ Henrik
Shipstead's biographer merely stresses the courage of his dogged non-
interventionism, offering no real explanation. More thorough accounts
have appeared of the LaFollette brothers Phil and "Young Bob"
and also of the "merry mortician," Senator Kenneth Wherry.^ Yet
most isolationist senators, including C. Wayland Brooks, Edwin C.
Johnson, Charles W. Tobey, and Bennett Champ Clark, are still
unstudied.

There are even greater gaps in our knowledge of the House isola-
tionists. The published memoirs of Joe Martin, Jr. are singularly unre-
vealing, as is a biography of Charlie Halleck. Richard K. Hanks' study
of Hamilton Fish might be a model for further research in his area.
Hanks finds the Hudson Valley congressman as wisely neutralist in Asia,
and unfairly branded as pro-Nazi for a mistaken isolationism in
Europe. 6^ While the left seems to hold major interest for academi-
ciansas in recent studies of Vito Marcantonio^^ such colorful
rightwing isolationists as Dewey Short, Clare Hoffman, Lawrence Smith,
Howard Buffett, and Frederick C. Smith are still neglected.

Eighth, ethnic and religious factors need closer examination. While
few historians wholeheartedly support Samuel Lubell's claim that iso-
lationism is fundamentally rooted in pro-German and anti-British senti-
ment, ^^ many groups deserve another look. For example, while there
are several studies of American Catholicism and the New Deal, only
J. David Valaik's survey of Catholic responses to the Spanish Civil War

16

offers a detailed study of foreign policy attitudes.^ While it is common
knowledge that most Catholics were strong isolationists,^^ the very
fact that opinion was so overwhelming shows that more must have been
at work than mere Irish-American Anglophobia and fear of Russian
expansion. An examination of the Catholic press ranging from such
rightist periodicals as Father James Gillis' Catholic World and Patrick
Scanlon's Brooklyn Tablet to such liberal journals as Dorothy Day's
Catholic Worker is needed, as is a discussion of such influential clergy
as Fathers Robert I. Gannon and Fulton J. Sheen.

Historians are beginning to note non-interventionism among black
Americans. Richard M. Dalfiume discovered that many militant Afro-
American spokesmen opposed intervention, remaining suspicious even
during the war itself. At the same time, a conservative stratum of black
lawyers, doctors, and fraternal leaders was affiliated with America
First. 66

As yet, however, there is no study concerning Jewish foreign policy
attitudes. While most American Jews espoused some degree of inter-
ventionism, it would be helpful to examine more closely those Jews who
opposed intervention. 6'' Ill-informed and sensationalist critics focus
upon the anti-Semitism of such isolationists as Congressman John Ran-
kin, Merwin K. Hart, and Father Couglin, forgetting that the number
of Congressional non-interventionists who backed Zionism was ex-
tremely large. Even as staunch an isolationist as Hamilton Fish, who
had introduced a Zionist resolution twenty years earlier, said in 1944,
"I was a Zionist back in 1922, I am a Zionist today. . . ."6* Not only did
Senator Taft co-sponsor a resolution calling for a Palestinian homeland
for American Jews, but the American Committee for a Free Palestine
was headed by the Conservative isolationist and former senator from
Iowa, Guy Gillette. The Emergency Conference to Save the Jewish
People of Europe listed Herbert Hoover among its honorary chairmen.

Historians of American Protestantism have generally glorified the
"Christian realists," centering around Reinhold Niebuhr and the faculty
of Union Theological Seminary, at the expense of the pacifist-leaning
"Utopians," who found their spokesman in Charles Clayton Morrison's
Christian Century. ^^ Irritated by such bias, Robert Moats Miller writes,
"To fairly judge a debate it is necessary to hear the arguments of both
sides and not many scholars have troubled to listen carefully to what
the pacifists were saying." Miller uses his biography of the Methodist
peace leader, Ernest Fremont Tittle, to claim that the "idealists" were
"the true realists," as they best understood "the demonaic nature of
modern war."''*^

While we have autobiographies of such Protestant pacifist leaders
as John Haynes Holmes and Harry Emerson Fosdick, church history
remains neglected. Moral Rearmament, whose head the Reverend
Frank N. Buchman was rumored to be friendly to Hitler, is finally
being studied, yet biographies are needed of such isolationist and theo-
logically-conservative clergymen as Baptist William Ward Ayer and
Walter A. Maier of the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod, as well as

17

the pacifist E. Stanley Jones. Also deserving coverage are such isola-
tionist-leaning groups as the Latter-Day Saints; the denominational
press; and inter-denominational journals aimed at fundamentalist
Protestants. ^1

A ninth topic, and one which is related, concerns research in the
area of pacifism. While Charles Chatfield has written thorough and
analytical history, and John K. Nelson has offered a survey of major
debates, surprisingly few pacifist organizations have found their his-
torians. Allen A. Kuusisto covers the National Council for the Preven-
tion of War only from 1935 to 1939, and Frederick J. Libby has briefly
told of his own experience in heading this movement. Yet there is no
scholarly account covering its life from 1921 efforts to promote the
Washington Disarmament Conference to activities on behalf of rebuild-
ing Germany after World War 11. '^^ ^or are good histories available
of such prominent pacifist organizations as the Women's International
League for Peace and Freedom, '^^ i\^q Fellowship of Reconciliation,
the War Resisters League, and the American Friends Service Committee.

Few studies have been made of prominent pacifist leaders. Ronald
Schaffer has placed Jeanette Rankin in the general framework of Ameri-
can progressivism, and Jo Ann Robinson has analyzed the thought of
A.J. Muste.'^^ Penina M. Glazer has surveyed such radical pacifist
spokesmen as Dwight MacDonald.'^^ Chatfield promises a life of De-
vere Allen as does William McKee of Edmund Chafee and Robert
Moats Miller of Harry Emerson Fosdick. However, there are still no
biographies of such prominent peace leaders as Kirby Page, Bishop
Paul Jones, Charles Clayton Morrison, Albert Palmer, and a host of
others.

Tenth, the intellectual roots of isolationism deserve far more ex-
amination. Revisionists are now coming under renewed examination,
though one needs the kind of thorough syntheses of World War II
revisionism which Warren Cohen has given to that of the Great War.
Arthur Goddard has edited a rich anthology concerning the multidi-
mensioned work of Harry Elmer Barnes. However, an extensive life of
the "learned crusader" based upon the rich collection of his papers
at the University of Wyoming is much needed. Justus D. Doenecke,
for example, has brought together new material on the Barnes' efforts
to challenge orthodoxies of Nazi war guilt and atrocities. '^^ Of all the
studies of Charles A. Beard, Richard Hofstadter's is the most rich and
perceptive. A life of Charles C. Tansill has just been written. As the
major publishers of World War II revisionism had all been non-inter-
ventionists before Pearl Harbor, an examination of Devin Garrity's
Devin-Adair Company of New York, the Henry Regnery Company of
Chicago, and James Gipson's Caxton Printers of Caldwell, Idaho, would
be helpful. 7^

Revisionism, however, is just one aspect of the intellectual roots of
isolationism. Richard Kendall's study of Edwin Borchard's doctrines of
neturality (a position also adopted by such international scholars as
Philip Jessup and John Bassett Moore) could serve as a model for the
study of other anti-war intellectuals. The anti-war posture of Harvard

18

philosopher Wilham Ernest Hocking has also been examined, as well as
have such iconoclastic isolationists as Edmund Wilson, Stuart Chase,
John Chamberlain, and H.L. Mencken.'^^ Autobiographies are the only
source available for several opponents of Roosevelt whose World War
II isolationism was rooted in their hatred of Russia. '^^ Similarly, studies
have now been made of such libertarian isolationists as John T. Flynn,
Albert Jay Nock and Caret Garrett, but material is still needed on play-
wright Francis Neilson and editors Frank Chodorov, Felix Morley, and
Frank Hanighen.^

There are other questions. To what degree were both students^^ and
faculty^2 non-interventionists? A study of student newspapers during
the 1939-1941 period would be helpful, as would a survey of those
intellectuals^^ and entertainers^ who opposed intervention. To what
degree were isolationist spokesmen muffled?^^ Conversions, usually
from isolationism to interventionism, should also be studied.^ While
Joseph P. Kennedy's role as ambassador to England has been heavily
researched, ^'^ the role of John Cudahy, the isolationist ambassador to
Belgium, has not yet been covered. And while the recently published
Lindbergh diaries add much revealing information concerning the "lone
eagle," many questions concerning Lindbergh's idology remain unre-
solved.^^ One still wonders, given Lindbergh's continental imperialism,
if Lindbergh was longing for a world in which one hemisphere might
be policed by the United States, the other by Germany. One also won-
ders the degree to which Democratic Party affiliation prevented such
people as James A. Farley and Harry Woodring from taking a more
active isolationist role?^^

An eleventh area takes us into the realm of sociological investiga-
tion. Here we run into expected troubles, perhaps revealing the truth
of Professor John Roche's comment that such disciplines had best be
limited to consenting adults only. Isolationists on the right are explained
in terms of upward mobility if they are Catholic and moderate in in-
come; downwardly mobile if they are wealthy, Protestant, or old stock.
On the surface, it appears to be a "heads we win, tails you lose" ap-
proach to scholarship. Similarly, examinations of the "authoritarian per-
sonality" at times involve more in the way of sophisticated polemic than
objective analysis. Fortunately, such investigations are being challenged
by newer research.^

A twelfth area for research is most intriguing. Several historians
have found that so-called partisans possess more consensus than one
might first think. Robert E. Gamer stresses that both isolationists and
interventionists desired ultimate defeat of the Axis, while William M.
Tuttle, Jr. traces William Allen White's break from the more extreme
interventionists. Robert Freeman Smith claims that both groups merely
differed over "the kind of foreign policy tactics best suited to promote
the prosperity of private-enterprise capitalism in the United States."
Clifton E. Hart and Charles Sanford assert that both wings found the
United States a superior nation with a unique, world-redeeming mission.
Could not one then argue that both groups saw the nation as "the world's

19

last, best hope," and that both ultimately longed for a Wilsonian world
where traditional spheres of influence would be at end? The immediate
issue then becomes the best means for preserving what Henry Nash
Smith calls "the Garden of the World": by building the Chinese Wall,
or by defeating the enemy without? In turn, the long-range issue be-
comes the best vehicle for the world's "Americanization": by example
alone or by conscious expansion?^^

The thirteenth area of investigation concerns the wartime activi-
ties of the isolationists. Robert A. Divine has shown the support of many
isolationists for mild forms of international organization. As was noted
by Senator David Walsh (who was not writing with tongue-in-cheek):
"A nation which does not pursue peace will find soon enough that it is
involved in the wars of other nations." Yet not all isolationists were en-
thusiastic about the San Francisco conference, Senator Alexander Wiley
commenting that "international music could do more for spiritual values
and international peace" than the "bunkum" of the United Nations
sessions.^ More serious criticism of the United Nations Charter came
from such isolationists as William Henry Chamberlin and Felix Morley,
who both feared that the Security Council committed America to a
new Holy Alliance, insuring the supremacy of the Old World power
blocs of Russia and England, and thereby preventing any fruition of
the Wilsonian dream of self-determination.

Other areas need exploration. Since the Republicans made surpris-
ing gains in the 1942 Congressional elections, with such strong isola-
tionists as Hamilton Fish and Stephen A. Day being returned to office,
this election in particular deserves study. The forthcoming sequel to
D. Clayton James' first volume of General MacArthur's life should
have material on the Mac Arthur-for- President booms of 1944 and 1948,
efforts backed by such America First leaders as General Robert E.
Wood, Philip LaFollette, and Hanford MacNider. The role of the iso-
lationist press (which often advocated an Asia-first strategy) remains
untapped, as does the suppression of Father Coughlin's Social Justice,
wild charges against "fifth columnists," and Administration considera-
tion of legal action against the Chicago Tribune and New York Daily
News.^^ Good histories are needed of the Sedition Case of 1944,^
as well as the Peace Now Movement of 1943, led by the socialist and
pacifist professor George Hartmann. Such topics as conscientious ob-
jection,^^ reactions to area bombing,^ unconditional surrender, and
alleged atrocities committed by American troops in the Pacific^'' need
study.

World War H pacifism needs more study. Lawrence Wittner offers
a sensitive if brief treatment of wartime passions, indicating the pos-
sibility of far more research, but Ray Abrams' short essay on the war-
time clergy hardly approaches the possibilities of this topic. ^ Prob-
ably not all clergymen agreed with the stormy Texas preacher Frank
Norris, who opened his service by telling the congregation to rise, say
"To Hell with Hitler," and sing "Amazing Grace." Nor were all laymen
like the person who wrote the Tampa Morning Tribune, declaring, "I

20

am glad that I believe that God is against any nation that starts a war on
Sunday, as Japan is guilty of doing. "^ Indeed the whole topic of or-
ganized religion at war needs systematic coverage.

Some recent research indicates that those liberals among the iso-
lationists were at least on some issues more humanitarian than their
interventionist counterparts. Thomas McDaid, for example, has shown
that former isolationists on the national committee of the American
Civil Liberties Union called for far stronger protests against the Nisei
internment than did such interventionists as Max Lerner, Stephen Vin-
cent Benet, and Corliss Lamont.^^ Similarly, such non-interventionist
authors as Alfred Kazin and Lenore Marshall protested vehemently when
Rex Stout, mystery writer and chairman of the Writer's War Board,
used the rhetoric of anti-racist racism to make such comments as "I
hate Germans, and am not ashamed of it."i^ Similarly, one finds the
strongest objection to the atomic bombing of Japan coming from such
humane isolationists as Haverford president Felix Morley, while Norman
Thomas went so far as to refer to the entire Pacific war as "an organized
race riot." Yet, many anti-interventionists must have sided with the call
of their kinsman Senator Bennett Champ Clark, who, upon hearing of
the Bataan Death March, called for bombing the Japanese people out
of existence, or with isolationist Senator Edwin Johnson who simply
noted, "God Almighty in his infinite wisdom has dropped the atomic
bomb in our laps.''^^^

The fourteenth and last topic concerns the Cold War activities of
the isolationists. Did, as Manfred Jonas claims, the years 1935 to 1941
mark the "swan song" of genuine isolationism? Was there, as is main-
tained by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. and Norman Graebner, a "new isola-
tionism," adopting a warlike stance in order to "make the world safe
for American retreat from it"?i03 Were the isolationists "seeking an
inexpensive way to impose America's will on the world while re-es-
tablishing the pre-1933 America?" Did the Congressional elections after
Pearl Harbor mark any repudiation of isolationism? To what degree
did the isolationist coalition break up over Cold War issues? Here
perhaps a study similar to that made by Otis J. Graham, Jr., concerning
the Progressive response to the New Deal might be appropriate. Might
not economic changes in Michigan and New England have helped ac-
count for the shift of Vandenberg, Lodge, and Charles Tobey toward
bipartisanship?^^ How much was continued non-interventionism sim-
ply a matter of Republican opposition to Truman's program? One notes
that once Eisenhower was president, such isolationists as George Bender
and John Taber usually followed his lead.

One thing appears certain: if the isolationists harbored secret doubts
about their position immediately after Pearl Harbor, the advent of the
Cold War quickly removed them. The spread of communism was
blamed upon the nation's war-time diplomacy, occasionally upon
participation in the war itself. ^^^ Not only did most anti-intervention-
ists fail to follow Vandenberg in his supposed change of heart, but
they pressed with renewed vigor against foreign commitments. Ideo-

21

logical hatred of communism was coupled with a reluctance to en-
gage in further land ventures. As isolationism became somewhat more
of a right-wing phenomenon, ^^ it was argued that the rest of the
world was so far on the road to socialism (almost indistinguishable
from communism) that only by domestic retrenchment and a For-
tress America could the nation survive. And if the Republic herself
faced physical peril, air supremacy made possible decisive and crip-
pling strikes to the heart of the enemy. ^'^'^

Other Cold War topics need investigation. While the pre-World
War II activities of the revisionists are well covered, the opening of
new archival sources can add to our knowledge of their financial
backing, their penchant for conspiracies, their supposed lack of
access to archival sources, i^ and the possibility of a "historical
blackout." 1^ Wayne S. Cole's excellent survey of revisionist litera-
ture, published in 1957, needs to be brought up to the 1970s, and his-
tories of the varied Pearl Harbor investigations and the controversy
of American coding clerk Tyler Kent need to be written. ^^^ Also
demanding study is the Foundation for Foreign Affairs, established
in 1945 by pacifist Frederick J. Libby and financed by the Regnery
family of Chicago. While never meeting the hopes of its original
founders, the organization was founded to counteract the interven-
tionist influences of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Carne-
gie Endowment for International Peace.

Domestic market concerns also deserve exploration. While Thomas
G. Paterson has shown that many businessmen supported the Marshall
Plan and Point Four in an effort to avoid postwar recession and expand
American markets, other investigators such as John P. Mallen, Walter
S. Poole, and Robert J. Chasteen note those forces within business
and the Republican Party which remained suspicious of such
expansion. ^11

Germany and Asia deserve special treatment. Isolationist opposi-
tion to Truman's Atlantic policies must be put in the wider context of
continual concern for the recovery and integration of Germany. Al-
though Herbert Hoover was perhaps the most respected spokesman for
German advancement, many other isolationists called for food relief,
protested against denazification and war trials, and desired an end to
the dismantling of factories. With Germany and Spain (another area
demanding investigation) serving as linchpins of Western defense, one
could avoid such costly multilateral alliances as NATO.^^^

Then there is Asia. Before Pearl Harbor, the Chiang regime found
many more partisans within the Roosevelt administration than among
the isolationists. ^13 Probably few isolationists then agreed with Douglas
MacArthur, who claimed in 1945 that "the history of the world will be
written in the Pacific for the next ten thousand years." Indeed, studies
show isolationist apathy until the fall of 1949, when it suddenly became
the "greatest disaster in American history."^^^ Similarly, most isola-
tionists were mildly acquiescent concerning United States entry into the
Korean War. Yet, once the Chinese entered, they vacillated between

22

calls for withdrawal from the Korean peninsula and adopting MacAr-
thur's strategies (which might possibly have been aimed not merely
at Korean victory but at ousting the Communists from China itself). ^^^
Still to be explored is the degree to which the "China Lobby" and pro-
Chiang sentiment shifted isolationist opinion from extreme caution to
Pacific policies involving equally extreme risk. Russell Buhite's bio-
graphy of Patrick Hurley sheds light on some of the dynamics behind
the growing isolationist concern with China. ^^^

The whole issue of McCarthyism is being reevaluated. With several
historians now stressing how much paranoia was rooted in Truman's
own rhetoric and policies, it is perhaps time to note that liberals were
not above red-baiting isolationists. For example, in 1952 Averell Harri-
man called Taft "the Kremlin's candidate," while in 1950 the Nation
had declared that Hoover's plea for global withdrawal "should set the
bells ringing in the Kremlin as nothing since the triumph of Stalin-
grad." ^^'^ As some isolationists had been branded as Nazi dupes them-
selves ten years before, it might have seemed sweet revenge to try to
even up the score. While McCarthy himself began his senatorial career
as a Vandenberg internationalist,^^^ his conspiracy theses well fit the
thought-patterns of those isolationists already infuriated by Yalta and
Pearl Harbor "intrigues," and who were hence ripe for new revelations.

Yet neither the "New Conservatives" of the 1950s nor the "Radical
Right" of the 1960s are necessarily descendants of the old isolationists.
True, both Robert Welch, founder of the John Birch Society, and Wil-
liam F. Buckley, Jr., editor-in-chief of National Review, boasted of their
early support for America First, but Barry Goldwater himself was
pledged to Eisenhower, not Taft, in the crucial Republican convention
of 1952. Going back earlier, columnists David Lawrence and West-
brook Pegler were moderate interventionists by 1941, as were Republi-
can leaders Styles Bridges and William F. Knowland. As the 1950s
revealed fresh involvements in Formosa and Indochina, it was hard for
such veteran isolationists as Frank Chodorov and John T. Flynn to
reconcile themselves to the unilateral globalism preached by the chief
editors of the Freeman and National Review.^^^

It would be relatively simple to stress, by a skillful use of quotations,
the "prophetic insight" found in those isolationists and pacifists who
have been unjustly maligned by a previous generation of historians and
partisans. It is far more fruitful, however, to place such groups within
the context of their own time and, hopefully, to gain some perspective
upon our own era. After all, we like they are people whose choices
are equally tentative and equally colored by our environment. If we miss
the confidence accorded to Clio's more fervent polemicists, we can sym-
pathize with Ranke's claim that "Every epoch stands in immediate rela-
tionship with God and its value rests not upon what results from it, but
rather in its own existence, in its own self." Reference to the Deity,
particularly coming from one who tended at times to confuse Divine

23

will with Prussian advancement, might grate on some modern ears.
Yet surely his general point the necessity of judging leaders and move-
ments within their own era, rather than looking for heores, villains,
or "the lessons of history" can only prove fruitful. If some still argue
that the isolationists do not deserve more favorable treatment, they still
deserve a more accurate one. From the research carried out thus far,
the task seems well in hand.

FOOTNOTES

^ E.S. Borchard to Frederick J. Libby, July 31, 1942, Libby Papers, Swarthmore
College Peace Collection; Chicago Tribune, November 22, 1950.

2 Wayne S. Cole. Senator Gerald P. Nye and American Foreign Relations
(Minneapolis, 1962), pp. 4-5; letter from Wayne S. Cole to the author, August
27, 1972; Manfred Jonas, Isolationism in America, 1935-1941 (Ithaca, N.Y.,
1966), pp. 4-5.

^ William L. Langer and S. Everett Gleason, The Challenge to Isolation: The
World Crisis of 1937-1940 and American Foreign Policy (New York, 1952),
p. 13; Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History (New
York, 1950), pp. 191, 367-368; Selig Adler, The Isolationist Impulse: Its Twen-
tieth-Century Reaction (New York, 1957), pp. 280, 393; Wayne S. Cole, review
of Adler, Mississippi Valley Historical Review, XLV (1958), 162; Robert H.
Ferrell, "The Peace Movement," in Alexander DeConde, (ed.). Isolation and
Security: Ideas and Interests in Twentieth Century American Foreign Policy
(Durham, N.C., 1957), p. 106.

'* Thomas A. Bailey, The Man on the Street: The Impact of American Public
Opinion on Foreign Policy (New York, 1948), p. 13. Arthur M. Schlesinger,
Jr. paraphrased Bailey with approval, declaring that the "realities of democratic
politics" gave Roosevelt "no choice but to trick them [the people] into acting
for what he conceived to be their best interests." See his review of Bailey in New
York Times, May 9, 1948, pp. 1, 18. Selig Adler wrote, "Reasons of state, es-
pecially in time of crises, force even democratic statesmen to resort to Machia-
vellian conduct." See p. 281.

^ George F. Kennan, American Diplomacy, 1900-1950 (Chicago, 1951); Arthur
A. Ekirch, Jr., The Decline of American Liberalism (New York, 1967); Wayne
S. Cole, America First: The Battle Against Intervention, 1940-1941 (Madison,
Wis., 1953); Walter Johnson, The Battle Against Isolation (Chicago, 1944).
The arguments of many in Barnes' school can be found in Harry Elmer Barnes,
(ed.). Perpetual War for Perpetual Peace (Caldwell, Idaho, 1953). Not all his-
torians who were occasionally affiliated with Barnes were as extreme as he was
in their conclusions. Note, for example, Richard N. Current, Secretary Stimson:
A Study in Statecraft (New Brunswick, N.J., 1954), and William L. Neumann,
America Encounters Japan: From Perry to MacArthur (Baltimore, 1963). Both
offer trenchant critiques of American diplomacy without adopting Barnes'
conspiratorial tone.

^ Paul Schroeder, The Axis Alliance and Japanese-American Relations, 1941
(Ithaca, N.Y., 1958), pp. 177-178, 215. William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy
of American Diplomacy (rev. ed.; New York, 1962), pp. 183-184; Lloyd C. Gard-
ner, Economic Aspects of New Deal Diplomacy (Madison, Wis., 1964); Noam
Chomsky, "The Revolutionary Pacifism of A.J. Muste: On the Backgrounds of
the Pacific War", American Power and the New Mandarins (New York, 1969).

24

'^ Bruce M. Russett, No Clear and Present Danger: A Skeptical View of the
U.S. Entry Into World War II (New York, 1972), 30, 62-63.
^ Arthur D. Morse, While Six Million Died: A Chronicle of American Apathy
(New York, 1967); David S. Wyman, Paper Walls: America and the Refugee
Crisis, 1938-1941 (Amherst, Mass., 1968); and Henry L. Feingold, The Politics
of Rescue: The Roosevelt Administration and the Holocaust, 1938-1945 (New
Brunswick, N.J., 1970). Wyman promises to continue his research through
World War II. One should also note two doctoral dissertations: Shlomo Shafir,
"The Impact of the Jewish Crisis on American-German Relations, 1933-1939"
(Georgetown University, 1971) and Barbara M. Stewart, "United States Govern-
ment Policy on Refugees From Nazism, 1933-1940" (Columbia University, 1969).

9 A.J.P. Taylor, English History 1914-1945 (Oxford, 1965), p. 518; B.H. Liddell-
Hart, A History of the Second World War (New York, 1971), Chapter 33.

10 Liddell-Hart, p. 713; James MacGregor Bums, Roosevelt: The Soldier of
Freedom, 1940-1945 (New York, 1970), p. 609; Gabriel Kolko, The Politics of
War: The World and United States Foreign Policy, 1943-1945 (New York, 1968).

11 The most thorough revisionist accounts include Walter LaFeber, America,
Russia, and the Cold War, 1945-1971 (2nd ed.; New York, 1972); Lloyd C. Gard-
ner, Architects of Illusion: Men and Ideas in American Foreign Policy, 1941-
1949 (New York, 1967); Kolko, The Politics of War, and Gabriel and Joyce
Kolko, The Limits of Power: The World and United States Foreign Policy,
1945-1954 (New York, 1972). For critiques of these and similar works, see Robert
W. Sellen, "Origins of the Cold War: A Historiographical Survey," West Georgia
College Studies in the Social Sciences, IX (1970), 57-98; Davis S. McClellan and
John W. Reuss, "Foreign and Military Policies," in Richard S. Kirkendall, (ed.).
The Truman Period as a Research Field (Columbia, Mo., 1967); the doctoral
dissertation by Joseph M. Siracusa, "New Left Diplomatic Historians and His-
tories: A Critical Analysis of Recent Trends in American Diplomatic Historio-
graphy, 1960-1970" (University of Colorado, 1971); Robert W. Tucker, The
Radical Left and American Foreign Policy (Baltimore, 1971); Charles S. Maier,
"Revisionism and the Interpretation of Cold War Origins," in Perspectives in
American History, IV (1970), 313-347. Siracusa's dissertation is published as
New Left Diplomatic Histories and Historians (Port Washington, N.Y., 1973).

12 Manfred Jonas, Isolationism, pp. viii, 3; Thomas G. Paterson, "Isolationism
Revisited," Nation, CCIX (Sept. 1, 1969), 166-169; Otis L. Graham, Jr., An En-
core for Reform: The Old Progressives and the New Deal (New York, 1967),
p. 34; Charles Chatfield, For Peace and Justice: Pacifism in America, 1914-
1941 (Knoxville, 1971), p. 343; Lawrence Wittner, Rebels Against War: The
American Peace Movement, 1941-1960 (New York, 1969), pp. 285-286.

13 Wayne S. Cole, "American Entry Into World War II: A Historiographical
Appraisal," Mississippi Valley Historical Review, XLIII (1957), 595-617.

1'* For the comments of Ferrell and Dangerfield, see John A. Garraty, (ed.),
Conversations with Historians (New York, 1970), Vol. I, p. 240; Vol. II, p. 221.
1^ Gabriel Almond, The American People and Foreign Policy {'^Q^Yor\i, 1950),
pp. 137-143. For initial surveys, see Hadley Cantril and Mildred Strunk, (eds.).
Public Opinion: 1935-1946 (Princeton, N.J., 1951). Harwood Childs began edit-
ing the Public Opinion Quarterly in 1937.

1^ Arnold A. Offner, American Appeasement: United States Foreign Policy and
Germany, 1933-1938 (Cambridge, Mass., 1969); Dorothy Borg, The United
States and the Far Eastern Crisis of 1933-1938: From the Manchurian Incident
Through the Initial Stage of the Undeclared Sino-Japanese War (Cambridge,
Mass., 1964).

25

^'^ Doctoral dissertations include Richard W. Alsfeld, "American Opinion of
National Socialism, 1933-1939" (Brown University, 1970); Daniel S. Day, "Ameri-
can Opinion of German National Socialism, 1937-1938" (University of California
at Los Angeles, 1958); Frederick I. Murphy, "The American Christian Press
and Pre-War Hitler's Germany, 1933-1939" (University of Florida, 1970); Donald
Mcllvenna, "The Anti-Interventionists, the Administration, and a Two-Front
War," in William Appleman Williams, (ed.). The Shaping of American Diplo-
macy: Readings and Documents in American Foreign Relations, Vol. II (2nd
ed.; Chicago, 1970), pp. 253-257. One should also note Margaret K. Norden,
"American Editorial Responses to the Rise of Adolf Hitler: A Preliminary Con-
sideration," y4mer/can Jewish Historical Quarterly, LIX (1970), 290-301.
^ Opinion studies include Allen Guttmann, The Wound in the Heart: America
and the Spanish Civil War (New York, 1962); Stanley Weintraub, The Last Great
Cause: The Intellectuals and the Spanish Civil War (New York, 1968); Hugh J.
Parry's doctoral thesis, "The Spanish Civil War, 1936-1939: A Study in American
Public Opinion, Propaganda, and Pressure Groups" (University of Southern
California, 1949). See also two general surveys: Richard P. Traina, American
Diplomacy and the Spanish Civil War (Bloomington, Ind., 1968), and F. Jay
Taylor, The United States and the Spanish Civil War (New York, 1956).
^^ John P. Diggins, Mussolini and Fascism: The View from America (Prince-
ton, N.J., 1972). See also the doctoral thesis by John Booth Carter, "American
Reactions to Italian Fascism, 1919-1933" (Columbia University, 1953) and John
Norman, "Influence of Pro-Fascist Propaganda on American Neutrality, 1935-
1936" in Dwight E. Lee and George E. McReynolds, (eds.). Essays in History
and International Relations in Honor of George Hubbard Blakeslee (Worcester,
Mass., 1949), 193-214.

^ Justus D. Doenecke, "American Public Opinion and the Manchurian Crisis"
(Ph.D. thesis; Princeton University, 1966); John W. Masland, "Group Interests
in American Relations with Japan" (Ph.D. thesis; Princeton University, 1938);
Masland, "Commercial Influence upon American Far Eastern Policy, 1937-
1941," Pacific Historical Review, XI (1942), 281-299; Masland, "Missionary
Influence upon Far Eastern Policy," ibid., X (1941), 664-673; Ernest B. Bader,
"Some American Public Reactions to Franklin D. Roosevelt's Japanese Policy,
1933-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Nebraska, 1957); Eleanor Tupper and
George McReynolds, Japan in American Public Opinion (New York, 1937);
Manny T. Koginos, The Panay Incident: Prelude to War (Lafayette, Ind., 1967);
Justin H. Libby, "The Irresolute Years: American Congressional Opinion To-
wards Japan, 1937-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; Michigan State University, 1971).

21 Doctoral dissertations on American public opinion and Russia include Ira
S. Cohen, "Congressional Attitudes Towards the Soviet Union" (University of
Chicago, 1955); Robert C. McClelland, "The Soviet Union in American Opinion,
1933-1942" (University of West Virginia, 1951); Ronald E. Magden, "Attitudes
of the American Religious Press Towards the Soviet Union, 1939-1941" (Uni-
versity of Washington, 1964); and Lee E. Lowenfish, "American Radicals and
Soviet Russia, 1917-1940" (University of Wisconsin, 1968).

22 James J. Martin, American Liberalism and World Politics, 1931-1941 (2 vols.;
New York, 1964); Frank A. Warren III, Liberals and Communism: The Red
Decade' Revisited (Bloomington, Ind., 1966); Raymond H. Dawson, The Deci-
sion to Aid Russia, 1941: Foreign Policy and Domestic Politics (Chapel Hill,
N.C., 1959).

23 General surveys include Andrew J. Schwartz, America and the Russo-Finnish

26

War (Washington, 1960), and Robert Sobel, The Origins of Interventionism:
The United States and the Russo-Finnish War (New York, 1961). Sobel notes
how some but not all isolationists favored an emergency loan to Finland.

24 The debate may be followed in A.L. Rowse, Appeasement: A Study in Poli-
tical Decline, 1933-1939 (New York, 1961), and Donald N. Lammers, Explaining
Munich: The Search for Motive in British Policy (Palo Alto, Calif., 1966). Mar-
tin Gilbert's The Roots of Appeasement (New York, 1966) is more balanced
than either.

25 Examples of such McCarthyism of the Left include John Roy Carlson [pseud.
Avedis Derounian] Under Cover (New York, 1943) and The Plotters (New
York, 1946); and Michael Sayers and Albert E. Kahn, Sabotage: The Secret
War Against America (New York, 1942). Morris Schoenbach's lengthy doc-
toral dissertation, "Native Fascism During the 1930's and 1940's: A Study of Its
Roots, Its Growth, and Its Decline" (University of California at Los Angeles,
1958), is by no means of this category, but still stresses the "subversive" forces
at work.

26 Victor Ferkiss, "The Populist Influences on American Fascism," Western
Political Quarterly, X (1957), 350-373, and his "The Political and Economic
Philosophy of American Fascism" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Illinois, 1954).
2^ Manfred Jonas, "Pro-Axis Sentiment and American Isolationism," The His-
torian, XXIX (1967), 221-237. Jonas' denial that anti-British feelings were pri-
mary to isolationist thinking is disputed in Warren F. Kimball, The Most Unsor-
did Act: Lend-lease, 1939-1941 (Baltimore, 1969).

2^ Studies of the Bund and other para-military groups include Neil R. McMillen,
"Pro-Nazi Sentiment in the United States, March, 1933-March, 1934," Southern
Quarterly, II (1963), 48-70; Leland V. Bell, "The Failure of Nazism in America:
The German-American Bund, 1936-1941," Political Science Quarterly, LXXXV
(1970), 585-599; Joachim Remak, "'Friends of New Germany': The Bund and
German-American Relations," Journal of Modern History, XXIV (1957), 38-
41; and Sander Diamond's forthcoming book, based upon his doctoral disserta-
tion (State University of New York at Binghamton, 1971). For some of Dia-
mond's preliminary findings, see "The Years of Waiting: National Socialism in
the United States, 1922-1933," American Jewish Historical Quarterly, LIX
(March, 1970).

2^ James Shenton, "Fascism and Father Coughlin," Wisconsin Magazine of His-
tory, XLIV (1960), 6-11; Charles J. Tull, Father Coughlin and the New Deal
(Syracuse, 1965); David H. Bennett, Demagogues in the Depression: American
Radicals and the Union Party, 1932-1936 {New Brunswick, N.J., 1969); and David
O. Powell, "The Union Party of 1936," Mid-America, XLVI (1964), 126-141.
One should also note Philip V. Cannistraro and Theodore P. Kovoleff, "Father
Coughlin and Mussolini: Impossible Allies," Journal of Church and State, XIII
(1971), 427-443. The authors claim that while Father Coughlin made frequent
and favorable mention of Italian fascism, the Italian government found the
Royal Oak priest too controversial to support openly. Students should also note
the recent study by John M. Werly, "The Millenarian Right: William Dudley
Pelley and the Silver Legion of America," South Atlantic Quarterly, LXXI
(Summer, 1972), 410-423, based upon a doctoral dissertation at Syracuse
University.

* Geoffrey S. Smith, To Save A Nation: American Counter-Subersives, the
New Deal, and the Coming of World War II (New York, 1972); Paul S. Holbo,

27

"Wheat or What? Populism and American Fascism," Western Political Quarter-
ly. XVI (1961), 727-736; Leo Ribuffo's forthcoming doctoral dissertation at
Yale is previewed in his critical review of Seymour Martin Lipset and Earl
Rabb, The Politics of Unreason: Right-Wing Extremism in America, 1790-
1970 (New York, 1970, located in "Pluralism and American History," Dissent,
XVIII (1971), 272-277.

31 Albert E. Stone, Jr., "Seward Collins and The American Review: Experi-
ment in Pro-Fascism, 1933-1937," American Quarterly, XII (1960), 4-19; Victor
Ferkiss, "Ezra Pound and American Fascism," Journal of Politics, XVII (1955),
173-197; Noel Stock, The Life of Ezra Pound (New York, 1972); Niel M. Johnson,
George Sylvester Viereck: German-American Propagandist (Urbana, 111., 1971).
See also the Freudian study of Phyllis Keller, "George Sylvester Viereck: The
Psychology of a German-American Militant," Journal of Interdisciplinary
History, II (1971), 59-108.

^ Harold Lavine and James Wechsler's War Propaganda and the United States
(New Haven, Conn., 1940) is still useful. Leonard Liggio's introduction to the
1972 edition notes the work of Clyde Miller's Institute for Propaganda Analysis,
but a detailed study of this organization and its bulletin Propaganda Analysis
is still much needed.

^ Cole, America First, passim. For a discussion of the Fight for Freedom Com-
mittee, see Mark L. Chadwin, The Hawks of World War H (Chapel Hill, N.C.,
1968).

** Doenecke, "Verne Marshal's Leadership of the No Foreign War Committee,
1940," Annals of Iowa, XLVI (Winter. 1973), 1153-1172, and Doenecke, "Non-
Interventionism of the Left: The Keep America Out of War Congress, 1938-
1941" (paper presented before Conference on World War II sponsored in 1973
by the American Committee on the History of the Second World War; avail-
able at cost of photoduplication from the author). For additional material on
the KAOWC, see Chatfield, For Peace and Justice, chapters 11 and 12; Howard
R. Penniman, "The Socialist Party in Action; The 1940 Campaign" (Ph.D. the-
sis; University of Minnesota, 1942); Bernard K. Johnpoll, Pacifist's Progress:
Norman Thomas and the Decline of American Socialism (Chicago, 1970),
chapter 7.

^ Sheldon Marcus, "Social Justice: The History of a Weekly Journal" (D.Ed,
thesis; Yeshiva University, 1970); Jerome E. Edwards, The Foreign Policy of
Col. McCormick's Tribune (Reno, 1971); Carl G. Ryant, "From Isolation to
Intervention: The Saturday Evening Post. 1939-42," Journalism Quarterly,
XLIII (1971); John A. Ziegler, ''The Progressive's Views on Foreign Affairs,
1909-1941: A Case Study of Liberal Economic Isolationism" (Ph.D. thesis; Syra-
cuse University, 1970); Donald L. Miller, "Alfred M. Bingham and Common
Sense: Study of Non-Marxian Radicals in the New Deal Era" (Ph.D. thesis;
University of Maryland, 1972); and Frank A. Warren III, "Alfred Bingham and
the Paradox of Liberalism," The Historian, XXVIII (1966), 255-267.
^ Frank Waldrop's impressionistic McCormick of Chicago: An Unconven-
tional Portrait of a Controversial Figure (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1966) comes
the closest to understanding the Colonel, though John Tebbel's hostile An
American Dynasty: The Story of the McCormicks. Medills and Pattersons
(Garden City, N.Y., 1947) surveys the intricate family network. Both Alice A.
Hoge, Cissy Patterson (New York, 1970), and Paul F. Healy, Cissy (Garden
City, N.Y., 1966) touch upon the isolationism of the editor of the Washington
Times-Herald.

28

^ W.A. Swanberg's Citizen Hearst (New York, 1961) hardly touches upon
Hearst's World War II and Cold War views.

^ David H. Culbert, "Tantalus' Dilemma: Public Opinion, Six Radio Com-
mentators and Foreign Affairs, 1935-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; Northwestern Uni-
versity, 1970), p. 233. Culbert covers Carter and Lewis but the most vehement
radio commentator of all, Upton Close [pseudo. Josef Washington Hall], who
also published an anti-Semitic newsletter Closer-Ups, remains unresearched.
^ Richard Polenberg, "The National Committee to Uphold Constitutional
Government, 1931-1941 :' Journal of American History, LII (1965), 582-598,
tells of the group's early life but its Cold War career remains untapped.
"^ See Eckard V. Toy, Jr.'s doctoral dissertation, "Ideology and Conflict in
American Ultra-Conservatism, 1945-1960" (University of Oregon, 1965).
^^ Justus D. Doenecke, "Lawrence Dennis: Cold War Revisionist," Wisconsin
Magazine of History, LV (Summer, 1972), 275-286.

^ Glenn H. Smith, "Senator William Langer: A Study in Isolationism" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of Iowa, 1968); Keith L. Bryant, Jr., Alfalfa Bill Murray (Nor-
man, Okla., 1968); Gilbert C. Fite, George N. Peek and the Fight for Farm Parity
(Norman, Okla., 1954); Edward C. Blackorby, Prairie Rebel: The Public Career
of William Lemke (Lincoln, Neb., 1963); and Blackorby, "William Lemke:
Agrarian Radical and Union Party Presidential Candidate," Mississippi Valley
Historical Review, XLIX (1962), 67-84. See also George W. Garlid, "Politics
in Minnesota and American Foreign Relations, 1921-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; Uni-
versity of Minnesota, 1967); Garlid, "The Anti-war Dilemma of the Farmer-
Labor Party," Minnesota History, XL (1967), 365-374; Robert P. Wilkins, "The
Non-Ethnic Roots N?f North Dakota Isolationism," Nebraska History, XLIV
(1963), 205-211; and Wilkins, "The Non-Partisan League and Upper Midwest
Isolationism," Agricultural History, XXXIX (1965), 102-109.
'^ Justus F. Paul, "The Political Career of Senator Hugh Butler" (Ph.D. thesis;
University of Nebraska, 1966); Gary S. Henderson, "Congressman John Taber:
Guardian of the People's Money" (Ph.D. thesis; Duke University, 1954).
'^ Ray Allen Billington offers a sectional explanation in his "The Origins of
Middle Western Isolationism," Political Science Quarterly, LX (1945), 44-64,
as does Jeanette P. Nichols, "The Middle West and the Coming of the World
War II," Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly, LXII (1953),
122-145. Such reasoning is challenged by William G. Carleton, "Isolationism
and the Middle West," Mississippi Valley Historical Review, XXXIIl (1945),
377-390. Both Billington and Carleton find the area interventionist through the
Spanish-American War. Yet Billington claims that the free silver issue pro-
moted hatred of England and the East, while Carleton asserts that the Republican-
oriented section remained imperialist down to World War 1. Carleton stresses
political partisanship in accounting for area opposition to World War II, a factor
also emphasized by Nichols as well as by LeRoy N. Reiselbach, "The Basis of
Isolationist Behavior," Public Opinion Quarterly, XXIV (1960), 645-657. It
should be emphasized that all essays noted in this footnote and the one im-
mediately below offer multicausal explanations.

^ Ralph Smuckler, "The Region of Isolationism," American Political Science
Review, XLVII (1953), 377-390; David L. Porter, "Congress and the Coming of
War" (Ph.D. thesis; Pennsylvania State University, 1970); George Grassmuck,
Sectional Biases in Congress on Foreign Relations (Baltimore, 1951).
'^ Cole, "America First and the South, 1940-1941," Journal of Southern His-
tory, XLIV (1956), 36-47. For other material on the South, see also Alexander

29 i

DeConde, "The South and Isolationism," ibid., XXIV 332-346; Marion D. Irish,
"Foreign PoHcy in the South," Journal of Politics, X (1948), 308-326; Charles
O. Lerche, Jr., The Uncertain South (Chicago, 1964); and Arthur O. Hero,
The Southerner and World Affairs (Baton Rouge, 1965). See also two doctoral
dissertations, Irving Howard, "The Influence of Southern Senators on Ameri-
can Foreign Policy from 1939 to 1950" (University of Wisconsin, 1955), and Elmo
Roberds, "The South and United States Foreign Policy, 1933-1952" (Ph.D. the-
sis; University of Chicago, 1955).

'*^ Julian M. Pleasants, "The Senatorial Career of Robert Rice Reynolds" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of North Carolina, 1971); William E. Coffey, "Rush Dew Holt:
The Boy Senator, 1905-1942" (Ph.D. thesis; University of West Virginia, 1970).
Other studies of southern senators with isolationist leanings are Seth S. McKay,
W. Lee O'Danieland Texas Politics, 1938-1942 (Lubbock, Texas, 1944), and J.
Harvey Wilkinson, Harry Byrd and the Changing Face of Virginia Politics,
1945-1966 (Charlottesville, Va., 1969).

'^ William A. Weinrich, "Business and Foreign Affairs: The Roosevelt Defense
Program, 1937-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Oklahoma, 1972); Roland N.
Stromberg, "American Business and the Approach of War, 1935-1941," Wes-
tern Political Quarterly, XV (1962), 713-728; John H. Bunzel, The American
Small Businessman (New York, 1962), 214-228; Gardner, Economic Aspects . . . ;
Cole, Nye, pp. 95-96. It should be noted, however, that most pacifists opposed
high tariffs and autarchy. Oswald Garrison Villard, for example, endorsed Hull's
reciprocity and called for even lower economic barriers. See his Free Trade.
Free World (New York, 1949).

*^ Justus D. Doenecke, "The Isolationist World View" (paper presented at the
symposium on New Deal Foreign Policy sponsored in 1971 by the Institute for
Humane Studies; available at cost of photoduplication from the author); Gabriel
Kolko, "American Business and Germany, 1930-1941," Western Political Quar-
terly, XV (1962), 713-728.

^ See Allen Nevins and Ernest Hill, Ford: Decline and Rebirth. 1933-1962
(New York, 1963), for a friendly account, and Keith Sward, The Legend of
Henry Ford (New York, 1948), for a hostile one. Note also George Davidson,
"Henry Ford: The Formation and Course of a Public Figure" (Ph.D. thesis;
Columbia University, 1966). Sidney Hyman, The Lives of William Benton
(Chicago, 1969). Chester Bowles, Promises to Keep: My Years in Public Life,
1941-1969 (New York, 1971).

^^ Maxwell C. Raddock, Portrait of an American Labor Leader: William L.
Hucheson (New York, 1958); Henry W. Berger, "Crisis Diplomacy," in William
Appleman Williams, (ed.). From Colony to Empire: Essays in the History of
American Foreign Relations (New York, 1972), pp. 293-336.
^2 Cole, Nye. chapters 5-7; John E. Wiltz, In Search of Peace: The Senate
Munitions Inquiry. 1934-36 (Baton Rouge, 1963); Wiltz, "The Nye Committee
Revisted," The Historian. XXIll (1961), 211-233; Paul A.C. Koistinen, "The
'Industrial-Military Complex' in Historical Perspective: The Inter War Years,"
Journal of American History. LVI (1970), 819-839; Agnes A. Trotter, "The De-
velopment of the Merchants of Death Theory for World War I" (Ph.D. thesis;
Duke University, 1966).

^ Richard Burns and W.A. Dixon, "Foreign Policy and the 'Democratic Myth':
The Debate on the Ludlow Amendment," Mid-America, XLVII (1965), 288-
306; Walter L. Griffin, "Louis Ludlow and the War Referendum Crusade, 1935-
1941," Indiana Magazine of History, LXIV (1968), 267-288; Harold W. Holtz-

30

claw, "The American War Referendum Movement, 1914-1941" (Ph.D. thesis;
University of Denver, 1965); and Ernest C. Bolt, Jr., "The War Referendum
Approach to Peace in the Twentieth Century" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Geor-
gia, 1965).

^ Thomas W. Guinsburg, "Senatorial Isolationism in America, 1919-1941"
(Ph.D. thesis; Columbia University, 1969); Porter, loc. cit.\ Robert A. Divine,
The Illusion of Neutrality (Chicago, 1962); Donald McCoy, London of Kansas
(Lincoln, Neb., 1966); William T. Hutchinson, Lowden of Illinois (Chicago,
1957); and Donald Bruce Johnson, The Republican Party and Wendell Will-
kie (Urbana, 111., 1960).

^ James T. Patterson, Mr. Republican: A Biography of Robert A. Taft (Bos-
ton, 1972); Henry Berger, "Senator Taft Dissents From Military Escalation,"
in Thomas G. Patterson, (ed.). Cold War Critics: Alternatives to American
Foreign Policy in the Truman Years (Chicago, 1971); Berger, "A Conservative
Critique of Containment: Senator Taft on the Early Cold War Program," in
David Horowitz, (ed.). Containment and Revolution (Boston, 1967); and Russell
Kirk and James McClellan, The Political Principles of Robert A. Taft (New York,
1967). Patterson offers a thorough Taft bibliography.

^ C. David Tompkins, Senator Arthur H. Vandenberg: The Evolution of a
Modern Republican, 1884-1945 (East Lansing, Mich., 1970); Tompkins, "Senator
Arthur H. Vandenberg: Middle Western Isolationist," Michigan History, XLIV
(1960), 39-58; Vandenberg (Boston, 1952). For other literature on Vandenberg,
see Justus D. Doenecke, The Literature of Isolationism: A Guide to Non-In-
terventionist Scholarship, 1940-1972 (Colorado Springs, 1972), pp. 30-31; here-
after cited as Doenecke, Literature.

^^ Peter G. Boyle, "The Study of an Isolationist: Hiram Johnson," (Ph.D. the-
sis; University of California and Los Angeles, 1970); Boyle, "The Roots of Iso-
lationism: A Case Study," Journal of American Studies, VI (1972), 41-50; and
Howard A. DeWitt, "Hiram Johnson and American Foreign Policy" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of Arizona, 1972).

^ Revisionist interpretations of Borah include William A. Williams, The Trage-
dy of American Diplomacy (rev. ed.; New York, 1962), pp. 118-123; Orde S.
Pinckney, "William E. Borah: Critic of American Foreign Policy," Studies on
the Left, I (1960), 48-61. For other material on Borah, see Marian McKenna,
Borah (Ann Arbor, Mich., 1961); Charles W. Toth, "Isolationism and Emer-
gence of Borah: An Appeal to the American Tradition," Western Political
Quarterly, XIV (1961), 555-568; James E. Hewes, Jr., "William E. Borah and
the Image of Isolation" (Ph.D. thesis; Yale University, 1955); Averill Berman,
"Senator William Edgar Borah: A Study in Historical Agreements and Contra-
diction" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Southern California, 1955).
59 Burton K. Wheeler, Yankee From the West (Garden City, N.Y., 1962);
Richard R. Reutten, "Burton K. Wheeler of Montana: A Progressive Between
the Wars" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Oregon, 1961); William J. Miller, Henry
Cabot Lodge: A Biography (New York, 1967); William J. Grattan, "David I.
Walsh and His Associates: A Study in Political Theory" (Ph.D. thesis; Harvard
University, 1957); Dorothy G. Wayman, David I. Walsh: Citizen Patriot (Mil-
waukee, 1952); Homer E. Socolofsky, Arthur Capper: Publisher, Politician and
Philanthropist (Lawrence, Kan., 1962).

^ Sister Mary R. Lorentz, "Henrik Shipstead: Minnesota Independent, 1923-
1946" (Ph.D. thesis; Catholic University, 1963); Alan E. Kent, Jr., "Portrait in

31

Isolationism: The LaFollettes and Foreign Policy'' (Ph.D. thesis; University of
Wisconsin, 1957); Harl A. Dalstrom, "Kenneth S. Wherry" (Ph.D. thesis; Uni-
versity of Nebraska, 1965); Marvin E. Stromer, The Making of a Political
Leader: Kenneth S. Wherry and the United States Senate (Lincoln, Neb., 1969).
For other sources on the LaFollettes and the Progressive Party of Wisconsin,
see Doenecke, Literature, pp. 33-34.

61 Joe Martin, Jr., My First Fifty Years in Politics (New York, 1960); Henry
Z. Scheele, Charlie Halleck (New York, 1966); Richard K. Hanks, "Hamilton
Fish and American Isolationism" (Ph.D. thesis; University of California at
Riverside, 1971).

^ The best work on the stormy East Harlem Congressmen is found in Alan
Schaffer, Vito Marcantonio: Radical in Congress (Syracuse, 1966), and Norman
J. Kaner, "Vito Marcantonio and American Foreign Policy" (Ph.D. thesis;
Rutgers University, 1968). For other sources, see Doenecke, Literature, p. 36.
63 Samuel Lubell. The Future of American Politics (New York, 1952). For a
study of eastern Nebraska which stresses German-American opposition to
Roosevelt's foreign policy, see Robert W. Cherney, "Isolationist Voting in 1940:
A Statistical AnsAysisr Nebraska History, LII (1971), 293-310.
6* J. David Valaik, "American Catholics and the Spanish Civil War" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of Rochester, 1964); "Catholics, Neutrality, and the Spanish
Embargo, \937-l939," Journal of American History, LIV (1967), 73-85; "Ameri-
can Catholic Dissenters and the Spanish Civil War," Catholic Historical Review,
LIII (1968), 537-555; "American Catholics and the Spanish Republic," /ourna/
of Church and State, X (1968), 13-28; "In the Days Before Ecumenicism: Ameri-
can Catholics, Anti-Semitism, and the Spanish Civil War," ibid., XIII (1971),
465-477. Valaik differs with Guttmann, loc. cit., in emphasizing the genuine
isolationism of Roman Catholic opinion. Contrary to Guttmann, Valaik sees
more than pro-Franco sympathy at work. For studies of Catholics and Roose-
velt's domestic policies, see David J. O'Brien, American Catholics and Social
Reform: The New Deal Years (New York, 1968), and George 0- Flynn, Ameri-
can Catholics and the Roosevelt Presidency, 1932-1936 (Lexington, Ky., 1968).
The dissertation by Robert B. Clements, "The Commonweal, 1924-1938: The
Williams-Schuster Years" (Notre Dame, 1972), reveals the possibilities of more
intensive work in the entire area of the religious press.

65 The interventionist minority included Major General "Wild Bill" Donovan,
ex-governor Al Smith, Monsignor John Ryan, historian Carleton J.H. Hayes,
educator William Agar, Cardinal Francis Spellman, and poet Theodore
Maynard.

66 Richard M. Dalfiume, "The 'Forgotten' Years of the Negro Revolution,"
Journal of American History, LV (1968), 90-116; Ruth Sarles, "A Story of Ameri-
ca First" (manuscript on deposit at the Hoover Library of War, Peace, and Revo-
lution, Palo Alto, California; undated), p. 90.

6"^ Such a survey might include philanthropist Julius Rosenwald, journalists
George E. Sokolsky, Charles Fleischer, and Morris Rubin, industrialist Philip
Liebman, professor Edwin M. Borchard, Congresswoman Florence Prather
Kahn, merchant Ira A. Hirschmann, socialist leaders Harry Fleishmann and
Sidney Hertzberg, labor leader Will Herberg, and songwriter Morris Ryskind.
Pacifists would include Milton Mayer, Abraham Kaufman, Rabbi Isador B.
Hoffman, Rabbi David de Sola Poole and Dr. Henry Newmann.
6 For a full listing of pro-Zionist Congressmen, as well as their public state-
ments, see Reuben Fink, (ed.), America and Palestine: The Attitude of Official

32.

America and of the American People Toward the Rebuilding of Palestine as
a Free and Democratic Jewish Commonwealth (New York, 1944). Further ma-
terial on Zionism and Israel may be found in Samuel Halperin, The Political
World of American Zionism (Detroit, 1961), Richard P. Stevens, American
Zionism and Foreign Policy, 1942-1947 (New York, 1962), and John G. Snet-
singer, "Truman and the Creation of Israel" (Ph.D. thesis; Stanford University,
1970).

See, for example, Donald B. Meyer, The Protestant Search for Political
Realism, 1919-1941 (Berkeley, Calif., 1960).

'^^ Miller continues, "The Niebuhrians extolled stouthearted resistance to ty-
ranny but neglected to spell out this noble phrase in terms of hundreds of thou-
sands of German, Italian, and Japanese old men, pregnant women, youths and
infants whom we blinded, scalded, boiled, flayed, buried alive, disembowled,
eviscerated." Robert Moats Miller, How Shall They Hear Without a Preacher?
The Life of Earnest Fremont Tittle (Chapel HilU N.C., 1971), pp. 452, 456.
'^^ John Haynes Holmes, / Speak for Myself (New York, 1959); Harry Emerson
Fosdick, The Living of These Days (New York, 1956); Elston J. Hill, "Buchman
and Buchmanism" (Ph.D. thesis; University of North Carolina, 1972). For an
excellent bibliography of research in religion, which includes many doctoral
dissertations, see James W. Smith and A. Leland Jamison, (eds.), Religion in
American Life (4 vols.; Princeton, N.J., 1961).

^2 Charles Chatfield, For Peace and Justice, loc. cit.; Chatfield, "Alternative
Antiwar Strategies of the Thirties," American Studies, XIII (Spring, 1972), 81-
93; Allan A. Kuusisto, "The Influence of the National Council for the Preven-
tion of War on United States Foreign Policy, 1935-1939" (Ph.D. thesis; Harvard
University, 1950); Frederick J. Libby, To End War: The Story of the National
Council for the Prevention of War (Nyack, N.Y., 1969).

'^^ Dorothy Detzer tells of some of her own experiences as EIL lobbyist in
Appointment on the Hill (New York, 1948).

'^'* Ronald Schaffer, "Jeanette Rankin, Progressive-Isolationist" (Ph.D. thesis;
Princeton University, 1959); Jo Ann Robinson, "A.J. Muste and Ways to Peace,"
American Studies, XIII (Spring, 1972), 95-108. For a journalistic account of
Muste's life, see Nat Hentoff, Peace Agitator: The Story of A.J. Muste (New
York, 1963). Sketches from Muste's own autobiography appear in Hentoff,
(ed.). The Essays of A. J Muste (New York, 1970).

^^ Penina M. Glazer, "A Decade of Transition: A Study of Radical Journals
of the 1940s" (Ph.D. thesis; Rutgers University, 1970).

^^ Warren Cohen, The American Revisionists: The Lessons of Intervention in
World War I (Chicago, 1967); Arthur Goddard, (ed.), Harry Elmer Barnes:
Learned Crusader {Colorado Springs, 1968); Justus D. Doenecke, "Harry Elmer
Barnes" (unpublished paper presented before the Conference on Peace Re-
search in History, 1972 session of the Organization of American Historians;
available at cost of photoduplication from the author). The extreme revisionism
promoted by Barnes includes David L. Hoggan, Der Erzwungene Krieg (Tubin-
gen, 1963), and Paul Rassinier, Le Mensonge d'Ulysse (Paris, 1950). The former
book claims that the British not the Germans bear the brunt of war guilt
in 1939, the latter asserts that only between one and two million Jews died in
1939, and denies that German concentration camps possessed gas chambers.
For a modified form of the Hoggan argument, see Kurt Glaser, "World War II
and the War Guilt Question," Modem Age, XV (Winter, 1971), 57-69.
^ Richard Hofstadter, The Progressive Historians: Turner, Beard, Parrington

33

(New York, 1968); Frederick L. Honhart III, "Charles Callan Tansill: Ameri-
can Diplomatic Historian" (Ph.D. thesis; Case Western Reserve University,
1972). For material on Garrity and Regnery, see Cleveland Amory, "Trade
Winds," Saturday Review of Literature, XXXVll (Sept. 25, 1954), 6-8. Note
also Thomas D. Parrish. "How Henry Regnery Got That Way," The Reporter,
XII (April 7, 1955), 41-44; "Henry Regnery: A Conservative Publisher in a Lib-
eral World," The Alternative (October, 1971).

^ Richard Kendall, "Edward M. Borchard and the Defense of Traditional
American Neutrality, 1931-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; Yale University, 1965); Douglas
W. French, "William Ernest Hocking and Twentieth Century International Ten-
sions, 1914-1966" (Ph.D. thesis; State University of New York at Buffalo, 1970);
Paul H. Mattingly, "Journey Without Baedeker: Edmund Wilson in the Twenties
and Thirties" (M.A. thesis; University of Washington, 1964); James C. Lanier,
"Stuart Chase: An Intellectual Autobiography, 1888-1940" (Ph.D. thesis; Emory
University, 1970); Douglas Stenerson, H.L. Mencken, Iconclast From Balti-
more (Chicago, 1971). John Chamberlain is one of the figures studied in Frank
A. Annunziata, "The Attack on the Welfare State: Patterns of Anti-Statism from
the New Deal to the New Left" (Ph.D. thesis; Ohio State University, 1968).
'^ Freda Utley, Odyssey of a Liberal (Washington, 1970); William Henry Cham-
berlin. The Confessions of an Individualist (New York, 1940). Both authors need
full-scale studies.

^ Richard C. Frey, Jr., "John T. Flynn and the United States in Crisis, 1928-
1950" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Oregon, 1969); Michael Wretzin, Superflous
Anarchist: Albert Jay Nock (Providence, 1972); Robert M. Crunden, The Mind
and Art of Albert Jay Nock (Chicago, 1964); J. Sandor Cziraky, "The Evolution
of the Social Philosophy of Albert Jay Nock" (Ph.D. thesis; University of Penn-
sylvania, 1959); Carl G. Ryant, "Garet Garrett's America" (Ph.D. thesis; Uni-
versity of Wisconsin, 1968). Neilson offers an autobiography, My Life in Two
Worlds (Appleton, Wis., 1940-46). Chodorov offers a playful account. Out of
Step: The Autobiography of an Individualist (New York, 1962). Joseph Strom-
berg has chapters on Morley's and Chodorov's opposition to the Cold War in
his "The Cold War and the Transformation of the American Right: The De-
cline of Right Wing Liberalism" (M.A. thesis; Florida Atlantic University, 1971).
^^ For a preliminary survey of student antiwar opposition, see Patti McGill
Peterson, "Student Organizations and the Antiwar Movement in America,
1900-1960," American Studies, Xlll (Spring, 1972), 131-147. James Wechsler,
The Revolt on Campus (New York, 1935) is a lively primary account. Far dif-
ferent were those students involved in America First. From Yale alone they in-
cluded R. Sargent Shriver, Gerald Ford (who quit when informed this would
interfere with his duties as a football coach). Potter Stewart, and Kingman Brew-
ster. John F. Kennedy contributed $100 (on behalf of his father, though there is
no reason to believe he did not favor their aims). Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. and
Robert A. Taft, Jr. were with the Harvard Committee Against Military Inter-
vention. See the papers of the America First Committee, Hoover Library of
War, Peace, and Revolution, Stanford University; hereafter cited as AFC
Papers.

^ The presidents of Vassar, Michigan, Stanford, the University of Chicago
(Robert Maynard Hutchins), Earlham, Louisville, and Rochester opposed inter-
vention, as did such intellectuals as Alexander Meiklejohn, George Lundberg,
John Dewey, Harlow Shapley, Anton J. Carlson, George H. Whipple, William F.
Ogburn, P.A. Sorokin, Daniel Gregory Mason, and Will Durant. Historians and
political scientists included Arthur May, Edward C. Kirkland, Joseph H. Moody,

34

Leonard Larrabee, Bernhard Knollenberg, Eugene P. Chase, E.C. Helmreich,
William B. Hesseltine, Henry F. May, Jr., Howard K. Beale, William G. Carle-
ton, William A. Orton, Brocks Emeny, Edward S. Corwin, Arthur N. Holcombe,
Broadus Mitchell, and Burton B. Kendrick. AFC Papers contain references to
many of the above. The Papers of John T. Flynn at the University of Oregon con-
tain a masterlist of all members of America First, organized by state and chapter.
^ Here one should note Sinclair Lewis, Frank Lloyd Wright, Edmund Wilson,
H.L. Mencken, John P. Marquand, William Saroyan, Margaret Sanger, Kenneth
Roberts, Irving S. Cobb, Kathleen Norris, Kenneth Rexroth, James T. Farrell,
Selden Rodman, and Samuel Hopkins Adams. AFC Papers plus debates in the
liberal press.

** Among those supporting America First were Irene Castle, Lillian Gish, Mary
Pickford, Edward Arnold, Michael Strange, and Geraldine Farrar. Gary Cooper
and Fred MacMurray were rumored to favor isolationism. AFC Papers.
^ Both Chester Bowles and Quincy Howe felt they could speak with less than
openness. Ernest L. Meyer and Dorothy Dunbar Bromley were dropped from
the interventionist New York Post, as was Harry Barnes from the Scripps-
Howard chain.

^ Here one might note such converts to interventionism as legislators Maury
Maverick, George Norris, John M. Coffee, Everett Dirksen, George Bender,
and Arthur Capper, as well as labor organizer A. Philip Randolph, socialist Paul
Porter, New Republic editor Bruce Bliven, radio commentator Elmer Davis,
Rabbi Sidney E. Bernstein, and writer Max Eastman. The one convert to a more
isolationist position was Harry Noble MacCracken, president of Vassar College.
^ Robert C. Bjerk, "Kennedy at the Court of St. James: The Diplomatic Career
of Joseph P. Kennedy, 1938-1940" (Ph.D. thesis; Washington State University,
1972); Richard J. Whalen, The Founding Father: The Story of Joseph P. Ken-
nedy (New York, 1964); and William M. Kaufman, "Two American Ambassa-
dors: Bullitt and Kennedy," in Gordon A. Craig and Felix Gilbert, (eds.). The
Diplomats, 1919-1939 (Princeton, N.J., 1953), pp. 649-681.

^ The Wartime Journals of Charles A. Lindbergh (New York, 1970); Justus
D. Doenecke, "The Lone Eagle," review essay in Libertarian Forum, IV (March,
1972), 6-8. The best works on Lindbergh to date include Lowell C. Fleischer,
"Charles A. Lindbergh and Isolationism, 1939-1941" (Ph.D. thesis; University
of Connecticut, 1963); Paul Seabury, "Charles A. Lindbergh: The Politics of
Nostalgia," History, II (1960), 123-144; Kenneth S. Davis, The Hero: Charles
A. Lindbergh and the American Dream (Garden City, N.Y., 1959).
^ Hints may be found in James A. Farley, Jim's Farley's Story (New York,
1948); Keith McFarland, "Secretary of War Harry H. Woodring and the Prob-
lems of Readiness, Rearmament and Neutrality, 1936-1940" (Ph.D. thesis; Ohio
State University, 1969).

* Seymour Martin Lipset, "The Sources of the 'Radical Right,'" in Daniel
Bell, (ed.). The Radical Right (New York, 1964); T.W. Adorno, et al.. The
Authoritarian Personality (New York, 1950); Herbert McClosky, "Personality
and Attitude Correlates of Foreign Policy Orientation," in James N. Rosenau,
(ed.). Domestic Sources of Foreign Policy (New York, 1967), 51-104. Such
hypotheses are challenged in R. Christie and Marie Johoda, (ed.). Studies in
the Scope and Method of the Authoritarian Personality' (New York, 1954);
and Robert A. Schoenberger, (ed.). The American Right Wing: Readings in
Political Behavior (New York, 1969).
^^ Robert E. Gamer, "Consensus: Poland to Pearl Harbor" (Ph.D. thesis; Brown

35

University, 1965); William M. Tuttle, Jr., "Aid-to-the-Allies Short-of-War ver-
sus American Intervention: A Re-appraisal of William Allen White's Leader-
ship " Journal of American History, LVI (1970), 841-858; Robert Freeman Smith,
"American Foreign Relations, 1920-1942," in Barton J. Bernstein, (ed.), Towards
a New Past: Dissenting Essays in American History (New York, 1968), p. 248;
Clifton E. Hart, "The Minor Premise of American Nationalist Thought" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of Minnesota, 1962); Charles Sanford, The Quest for Paradise:
Europe and American Moral Imagination (Urbana, 111., 1961); Henry Nash
Smith, Virgin Land: The American West as Symbol and Myth (Cambridge,
Mass., 1950).

^ Robert A. Divine, Second Chance: The Triumph of Internationalism in
America During the Second World War (New York, 1967); Walsh, in Nation,
CLIX (Sept 9, 1944), 291; Wiley, in New Republic, CXII (June 4, 1945), 792.
^3 D. Clayton James, The Years of MacArthur, Volume I: 1880-1941 (Boston,
1970); "The 'Fifth Column,'" Propaganda Analysis, III (July 8, 1940); Richard
Polenberg, War and Society: The United States, 1941-1945 (New York, 1972),
pp. 44-47.

^ For a debate on the Sedition Case, see defendant Lawrence Dennis and Max-
imilian St. George, A Trial on Trial: The Great Sedition Case of 1944 (Chicago,
1946), and prosecutor O. John Rogge, The Official German Report (New York,
1961).

^ While Mulford Q. Sibley and Philip E. Jacob, Conscription of Conscience:
The American State and the Conscientious Objector. 1940-1947 (Ithaca, N.Y.,
1952) remains definitive, Wittner, loc. cit., has used enough manuscripts to
command a fresh look.

^ Press reaction to both area bombing and Peace Now are covered in James
J. Martin, "The Bombing and Negotiated Peace Questions in 1944," in Mar-
tin's Revisionist Viewpoints: Essays in a Dissident Historical Tradition (Colo-
rado Springs, 1971). For the rationale behind American bombing, see Gary J.
Shandroff, "The Evolution of Area Bombing in American Doctrine and Prac-
tice" (Ph.D. thesis; New York University, 1972).

^ For one protest against such atrocities, see the Lindbergh Journals, loc.
cit., pp. 812, 853-854, 875, 880-881, 883-884, 902-903.

^ Wittner, chapter IV; Ray Abrams, "The Churches and Clergy in World War
II," Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, CCLVI
(1948), 110-119. See also the suggestive essay, George E. Hopkins, "Bombing
and the American Conscience During World War II," The Historian, XXVIII
(1966), 451-473.

^Norris in New Republic, CVII (August 3, 1942), 144; letter noted in ibid.,
CVI (May 4, 1942), 308.

^** Thomas M. McDaid, "The Response of the American Civil Liberties Union
to the Japanese-American Internment" (M.A. essay; Columbia University,
1969). The myth that Senator Taft opposed the internment itself, rather than
merely the sloppy wording of the bill, is disposed of in Jacobus ten Broek, et.
al., Prejudice, War and the Constitution: Causes and Consequences of the Japan-
ese-Americans in Wi Id War // (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1970), p. 115.
^^1 Rex Stout, "We Shall Hate, or We Shall Fail," New York Times, January
17, 1943; "American Writers on Germany," Common Sense, XIII (June, 1944),
206-212; Robert T. Howell, "The Writer's War Board: Writers and World War
11" (Ph.D. thesis; Louisiana State University, 1971).
102 Public response to atomic warfare is ably covered in Michael J. Yavendetti,

36

"American Reactions to the Use of Atomic Bombs on Japan, 1945-1947" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of CaHfornia at Berkeley, 1970). Isolationists are noted on
pp. 408-409. Yavendetti notes that while Roman Catholic and liberal Protes-
tants tended to oppose such bombing, the Niebuhrian Christianity and Society
remained equivocal. See also Norman Thomas, "Our War With Japan," Com-
monweal, XLII (April 20, 1945), 8-10; Clark quoted in Yavendetti, p. 15; John-
son quoted in New Republic, CXIII (December 17, 1945), 838.
^^ Jonas, Isolationism in America, p. 287; Norman Graebner, The New Isola-
tionism: A Study in Politics and Foreign Policy Since 1950 (New York, 1956);
Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., "The New Isolationism," Atlantic, CLXXXIX (June,
1952), 34-38. Quotation is from Wilkins, "Non-Partisan League . . .," loc. cit.,
p. 57.

^^ Graham, loc. cit.: for possible role of General Motors in causing a shift in
Vandenberg's position, see Cole, Nye, p. 71. I might be reading more into this
than Cole intends. For general coverage of the response of isolationist senators
to Truman's foreign policy written by a student of Professor Cole see the
unpublished doctoral dissertation by Joan Lee (University of Maryland, 1972).
^05 In January, 1970, I sent a questionnaire to about forty people active in
non-interventionism from 1939 to 1941 who were still aln'e. About twenty-five
responded. The overwhelming majority did not regret their activity. Said one
of the more articulate, a newspaper editor, "The tangible result of the war
was to install the Soviet Union over much of Europe and to replace the friendly
Nationalists in China with another communist regime. Only communism
profited."

^* Direct continuity with liberal prewar isolationism can be seen in many
stands taken by The Progressive, Norman Thomas and the Socialist Party,
Senator William Langer, Congressman Usher Burdick, Harry Elmer Barnes,
William L. Neumann, and Oswald Garrison Villard. Michael Wretzin's Oswald
Garrison Villard: Pacifist at War (Bloomington, Ind., 1965) unfortunately
omits Villard's comments concerning the conduct of World War II and the
initial years of the Cold War.

^^ The isolationists have always been enamored of air power. Boake Carter
promoted it in his broadcasts, and such air leaders as Colonel Lindbergh, Major
Al Williams, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, and Igor Sikorski were active in
America First. During the Cold War isolationists often cited the writings of
General Bonner Fellers, author of Wings for Peace (Chicago, 1953) and once
a friend of America First, and of Major Alexander P. De Seversky, who had
been critical of Lindbergh's isolationism in 1941. Air power was cheaper, avoid-
ed unpopular conscription, and could be used without entangling alliances.
One might note in passing that John M. Swomley, Jr., former director of the
National Council Against Conscription, informed me that "There was more
opposition to Roosevelt and Truman by Republicans who feared indoctrination
of troops with liberalism than those who ever thought of isolationism." Letter to
author, January 29, 1970. But for Swomley's cooperation with the isolationists,
see his The Military Establishment (Boston, 1964). For the whole issue of air
versus ground forces, see William W. Cover, "Neo-Isolationism and Type of
Military" (M.A. thesis; Iowa State University, 1956). Yet far fuller investiga-
tion is needed.

1* Thomas C. Kennedy, "Charles A. Beard and the 'Court Historians,'" The
Historian, XXV (1963), 439-450, claims that Beard exaggerated in his accusa-
tion that the State Department would deny him access to crucial papers. In
my own research, which involves reading many Beard letters, I find that Beard

37

firmly believed he could never have obtained the access to official and un-
official sources secured by Langer and Gleason.

109 Richard T. Reutten, "Harry Elmer Barnes and the 'Historical Blackout,"'
The Historian, XXXIII (1971), 202-214. While declaring that Barnes exaggerated
the suppression of revisionism, Reutten claims that revisionists raised necessary
questions about presidential warmaking powers, and that pro-Roosevelt his-
torians seemed all too anxious to defend the actions of their Commander-in-
Chief.

110 Wayne S. Cole, "American Entry into World War II," loc. cit. Kent was an
American coding clerk in the American embassy in London who supposedly
saw secret messages from Roosevelt to Churchill committing the United States
to the European war. Because of the wartime emergency, the Kent documents
were closed and now still remain so. The isolationists tried to turn the Kent
case into a cause celebre in 1946, but the government forbade Kent to testify.
For some information, see Whalen's life of Joseph P. Kennedy, loc. cit., pp. 309-
320.

m Paterson's research is found in his "The Economic Cold War: American
Business and Economic Foreign Policy, 1945-1950" (Ph.D. thesis; University
of California at Berkeley, 1968), and in his essay, "The Quest for Peace and
Prosperity: International Trade, Communism, and the Marshall Plan," in Bar-
ton J. Bernstein, (ed.), Politics and Policies of the Truman Administration
(Chicago, 1970), 78-112. Other research includes John P. Mallen, "Conserva-
tive Attitudes Toward American Foreign Policy: With Special Reference to
American Business, 1945-1952" (Ph.D. thesis; Harvard University, 1964); Robert
J. Chasteen, "American Foreign Aid and Public Opinion, 1945-1952" (Ph.D.
thesis; University of North Carolina, 1957).

1^ Louis Lochner, Herbert Hoover and Germany (New York, 1960). William
J. Bosch's balanced study of the debate over the international war tribunal
could extend to America's entire German policy. See Bosch, Judgment on Nu-
remberg: American Attitudes Toward the Major German War-Crime Trials
(Chapel Hill, N.C., 1970).

113 Freda Utley, who wrote Japan's Feet of Clay (New York, 1937) and China
at War (New York, 1939), is a marked exception.

11'* See doctoral theses by Virginia M. Kemp, "Congress and China" (Univer-
sity of Pittsburgh, 1966); John R. Skettering, "Republican Attitudes Towards
the Administration's China Policy, 1945-1949" (State University of Iowa, 1952);
James A. Fetzer, "Congress and China, 1941-1950" (Michigan State University,
1964). Poole's dissertation, loc. cit., stresses Republican anger from the time of
the Marshall mission. The MacArthur quotation is found in Walter Millis, (ed.).
The Forrestal Diaries (New York, 1951), p. 18.

11^ Ronald J. Caridi, The Korean War and American Politics: The Republican
Party as a Case Study (Philadelphia, 1968) is limited to the Senate. One should
also note a new work, James R. Riggs, "Congress and the Conduct of the Korean
War" (Ph.D. thesis; Purdue University, 1972).

11^ Debate over the "China Lobby" can be followed in Joseph Keeley, The
China Lobby Man: The Story of Alfred Kohlberg (New Rochelle, N.Y., 1969),
and Ross T. Koen, The China Lobby in American Politics (New York, 1960).
Though the Koen volume is hard to find, as pressures upon the publisher caused
its withdrawal soon after circulation, one may find much of Koen's argument
in his doctoral thesis, "The China Lobby and the Formulation of American
Foreign Policy" (University of Florida, 1958). For the argument of linkage be-

38

tween the China Lobby and the isolationists, see Leonard Liggio, "Isolationism.
Old and New," Left and Right: A Journal of Libertarian Thought, II (Winter,
1966), 28-31. One should note Russell D. Buhite, Patrick J. Hurley and Ameri-
can Foreign Policy (Ithaca, 1973).

^^'^ For revisionist accounts of McCarthyism, see Athan Theoharis, Seeds of
Repression: Harry S. Truman and the Origins of McCarthyism (Chicago, 1971),
and Richard M. Freeland, The Truman Doctrine and the Origins of McCarthy-
ism (New York, 1971). Harriman in New York Times, July 11, 1952, p. 5;
"Hoover's Folly," Nation, CLXXI (December 30, 1950), 688-689.

^^^ Robert Griffith, The Politics of Fear: Joseph R. McCarthy and the Senate
(Lexington, Ky., 1970), p. 13. Richard Rovere, Senator Joe McCarthy (New
York, 1950), p. 141, denies that the Wisconsin senator was ever an isolationist,
or, for that matter, a reactionary.

^^^ Frank Chodorov, "The New Imperialism," Freeman, V (November, 1954),
162; Chodorov, "A War To Communize America," ibid., V (November, 1954),
171-174; William F. Buckley to John T. Flynn, October 22, 1956 and J.T. Flynn
to W.F. Buckley, October 23. 1956, the Papers of J.T. Flynn, University of Ore-
gon. See also Murray Rothbard, "The Transformation of the American Right,"
Continuum, II (1964), 220-231, and "Confessions of a Right Wing Liberal,"
Ramparts, VI (June 15, 1968), 47-52.

39

THE RESURGENCE OF ISOLATIONISM
AT THE END OF WORLD WAR II

By THOMAS M. CAMPBELL

The trauma of Pearl Harbor plunged the United States into its
second world war in a quarter century. Japan by her audacious attack
achieved what a public declaration of war might not have done; she
unified the contentious Americans in a flash. So dastardly was her deed
that she must be punished, along with her Nazi ally, Germany. The
Americans were united, but we might ask, what on? Aside from their
anger and lust for revenge, the evidence of the wartime years makes
abundantly clear that the country never settled on clearly defined
goals.

This is not to say that there was any lack of consensus on abstract
war aims: peace, justice, freedom there was the noble language of the
Atlantic Charter. The nation also had major economic ambitions,
which, while not always clearly grasped by the man on Main Street,
were assiduously pursued by the government: a broader system of free
trade, such as breaking down the British system of imperial preferences,
and securing a stronger position in controlling raw materials areas in
the oil rich Middle East, and the markets of Asia. There were highly
publicized government plans to fulfill these aims: the Bretton Woods
agreements for a new international money system and the Dumbarton
Oaks Proposals which charted a course toward a new international
peace organization.

Despite the work and publicity attending these efforts, Americans
never achieved consensus on how their postwar foreign policy should
be implemented. It is thus misleading to look at expressions of involve-
ment in world affairs, to examine the feverish activity associated with
Bretton Woods and the United Nations and conclude that the spirit of
internationalism triumphed in America during the war. Historians have
accepted the wartime idea that isolationism died with the sinking of
the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. During the war years it seemed to many
people that America must not again turn its back on the world, as it
had in 1919. They took as proof of their new maturity in world affairs
the highly publicized campaigns for postwar involvement in the United
Nations, but, as William H. McNeill astutely observed, the UN was too
easily seen as a talisman possessing inherent power to settle disputes
among nations. ^

In fact, there remained throughout the war a strong cross current
of opinions about the nature of America's postwar involvement. Despite
its great effort through lend-lease to supply our allies with the economic
sinews of war, there were doubts that Congress would provide large
scale postwar aid to Russia and Britain. Despite all of the attention
on the UN, the nation failed to resolve the crucial question of how
American forces would be committed to action under the new postwar

41

security arrangements. The U.S. also accepted a more extensive veto
power than either the government or the pubHc really wanted. The
public and government seemed fickle about wartime political and
territorial problems.

Based on the public record alone, we can see that the expectations
the American people placed in the UN to assure peace almost immedi-
ately proved a vain hope. From its opening sessions in 1946, when the
former wartime allies clashed over Iran, the UN was primarily a battle-
ground for the emerging Cold War. I contend that the disillusionment
of the American people in the years from 1945 to 1950, the period which
Herbert Feis aptly called "From Trust to Terror," was greater than they
experienced after World War I.

In the context of the theme of this session, "tensions between in-
volvement and non-involvement," the entire decade of the 1940s saw
many examples that show conclusively how Americans agonized over
this problem. It may be that isolationism was not the pre-eminent motif
in the orchestration of foreign policy. I believe, however, that its in-
fluence was present to an extent most historians have missed. Its major
ramification was negative the ways in which it impeded strong, clear,
affirmative actions in foreign policy. Like the spectre of Christmas
Past torturing Dickens' Scrooge for a mean life, isolationism haunted
Americans in the form of Wilson's tragic experience.

To see its full impact in World War II requires consideration of
the term itself. I raise the question of whether isolationism is a term that
assumes a somewhat different form in the forties. That is, it was not
a matter of the nation shutting itself off from the world by adopting neu-
trality laws and burying its head in international sands. Isolationism
in a world conflict and in the uncertain period immediately thereafter
needs to be defined in terms of what was meant by world involvement
in a half destroyed world particularly a planet thrust suddenly into
the atomic era. The times demanded vision on questions involving
colonialism, nationalism, re-thinking of accepted political ideologies,
sovereignty, race, and population growth, as well as resource use and
allocation, to say nothing of controlling arms technology. Facing up
to these matters would have necessitated embracing the kind of pro-
gram espoused by Wendell Wilkie, Henry Wallace, and other exponents
of "one world" ideas.

Most American leaders and the public at large shied away from ad-
vanced commitments in international relations. While embracing with
naive enthusiasm American participation in an international organiza-
tion, the people within a short time after the end of the war were advo-
cating a strongly nationalist program. Recently, historians have pointed
out that Truman's anti-communist rhetoric, from the time of the Tru-
man Doctrine speech on, contributed to the rise of McCarthyism. It
should be stressed more, I think, that it was the public that expressed
greater fear and hostility to Russia and communism while Truman's
public statements were more conciliatory in the period between VJ
Day and March 1947.2

42

What occurred was that the public's enthusiasm for the UN was
more an infatuation than a commitment. The American people looked
to the UN as an easy means of security. By placing faith in an inter-
national organization they could achieve an inexpensive means of keep-
ing peace. It would not be necessary to maintain large armed forces.
As was their traditional bent, Americans wanted only to end the war,
demobilize, and return to their individual domestic pursuits. When
international realities showed this to be impossible, the people reacted
initially by a growing hostility to Russia and communism for there had
always been a solid one-third of the people who distrusted Russia even
at the high tide of wartime cooperation and began taking out their
fear and frustration in the postwar "Red Scare." ^ Here it is important
to note that McCarthy was a relative latecomer to the movement, the
tide of which began running by 1946. This anti-communist hysteria,
which peaked in the early fifties, contains strong overtones of isolation-
ism: an uncritical assumption of the superiority of domestic institutions;
demands for conformity; super-patriotism; the search for scapegoats,
blaming international ills on foreign countries; immigration restrictions;
obsession with foreign subversion; exorcising of past mistakes in foreign
policy. In short, by the later 1940s the nation had swung from support
of international organization to a mood of paranoiac self-purification.
This condition precluded rational examination of crisis situations.
During this time of national myopia the government moved the country
solidly into its role as world policeman, with all of the tragic ramifica-
tions that have since become apparent.

Perhaps the peak of optimistic internationalism in the decade oc-
curred in the months after the Teheran conference of November 1943.
Congressional resolutions had buoyed public confidence; polls showed
strong support for international organization; and Hull secured Roose-
velt's unenthusiastic acquiescence to his more advanced views of a
powerful league, as outlined by the State Department's draft plan of
December 1943.^ Erosion set in by the time the major powers^ gathered
in Washington for the Dumbarton Oaks conference on August 21, 1944.
Numerous fissures had appeared by then in the earlier unity of public
and governmental support.

Among the first such fissures was critics' charge that the conference
represented nothing more than an attempt by the great allied powers
to impose their will on the postwar world. Some claimed that Dumbar-
ton Oaks would result in a twentieth century Holy Alliance. The power-
ful nations would plan the future of the smaller countries without con-
sulting them; Dumbarton Oaks would confront the world with a fait
accompli in the dark art of power politics. The most prominent person
expressing this fear was New York governor Thomas E. Dewey, that
year's Republican presidential candidate. The theme was quickly picked
up by the isolationist press, notably the Patterson, McCormick, and
Hearst newspaper chains. It also sparked debate in Congress.^ As evi-
dence that it touched a deep-seated popular fear, the great power dom-
inance theme received serious discussion in many middle of the road

43

and liberal papers and journals during the early phase of the Dumbar-
ton Oaks talks. '^

The Roosevelt administration, already extremely sensitive about
dredging up old isolationist shibboleths, went into a private frenzy as
Roosevelt, Hull, and Stettinius became certain that they were about
to share Wilson's dreadful fate. Dewey's barrage threatened to make
foreign policy a major campaign issue; the administration feared that
this course would plunge the entire question of international organiza-
tion into a thicket of partisan debate, as had occurred in 1919-1920.
To prevent this, Hull brought the Republicans into the administration
tent by holding several lengthy discussions with John Foster Dulles,
Dewey's adviser on foreign policy matters. Contact with the Dewey
campaign continued quietly through the liaison work of Hugh R. Wil-
son, a Republican and former ambassador. Promised consideration of
their views and reassured about the administration's commitment to
a genuinely democratic UN, Republican leaders conducted a low key
and generally uncritical campaign on foreign policy. Much has been
made of this bi-partisan cooperation and its success. In fact, it was an
understanding honored more by the GOP than the Democrats. Late in
the campaign Roosevelt resorted to partisan tactics himself when he
lambasted the Republicans as spokesmen of isolationism in American
life and captured much of the internationalist vote by his emphatic
endorsement of granting the US representative on the Security Coun-
cil the power to commit American troops.^

Perhaps because foreign policy questions were not candidly dis-
cussed, there was an even stronger protest against the secrecy surround-
ing the Dumbarton Oaks conference than might have occurred other-
wise. The government was partly to blame. Having heralded the gather-
ing of the powers then meeting in the capital to prepare the UN blue-
print and having opened the proceedings amid loud fanfare, the delega-
tions proceeded to operate in close to absolute secrecy. Undersecre-
tary Edward R. Stettinius, who headed the American group, handled
the publicity matter badly from the outset. The irritation of capital cor-
respondents, who had anticipated a freer flow of information, soon was
reflected in stinging editorials attacking "Dumb Oaks" and asserting the
public's right to know what was happening. Thus, another isolationist
characteristic dislike of secret diplomacy reentered the picture.^

The private negotiations produced significant agreement, yet this
success should not blind us to problems the diplomats postponed. One
example was the future of dependent peoples. The British opposed
discussion of the topic, and the Americans agreed, because of bureau-
cratic conflicts between the State Department and military leaders in
in the Pentagon over postwar bases. ^ Although this problem involved
not so much isolationist elements as it did the security question, the
whole issue of postwar security via the UN did pose a dilemma, which
at its root was tied in with fears of isolationism. This was the issue of
the procedure by which the government would commit American troops
to action under the UN. Would the representative on the Security Coun-

44

cil hold this power; would Congress, in effect, turn over its war declar-
ing power to the executive branch? Or would Congress insist that this
authority remain in its own hands, with Congress having to approve
in advance each authorization of force via the UN?

No more serious constitutional issue faced the Americans as they
forged ahead with the UN. Why was it not satisfactorily resolved?
The problem was certainly recognized; it received considerable treat-
ment at the time, ranging from scholarly treatises to popular radio
forums. Despite this public attention, in which the preponderant theme
was recognition that some standing authorization from Congress should
be given to allow for rapid action in light of changes in military techno-
logy, the administration preferred to allow the matter to drift. Even
though the president later came out for placing power in the hands of
the executive branch, neither he nor the State Department pushed
Congress for a commitment to this change. As had been the case in
dealing with Congress in the thirties, the administration did not exert
as much pressure on Congress as might have been justified by public
support, out of fear of a head-on clash over the direction of foreign
policy.

Hull and his successor, Stettinius, carefully courted congressional
leaders on all UN questions. By this means the administration knew how
sensitive and reluctant Congress was to diminish its control over war
declaratory powers. The outcome was really a conspiracy of silence,
in which the problem was postponed to be faced after the Senate had
approved the yet to be written UN charter. ^^ The entire episode was
reminiscent of the struggle between the executive and legislative branch-
es during 1919-1920. Even though less open than the bitter confronta-
tions of the Wilson years, the issue at the time of Dumbarton Oaks was
more significant. The Constitution's allocation of the power to declare
war to Congress and the power to make war to the executive branch
was one of the most important checks against the misuse of national
power built into the federal system. The question was not squarely faced
in the forties owing to fear both within the Roosevelt administration
and among congressional UN supporters that it would raise antagonisms
that might undercut the whole UN movement. Inherent in this failure
was fear of isolationist opposition building around the question once
it was faced. The pattern of the postwar years, in which presidents
have resorted to police actions and waged war by gaining congression-
al support in a crisis situation, has created a condition in which
the original provisions of the constitution have been twisted almost
beyond recognition. That the question was not frankly broached during
the war illustrates the problem inherent in the tension between involve-
ment and non-involvement.

The administration's sensitivity over isolationism also possibly re-
sulted in its failing to stand by an initial demand for veto free voting
procedures in the UN in cases where a permanent power was party to
a dispute. There were strong differences in the American delegation
at Dumbarton Oaks over the extent of the veto, with the military repre-

45

sentatives and Breckinridge Long, Assistant Secretary of State, favor-
ing a more complete veto to mollify the Russians. ^^ Roosevelt, Hull
and Stettinius favored the more limited veto. Even after compromise
on this issue at Yalta, the US delegation to the San Francisco conference
wished there were some way to go back to the original US position.
Truman shared this view, but at no time did the Americans press their
private views. Partly this was out of concern that Russia would not
accept it, but doubts that Congress would agree to any diminution of
sovereignty were significant in the picture. ^^

As with the war declaring jurisdiction, the executive branch had no
wish for confrontation with Congress. In both cases part of the motiva-
tion was to cooperate with Congress to assure smooth Senate approval
of the UN Charter. There was also the real fear that these controversial
questions would stir an isolationist reaction. Thus, relations between
Congress and the executive branch were clearly limited. Interestingly,
during the period when these important issues were being considered,
there occurred an alarming weakening in public confidence about the
future course of international relations. This coincided with the govern-
ment's campaign to educate the public about the Dumbarton Oaks
Proposals, October 1944 to June 1945. In looking at this period his-
torians have emphasized the overwhelming support for membership in
the UN, pointing to the successful completion of the United Nations
Conference in San Francisco as proof of the pudding. Indeed, one can
cite impressive evidence: certain opinion polls; the overwhelming
approval of the Senate; the warm support of newspaper editorials,
speeches, and official statements. ^^ Closer examination reveals, I
think, that some reappraisal is in order.

What occurred to crack the public optimism is primarily tied in
with the events of the war in Europe. There was widespread anticipa-
tion in September and October 1944 that Germany would surrender
soon, perhaps before the end of the year. Hitler's counter offensive on
the western front in December shocked many Americans, who were
surprised at this apparent evidence that Germany was stronger than
previously believed. Public estimates of the length of the war shifted
sharply, with most people thinking the war would continue as long as
another full year.^^

To this depressing circumstance was added a more significant one
the jockeying of Russia and Britain for advantage in Europe. Evidence
of this developing struggle had accumulated in the form of reports from
Harriman and other ambassadors on the President's and Secretary of
State's desks for some months prior to December, when the Anglo-
Soviet rivalry hit the American people fully for the first time.^^ Having
been led down the primrose path marked by government statements
lauding Allied closeness and cooperation, the public was shocked to
discover that out of the horror of war the old European depravities (as
Americans saw them) of the balance of power, interference in internal
affairs, and power politics seemed to be emerging once again.

The unpleasant truths first surfaced in Italy where the Bonomi

46

government grew steadily weaker in the fall and collapsed at the end
of November. The emerging leadership of Count Carlo Sforza as pos-
sible premier or foreign minister signaled a leftward move. Churchill
regarded Sforza as a Communist puppet and charged that he was vio-
lating an earlier pledge to abstain from political involvement. In De-
cember Churchill announced that Britain would withhold support of
any Italian government which included Sforza in the cabinet. ^^

From London, Ambassador John G. Winant reported that Churchill
was acting capriciously out of personal pique. Winant contended that
Sfroza's presence in the government did not portend a Communist
takeover and that no vital British interests would be threatened by
Sforza becoming foreign minister. Rather, the real culprit was Churchill
who wanted an Italian government completely subject to British will.

The American press roundly criticized Churchill, arguing that the
British were forgetting the Atlantic Charter and lapsing into their
familiar style of power politics. Reporters besieged the State Depart-
ment with inquiries as to the government's position on the Italian ques-
tion. Secretary Stettinius responded personally by reading a statement
on December 5:

The position of this Government has been consistently that the
composition of the Italian Government is purely an Italian af-
fair. . . . This Government has not in any way intimated to the
Italian Government that there would be any opposition on its
part to Count Sforza. . . . We have reaffirmed to both the British
and Italian Governments that we expect the Italians to work out
their problems of government along democratic lines without
influence from the outside. This policy would apply to an even
more pronounced degree with regards to governments of the
United Nations in their liberated territories.^^

Newspapers blazoned the American statement and by December 6
millions of people were reading about an Anglo-American split.

News from Greece compounded the Anglo-American crisis. A civil
war erupted in Athens in early December in which British backed roya-
list forces were pitted against the Communist guerrilla National Libera-
tion Front (EAM). American press coverage portrayed the guerrillas as
freedom fighters, making light of their communist connections, while
reporters' accounts and editorials painted the British as imperialists.
The struggle in Greece raged throughout December with British mili-
tary units in a conspicuous role. Finally Churchill and Foreign Minister
Eden visited Athens and emerged with a truce. ^^

Much of the American anger with Britain represented a deep-
seated distrust of British motives, harkening back to World War I and
earlier, a feeling that the British were trying to use the Americans
to keep their empire intact. Editors and commentators welcomed the
State Department statement as proof that the United States was uphold-
ing the Atlantic Charter and telling Britain that Washington would not
tolerate a return to imperialism. Statements of righteous indignation

47

came from Congress. In the Senate Allen Ellender (D.-La.) castigated
Britain for "taking the lead in causing the disunity among the Allies."
He charged that the British hoped to expand their already vast empire
by forming power blocs "here and there all over the world." Stettinius
reported to the President that members of the Senate Foreign Relations
Committee were "considerably aroused" by British actions in the Medi-
terranean. The committee had expressed itself as wanting the peoples
to have complete freedom in choosing their government, ^o

During this same period American alarm over Russian actions in
Europe reached a new high. Russia's conduct in the earlier Warsaw up-
rising and the harsh armistice terms imposed on Rumania and Bulgaria
created public uneasiness in America as to what the future held for
Eastern Europe. By mid-December Stalin had concluded a twenty year
alliance with the DeGaulle regime in France and seemed ready to recog-
nize a separate Moscow dominated government for Poland. Hoping to
forestall this last action, Roosevelt and Churchill had urged Stalin to
wait until they could discuss Poland at the forthcoming Yalta meeting.
Additionally, the two western allies issued statements indicating willing-
ness to approve territorial changes mutually agreed upon between Rus-
sia and Poland. 21

These European developments upset many Americans. They re-
garded Russia as generally preparing the ground for domination of
Eastern Europe, while the British scrambled to control governments
in Western Europe and the Mediterranean. There was particular sensi-
tivity on Poland. Many citizens, notably the large ethnic groups of other
eastern European nations, feared that the State Department was con-
niving at the political dissembling of the great powers and abandoning
the promises of the Atlantic Charter. The President of the American-
Polish Congress sent a wire to Roosevelt denouncing the British "aban-
donment of the Atlantic Charter" and claimed that both Russia and
Britain were pursuing their own national interests at the expense of the
common war aims of the United Nations. 22 National concern over the
erosion of American war aims was expressed with growing alarm as
the month passed. The Catholic bishops of the United States, mindful
of the fate of millions of the Church's faithful in Europe and the in-
fluence of their American descendents in the United States, issued a
peace manifesto in early December condemning allied actions in Eu-
rope. "If public opinion is indifferent or uninformed, we shall run the
risk of a bad peace and perhaps return to the tragedy of 'power polities',
which in the past divided nations and sowed the seeds of war. . . . We
have no confidence in a peace which does not carry into effect, with-
out reservations or equivocations, the principles of the Atlantic
Charter."23

Roosevelt returned to the capital on December 19 from a three
week vacation at the Little White House in Georgia. He immediately
added to the furor over the Atlantic Charter when he responded to a
reporter's question with the off-hand remark that neither he nor
Churchill had ever signed an agreement at their Atlantic Conference

48

meeting in August 1941. He explained that the Charter was put out in
the form of a press release and not a state paper. When the newspapers
reported this remark as evidence that the administration was discarding
the principles of the Charter, Roosevelt, at a press conference on
December 22, tried to close the proverbial barn door by asserting that
the goals of the Atlantic Charter still represented his views and that
he stood squarely behind them.^^

To those in the Department of State who advocated the early es-
tablishment of an international organization, the most disturbing im-
pact of the crisis in Allied relations was the damage to the people's
faith in the Dumbarton Oaks Proposals. The energetic campaign by the
Department and private internationalist groups to sell the proposals
to the people had stimulated wide discussion. There had been hundreds
of suggestions for modification, all of which was healthy enough until
the analysis of the Dumbarton Oaks agreements got entangled in the
disillusionment with events in Europe. Reports coming across Stettinius'
desk by December 21 plainly showed that dangerous development.

A State Department survey of leading newspaper editors from all
over the Midwest indicated that, while they supported the idea of a
postwar organization, recent developments in eastern Europe and the
Balkans had led them to conclude that a substantial reappraisal of the
Dumbarton Oaks Proposals was necessary. Stettinius warned the Presi-
dent that unless the chief European Allies altered their policies in the
liberated areas, "favorable action on the world security organization
may be jeopardized," and the United States might retreat into isolation-
ism. ^^ Despite efforts to publicize the proposals, opinion polls indicated
,that ignorance of the structure and functions of the projected organi-
zation was widespread. The superficial knowledge thus demonstrated
was ominous, for it indicated that national devotion to the cause of inter-
national organization might be artificial and turn toward isolationism. ^6

Stettinius worked to elicit a vigorous, clarifying statement from the
President on the goals and directions in United States foreign policy.
At the first meeting of his Staff Committee Stettinius dwelt on the
need to have the White House issue a strong statement, and Assistant
Secretary Archibald MacLeish added that there was real danger that
the presidential silence on foreign policy might make the public angry
over what it deemed attempts to keep them in ignorance. Stettinius
directed MacLeish to work with presidential speech writer Sam Rosen-
man on including a positive, forthright declaration of American goals
in the forthcoming State of the Union message. When the Secretary of
State met with Roosevelt, however, on December 30 he found the
President inclined to avoid such a clear statement. Roosevelt believed
that State Department recommendations "went a bit far at this time"
and preferred to keep the State of the Union message confined to
generalities, "that he should primarily say we had gone to war because
we had been attacked by aggressors and that it was our desire to end
the war and bring our troops home as soon as possible." Stettinius was
distressed at Roosevelt's inclination to avoid asserting strong leadership

49

over developments in Allied relations. He pressed his point by showing
Roosevelt public opinion polls gathered by the State Department which
reflected increasing discontent among the people. He also noted pri-
vately of the President, "He did not show in his discussion with me the
keen grasp I had hoped he would get from the memorandum we had
sent to him." But Stettinius had no alternative under orders from the
President except to have MacLeish and Matthews re-draft the foreign
policy section of the State of the Union message. ^'^

Reports from public opinion expert Hadley Cantril emphasized the
importance of Stettinius' effort to obtain a strong presidential statement
on foreign policy. Cantril reported to the White House and State De-
partment a deterioration in public confidence regarding the conduct
of foreign policy. While Americans backed the UN concept, their
attitudes were disjointed. There was no clear, deep commitment:

With opinion uncrystallized and with people generally disinter-
ested in the mechanics needed to achieve lasting peace, there is
little doubt that they expect and desire strong leadership and
would support the policies and mechanics the President felt
necessary to achieve the ideals he has expressed. . . .^s

With the President relying too much on his own influence over
Stalin and Churchill, the State Department, which had taken charge
of building public support for the UN, was left to look at the gloomy
harvest of public attitudes in the difficult period of the winter of 1944-
1945. On January 3, the Division of Public Liaison reported to Secretary
Stettinius that the public "continues to feel a marked deterioration"
in international relations. Experts attributed this to distaste for British
and Russian power politics and efforts to carve out spheres of influence.
Polls showed the people suffering "basic conflicts"; idealists were
pressing for a greater sense of moral purpose and adherence to the
Atlantic Charter; nationalists questioning the magnitude of sacrifice
and thinking the US had better pull out of European affairs altogether;
realists wanting to continue prosecuting the war and fearing a trend
toward isolationism. The report indicated deepening pessimism as to
whether Congress would back membership in the UN and concluded:

In view of the volatile character of American opinion its exces-
sive sensitivity to specific events frequently oversimplified and
inadequately understood a heavy responsibility devolves on
those who can, in their day-to-day writings, do much to estab-
lish a valid /ram^ of reference for the public judgment. ^9

Simultaneously, Archibald MacLeish told the top-level Staff Com-
mittee that the people were confused over the purpose of the Dumbar-
ton Oaks Proposals and could not tell if the proposals were simply a
trial balloon or constituted an actual basis for negotiations. In a special
report to Roosevelt the State Department had to admit that after three
months of publicity only 43% of the people had even heard of the Dum-
barton Oaks Proposals. Of those who knew of them half "have no
opinion as to whether the Proposals provide a real and practical' basis

50

for setting up an international organization to maintain world peace. "^o

Further deterioration in support of the UN policy resulted from
recent events in Europe. A mid-January analysis of opinion, prepared
for Roosevelt, found that 52% of the public disapproved of Britain's
military role in Greece, yet people opposed the US taking a more active
role in direct aid to liberated nations. The number of Americans dis-
contented over relations with Britain and Russia had nearly doubled
during December, rising from 28% to 44%. Most significant, half of the
people believed that European developments would make it harder
for the UN to succeed, six percent thought the UN could not possibly
succeed now, while only 20% thought European events would have
little impact on it.^i

At the heart of the problem was the dilemma between the idealism
expressed in world cooperation through the UN and the self-interests
of the great powers. State Department officials clearly recognized it.
In a Secretary's Staff Committee meeting on February 9 top officials
considered a report which warned that government spokesmen had
misrepresented the UN by claiming it could stop war by force. Perhaps
because many Americans continued to lack understanding of the essen-
tial nature of the Dumbarton Oaks Proposals, they had grasped this
unreal concept of the UN's powers. Assistant Secretary Dean Acheson
warned that the government must make clear that the UN's success
depended upon great power cooperation. This unity, in turn, rested
on the powers' reaching accommodation among themselves outside
of the UN framework regarding wartime political and territorial prob-
lems. Nelson Rockefeller added, "if we should follow this policy of
candor the American people would probably feel at first a sense of
shock, but . . . this would be followed by a feeling of much greater
realism." MacLeish concurred that unless the administration made the
public aware of the differences between disputes of the smaller nations,
which the UN could handle, and the differences among great powers,
which they must settle among themselves, ". . . the disillusionment of
the American people will be greater than after the last war."32

Roosevelt counted on personal diplomacy at the summit and the
agreements he reached as sufficient to bolster flagging public support
and divert congressional criticism. For a brief period after publication
of the Yalta communique public confidence did revive; the mood might
even be called euphoric. Events in Europe, deadlocks among the powers
over Poland, and other issues soon showed that Yalta had simply raised
false hopes. If anything, Roosevelt misled the people about the depth
of Allied unity, thus contributing to the public disillusionment after
the war.

Although State Department spokesmen were anxious to correct
errors in public thinking, they never succeeded. This was largely be-
cause the President persisted in believing that he could provide suf-
ficient public guidance through his summit diplomacy, reports to the
nation, and news conferences. Roosevelt never acknowledged that the
gap perceived by the State Department existed. Secretary Stettinius,

51

abroad at the Mexico City conference and then preoccupied with pre-
paring the American delegation for the UN conference, neglected to
urge a more candid policy on the President. Thus, although public
opinion continued by a large majority to support US participation in
the UN, Americans remained ignorant of how the UN would actually
work and what limitations existed in its powers. The State Department's
Division of Public Liaison concluded on the eve of the San Francisco
Conference that:

The significant increase in popular support for American partici-
pation in an international peace organization has not been ac-
companied by widespread familiarity with the facts about Amer-
ica's record of international cooperation. Despite public dis-
cussion of the League of Nations and other international organ-
izations; the general public remains largely uninformed as to whe-
ther the United States had participated in the most outstanding
international organizations. ^^

This lack of public comprehension raised questions in the State
Department about the stability of American commitment to the UN
policy. In fact, events showed that public commitment was shallow.
The war conditioned Americans to think in black and white terms.
In the shock of the early cold war the public easily transferred its anti-
pathy from fascism to communism, thereby missing almost completely
the noncommunist force of revolutionary nationalism that was at work.

In the spring of 1945, the UN policy was becoming increasingly
illusory. To most people it offered an easy means of avoiding hard
thinking about foreign problems. It was easy to support the general
idea without knowing what responsibilities membership would entail.
The UN promised a maximum of security for a minimum American mili-
tary investment, and in its idealistic cloak, it appealed to the Utopian
streak in Americans.

The administration continued to rely on the UN policy, but was now
using it to cover its secret review of Soviet relations. This review was
undermining the UN policy, though government simultaneously assured
the public that all was well. Thus in the spring of 1945 the gap between
official rhetoric and official fears grew ever wider.

Recurring signs of isolationism can be found, of course, in areas
other than America's UN policy. There was a greater preoccupation
among Americans with post-war domestic matters than with foreign
policy. Roosevelt had continually been concerned that the American
people would not support any long-range troop presence overseas; and
the pressure for rapid demobilization after the war backs up his per-
ception as accurate. Americans were manifesting their time honored
penchant for winning the war, then returning to their primary concerns
with opportunities at home. People were more interested in and anxious
about jobs, staving off a new depression, and higher wages, than the
shape of postwar foreign policy. Public attitudes after the war, at least
to the point of the Truman Doctrine message, reflected a war weari-
ness and a wariness toward overseas involvement. For example, a ma-

52

jority of people believed that allied nations should repay lend-lease
aid, and 60% of the people opposed postwar loans to Britain and Russia.
The Truman administration had doubts about its ability to persuade
the public to assume the burdens of confronting the Russian challenge,
and not until after a strong presidential and government propaganda
campaign did it succeed in winning support for the Marshall program
in 1947.34

The opposition of Ohio's Robert Taft toward the Marshall plan and
later on committing US troops in Europe's NATO defense is well known.
Contemporary observers even saw in the early 1950s a "new isolation-
ism" in America. 35

Was isolationism in this period influential? Yes, in that it reinforced
the tendency of spokesmen in both the second Truman administration
and Eisenhower's administration to make promises in Congressional
hearings on proposed defense treaties which understated the possi-
bilities of committing US forces overseas.^^ Its influence was not criti-
cal in that the American government had earlier adopted the course
of building a western entente and making the US the bulwark of the
free world's struggle against communist expansionism. The point at
which isolationism exerted a policy changing influence came in 1944-
1945. The Roosevelt administration approached the Dumbarton Oaks
negotiations on international organization in the grip of the fear of the
havoc isolationism had wrought in past years. In fact, numerous isola-
tionist elements surfaced between August 1944 and June 1945. Wise
and determined presidential leadership during this critical period, I
contend, could have put to rest the fears of many Americans. Despite
their misgivings, most people looked with hope toward international
organization and would have supported a stronger charter than was
written by the San Francisco conference. The people cried out for
greater candor from the White House.

Why did Roosevelt fail to exercise the needed initiative? Was it
because of his deteriorating health? In part, perhaps, for the time in
question coincides with the president's steady physical decline. It could
be argued that he no longer had the resources required for bold leader-
ship. 3'^ Yet he rose to the occasion during the 1944 election and at Yal-
ta he maintained a demanding schedule and seemed able to make
numerous major decisions. Roosevelt bowed to isolationist pressures
less out of reasons of health than because it went against his political
nature to be fully honest with the American people. Perhaps Roose-
velt's guile is best understood when we realize that he was never as fully
committed to internationalist thinking as Wilson. 38

To what degree was the President a realist? A realistic policy in 1945
required that he frankly inform the public about the security interests
of Russia and Britain and utilize government agencies to educate the
people about limitations in the principle of self-determination for re-
gions such as eastern Europe. Secondly, Roosevelt would need to have
pushed harder for a stronger UN. It may not be too far-fetched to en-
vision Russian agreement to a more limited veto in exchange for Ameri-

53

can support of the Soviet proposed UN air force and a genuine role for
Russia as a trustee nation.

These alternatives to Roosevelt's actual course of action should
not ignore the problem of Russia's motives and policies. Given Stalin's
situation in 1944-1945, serious postwar tensions were probably unavoid-
able. This still does not absolve Roosevelt of missing a great oppor-
tunityperhaps the only chance of avoiding the bitterness of the Cold
War. For whatever reasons, Roosevelt did miss his chance. The impact
of isolationism at the end of World War II left the people confused and
fearful as they moved into the postwar years. It was the seedbed of dis-
illusionment and the turn toward nationalism and reliance on military
force in the following years.

FOOTNOTES

^ William H. McNeill, America, Britain, and Russia: Their Co-operation and
Conflict, 1941-1946 (London, 1953), p. 501.

2 Athan Theoharis, "The Rhetoric of Politics: Foreign Policy, Internal Security
and Domestic Politics in the Truman Era, 1945-1950," in Barton J. Bernstein
(ed.), Politics and Policies of the Truman Administration (Chicago, 1970), pp.
196-206.

3 Warren B. Walsh, "American Attitudes toward Russia," The Antioch Review,
7 (1947-1948), 185.

^ Robert A. Divine, Roosevelt and World War II (Baltimore, 1969), pp. 65-66.
^ The United States, Russia, Britain, with China replacing Russia for a second
phase of the conversations.

^ The New York Times, Aug. 17, 1944; Chicago Tribune, Aug. 21, 1944; New
York Herald-Tribune, Aug. 22, 1944; Brooklyn Eagle, Aug. 22, 1944; New York
Journal-American, Aug. 28, 1944; Congressional Record, 78th Cong., 2d sess.,
pt. 6, pp. 7334-7336.

"^ New York Times, Aug. 18, 1944; Christian Science Monitor, Aug. 21, 1944;
Philadelphia Inquirer, Aug. 21, 1944; New Republic, 111 (Aug. 28, 1944), pp.
237, 247.

^ Edward R. Stettinius, Jr., calendar notes, Aug. 21 and Aug. 22, 1944; Stettinius-
Hull, transcript of telephone conversation. Aug. 20. 1944, The Edward R. Stet-
tinius, Jr. Papers, Charlottesville, Va.; Josephus Daniels to Hull, Sept. 12, 1944,
The Papers of Cordell Hull, Library of Congress; Stettinius, Dumbarton Oaks
Diary, Sept. 17, 1944, Stettinius Papers; Hugh R. Wilson to Dulles, Oct. 14, 1944,
The John Foster Dulles Papers, Princeton University Library; Robert A. Divine,
Second Chance: The Triumph of Internationalism in America during World
War II (New York, 1967), pp. 237-242.

^ Washington Star, Aug. 21, 1944; New York Herald-Tribune, Aug. 21, 1944;
Chicago Tribune, Aug. 22, 1944; Washington Post, Aug. 23, 1944; Brooklyn

54

Eagle, Aug. 24, 1944; New York Sun, Aug. 24, 1944; Christian Science Monitor,
Sept. 2 and Sept. 13, 1944; Dept. of State, Press and Radio News Conferences,
transcript, Sept. 4, 1944; Stettinius, Dumbarton Oaks Diary, Sept. 4, 1944,
Stettinius Papers.

^^ Dept. of State, Foreign Relations of the United States (Hereafter, FRUS),
1944, vol. I, General, pp. 699-705; Ruth Russell, A History of the United Nations
Charter: The Role of the United States, 1941-1945 (Washington, 1958), pp. 175-
177.

1^ Examples of important works in 1944 include Dexter Perkins, America and
Two Wars (Boston, 1944); Edward S. Corwin, The Constitution and World Or-
ganization (Princeton, 1944); Kenneth Colegrove, The American Senate and
World Peace (New York, 1944); Stettinius, Dumbarton Oaks Diary, Sept. 17,
1944; S. Shephard Jones to Breckinridge Long, Nov. 22, 1944; Stettinius-Con-
nally, transcript of telephone conversation. Mar. 15, 1945, Stettinius Papers.
Significant insight into why the Republicans did not push for a decision on the
use of force issue is provided by correspondence in the Dulles Papers: letters be-
tween Vandenberg and Dulles, Sept. 6, 9, and 11, 1944, July 3, 1945; Dulles to
Hugh R. Wilson with enclosure, Sept. 21, 1944; Wilson to Dulles, Sept. 23, 1944,
Dulles Papers.

^2 Thomas M. Campbell, The Masquerade Peace: America's UN Policy, 1944-
1945 (Tallahassee, 1973), pp. 38-40, 53-55.
^^ Stettinius calendar notes. May 23, 1945, Stettinius Papers.
^'^ Dorothy B. Robins, Experiment in Democracy: The Story of U.S. Citizens
Organizations in Forging the Charter of the United Nations (New York, 1971),
pp. 62-72, 79-80, 82-84, 91-99.
^^ Public Opinion Quarterly, 9 (Spring, 1945), 91.

16 FRUS, 1944, IV, Europe, pp. 233-289, 855, 883-884, 908-911, 1372, 1415-
1416.

1'^ Anthony Eden, The Reckoning (Boston, 1968), pp. 574-582; Stettinius Re-
cord, vol. I, pp. 7-10, Stettinius Papers.

18 Washington Times-Herald, Dec. 7, 1944; New Republic, 111 (Dec. 11, 1944),
783-784; Dept. of State Bulletin, 11 (Dec. 10, 1944), 722.

19 FRUS, 1944, vol. 5, The Near East, South Asia, Africa, the Far East, pp.
141-161; Eden, The Reckoning, pp. 574-582.

2^ Gabriel Kolko, The Politics of War: The World and United States Foreign
Policy, 1943-1945 (New York, 1968), pp. 99, 96-98; Time, 44 (Dec. 18, 1944),
17; Congressional Record, 78th Cong., 2d sess., 1944, pt. 7, pp. 8975-8976.

21 House of Commons Debates, Dec. 14, 1944, 5th ser., vol. 406, col. 1481;
New York Post, Dec. 18, 1944; Kolko, The Politics of War, pp. 150-151.
^ Chicago Polish Daily News, Dec. 15, 1944; Congressional Record, 78th
Cong., 2d sess., 1944, pt 7, pp. 9662-9663.

23 Congressional Record, 78th Cong., 2d sess., 1944, pt. 11, pp. A4643-A4644.

24 New York Times, Dec. 20 and Dec. 23, 1944.

25 Stettinius to Roosevelt, Memorandum with enclosed "Observations from
the Midwest," Dec. 21, 1944, Stettinius Papers.

26 Dept. of State, "Fortnightly Surveys of American Opinion on International
Affairs, December: Last Half," No. 18, Jan. 6, 1945, Stettinius Papers.

2^ Secretary's Staff Committee, minutes, Dec. 20, 1944; Stettinius calendar
notes, Dec. 30, 1944, Stettinius Papers.

55

^ James MacGregor Burns, Roosevelt: The Soldier of Freedom (New York,
1970), p. 559.

29 Dept. of State, Div. of Public Liaison, "The Present Climate of Opinion in
the U.S. on International Developments," Jan. 3, 1945, Stettinius Papers.
^ Secretary's Staff Committee, minutes, Jan. 3, 1945; memorandum for the
President, "Latest Opinions in the U.S.A.," Jan. 6, 1945, Stettinius Papers.
3^ Hayden Raynor, memorandum for the President, "American Opinion on
Selected Questions," Jan. 16, 1945, Stettinius Papers.

^ Secretary's Staff Committee, minutes, Feb. 9, 1945; Staff Committee Docu-
ment #48, "Information Program with Respect to the Dumbarton Oaks Propo-
sals," Feb. 6, 1945, Stettinius Papers.

^ Dept. of State, Div. of Public Liaison, "Latest Opinion Trends," Feb. 23
and Mar. 10, 1945, and "Public Reaction to the Voting Formula for the Proposed
Security Council," Mar. 27, 1945, Stettinius Papers. A poll by the American In-
stitute of Public Opinion on April 24, 1945 bears out the worry of government
leaders. While 67% of the people claimed to have read or heard about the UN
Conference in San Francisco, only 34% of this group correctly knew its actual
function. Public Opinion Quarterly, 9 (Summer, 1945), 248.
34 Ibid., 9 (Winter, 1945-1946), 532-533; John L. Gaddis, The United States
and the Origins of the Cold War. 1941-1947 (New York, 1972), pp. 337-338,
341-346. One of the best analyses of Roosevelt's leadership dilemma is in Burns,
Soldier of Freedom, pp. 548-552, 590-593.

^ E.g., Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., "The New Isolationism," Atlantic Monthly,
189 (May, 1952), 34-38.

^ Walter LaFeber, America, Russia, and the Cold War. 1945-1966 (New York,
1967), pp. 77, 166-167.

3'^ On various stages of Roosevelt's health during his last year see Burns, Sol-
dier of Freedom, pp. 447-450, 498, 533, 573, 581-582. A good earlier summary
was done by Henry E. Bateman, "Observations on President Roosevelt's Health
during World War II," Mississippi Valley Historical Review, 46 (June, 1956),
82-102.
^ Divine, Roosevelt and World War II, pp. 56-71.

56

UNTAPPED RESOURCES FOR AMERICAN

DIPLOMATIC HISTORY IN THE

NATIONAL ARCHIVES

By MILTON O. GUSTAFSON

My subject is untapped resources for American diplomatic history.
Not everything I am going to mention is really untapped although
some of it is but these resources all have not and are not being fully
exploited. I will discuss the records resources in the custody of the
National Archives and Records Service, and, more specifically, those in
the custody of the Diplomatic Branch of the National Archives.

The first step to understand the untapped resources of the National
Archives and Records Service is to know what NARS is and does. Since
1950 NARS has been one of the constituent services of the General
Services Administration, the independent agency that provides build-
ing, equipment, supply, communication, and other services to all other
federal agencies. NARS provides records service.

One office in NARS, the Office of Records Management, helps agen-
cies, when asked, to solve problems in the creation and filing of current
records, in reducing paperwork, and cutting red tape. Last year their
studies resulted in a saving to the taxpayer of $31 million.

Another office is in charge of the fourteen federal records centers
located throughout the country. Each year these centers receive over
one million cubic feet of records no longer needed in offices, thus
avoiding about $10 million in storage and filing costs.

When the records of a federal agency are deemed worthy of per-
manent value, they are transferred to a third office the Office of the
National Archives. Our job is to preserve these records and make them
available for use. To do so, we must arrange and describe them, and,
increasingly, declassify them.

A fourth office has charge of presidential libraries. The papers of
the President, and the records of the White House during his presi-
dency, belong to him and are not legally federal records to be deposited
in the National Archives. Recent Presidents have chosen to preserve
those documents and make them available for use in their own build-
ings. Although the presidential library is built privately, it is adminis-
tered by NARS.

A fifth office of NARS provides resources through its publications.
The Office of the Federal Register publishes the administrative rules
and regulations of federal agencies in the daily Federal Register and the
periodic compilations in the Code of Federal Regulations. It publishes
laws in the Statutes at Large. And it publishes what the President says
and does in the Weekly Compilation of Presidential Documents and
the annual Public Papers of the President.

Now that I have explained what NARS is and does, we can turn to
a discussion of those untapped records resources in the National Ar-

57

chives and how you can find out more about them.

Unfortunately, the only comprehensive guide to the records in the
National Archives was published in 1948. It is out of date and out of
print. A new Guide has been written, and will be published as soon as
it can move successfully from the hands of computer technicians to
the printed page. But there are numerous other guides and finding aids
that are currently available.

There are guides to materials relating to the Civil War, World War I,
World War II, and Latin America, and reference information papers
on materials relating to Russia, the Middle East, the Independence of
Latin American Nations, and Rumania. In addition, there are pre-
liminary inventories or special lists that describe specific groups of
records.

Another good way to find out what is available is to read Prologue:
The Journal of the National Archives. Most of the articles are based
on records in NARS and illustrate how they can be used. One of the
best examples is the article by Thomas A. Bryson, "The Federal Career
of Walter George Smith," in the Fall 1972 issue. There is also a section
in Prologue that provides information about new accessions of records
in the National Archives, the Presidential Libraries, and the Federal
Records Centers.

The best means to determine the availability of NARS material
related to your topic is to write a letter to NARS, Washington, D.C.
20408. That letter will be opened and sent to all of the offices that might
have information necessary for a reply. The reply might well indicate
that records of interest to the pertinent topic are available on microfilm
through our microfilm publication program.

At the present time there are approximately 100,000 rolls of micro-
film containing about 100 million pages of documentary materials
available. Included are practically all of the correspondence
files of the State Department through 1906, and many of the most im-
portant subject files for the 1910-29 period. The next edition of the
National Archives Catalog of microfilm publications when it can
successfully move from the hands of the computer technicians to the
printed page will provide a roll-by-roll breakdown of all of these
microfilm publications.

The reply to your letter might indicate that there are certain spe-
cific documents or files that relate to your topic, and these can be
microfilmed or xeroxed and sent to you. Or, the reply might state that
the records of interest to you have not been microfilmed, or that there
are no single documents and files that can be reproduced, and that
there is no alternative for you except to come to the National Archives,
find your own records, and do your own research. And that does not
have to be the terrifying experience that many people think it will be.

The National Archives Building is located at 8th and Pennsylvania
Avenue and opens at 8:45 a.m. The first step is to get a research card
and talk to a reference specialist who will direct you to offices and
archivists who will provide specific assistance. The records you choose

58

to examine will be sent to a central research room, and they will be kept
there as long as you want them. That room is open until 10 p.m. Monday
through Friday, and 8:45 to 5:00 on Saturday.

The historical researchers who use our resources, either by mail
or in person, can be divided into three main categories. The first are
those who have comprehensive topics, such as U.S. relations with Japan
from 1937-1941, and who must examine a vast amount of material among
the holdings of several different offices. The second are those who wish
to examine a small and specific body of records relating to a specific
topic, usually for a master's thesis or article or perhaps a dissertation.
The third are those who want to examine only a few isolated documents
that relate in some way to a larger theme or topic. Researchers in this
third category usually know exactly what they want, and it is a relatively
easy job for us to assist them. For those in the first or second categories,
it would probably be helpful if they knew a little about the way the
records of the State Department are arranged.

The National Archives has organized the records of the State De-
partment into eleven different record groups. Record Group 59 is the
General Records of the Department of State. The 19,000 cubic feet of
records in this record group are divided into two large sub-groups called
central file records, which have been the ones most used by diplomatic
historians, and non-central file records. It is helpful to know that the
central file records are divided into three main time periods (1789-1906,
1906-10, 1910-49) because of the way the State Department originally
filed its records.

The records in the central file dated before 1906 consist primarily
of correspondence instructions, despatches, notes, and letters filed
by country or city in chronological order. Because of this arrangement,
it is much easier to use records of this period for biographical topics
or general topics relating to U.S. relations with a specific country. All
of the reports or despatches that our first Minister to China, Caleb Gush-
ing, sent to the State Department are filed together in chronological
order in two bound volumes, and there are 131 bound volumes of des-
patches from the U.S. Minister in China to the State Department for
the period from 1843 to 1906.

There are countless stories reported in these letters that could be
retold by historians. For example, there was the incident at Toulon on
May 1, 1834, when the frigate United States fired a 21-gun salute in
honor of the birthday of the French King. Unfortunately, three cannon
were armed with shot. A direct hit was scored on a French battleship,
killing two and wounding four. The speed with which Congress voted
pensions for the widows tells us something about U.S. -French relations
during the age of Jackson.

The central file for the 1906-10 period is a subject file called the
Numerical File. That filing system lasted less than five years because
it was impossible to determine what was a subject. There was no way to
determine, for example, if a despatch from the U.S. Minister in Cuba
should be the first document in a new subject file previously created.

59

As the number of different subject files approached 29,000, the State
Department switched to a more complex subject filing system the
Decimal File.

In the Decimal File, each subject has a predetermined decimal file
number, like 763.72119 for documents relating to the ending of World
War I, or 862.20212 for German military activities in Mexico, or
393.1163 for protection of American religious missions in China. There
are literally thousands of separate subject files in the Decimal File that
have never been used. Decimal file 800.6232, for example, relates to
international protection of migratory birds and the conflicts between
treaties and state hunting laws. There are other environmental and
ecological subjects that are waiting to be studied.

The Numerical File and the Decimal File are more valuable for his-
torical research than the earlier files because they also contain internal
memorandums of the State Department as well as correspondence.
Some of these memorandums are formal position papers, but more
often they are simply chits or notes attached to the correspondence.
The need to write and file memorandums reflected the growth of the
diplomatic bureaucracy in the twentieth century. The geometric growth
of that bureaucracy during World War II resulted in a breakdown in
the record-keeping system. Since action offices could no longer depend
on finding important documents in the central file, they began to estab-
lish their own office files.

For example, anyone working on postwar planning must use the
Harley Notter files. Notter, who later wrote a State Department publica-
tion on postwar foreign policy planning, gathered together during the
war a master file of documentation of the various committees involved
in postwar planning. Leo Pasvolsky, a special assistant to Cordell Hull,
also kept his own file of records relating to his activities. Documenta-
tion relating to the Office of European Affairs during the war may be
found among the files of H. Freeman Matthews and John D. Hickerson.
While he was Secretary of State, Edward Stettinius kept a diary or
record of notes and summaries of events written from his vantage
point.

There are other records in Record Group 59, not in the central file,
that are untapped resources. Some 350 feet of letters relate to applica-
tions and recommendations for positions in the foreign service and
other offices for the period 1789-1901. Who were these people, what
were their qualifications, why did they apply, and what differences are
there between those who received appointments and those who did
not? The significance of a single letter, such as A. Lincoln's letter to
Daniel Webster in 1849 recommending a "tired printer" for a consular
post in Scotland because his wife was Scotch and wanted to visit Scot-
land, has to be judged in relationship to other letters in the file. They
do tell us a lot about local politics.

There is a small quantity of records relating to the activities of John
A. Kasson, the Reciprocity Commissioner from 1897 to 1907. This

60

office had full powers to negotiate reciprocal trade agreements with
foreign governments.

Although the State Department established a War History Branch
to draft studies and compile a history of the Department's activities
during World War II, the office was abolished before its work was com-
pleted. Nevertheless, anyone working on World War II ought to ex-
amine these records to gain a better understanding of the administra-
tive history of the Department during the war.

One of these wartime offices was the Division of Defense Materials,
established in 1941 to assist in developing policies and programs for
procurement, siiipping, and supplying pf strategic materials for the war
effort. No one has used these records.

Also during World War II, the Research and Analysis Branch of
the Office of Strategic Services, which moved to the State Department
after the abolition of the OSS, prepared reports for informational and
intelligence purposes on cultural, economic, military, political, and
social matters of most areas of the world. Topics of these reports range
from a study of the importance of salt in a country's economy to a strate-
gic survey of Pitcairn's Island.

Another untapped resource are the records relating to General
George Marshall's mission to China, 1945-47. Many of these documents
have been published in several volumes of the Foreign Relations series,
but the original records have not been used because of declassification
problems. Although the State Department documents in this file have
been declassified, the military documents have not. Until the Joint
Chiefs of Staff issues guidelines to our newly-functioning Declassifica-
tion Division, there is nothing that it can do.

My final example from Record Group 59 is a small body of records
dated 1960-62 relating to activities of the United States Citizens Com-
mission on NATO, established to meet with similar citizens commissions
in the other NATO countries "to explore means by which greater co-
operation and unity of purpose may be developed to the end that demo-
cratic freedom may be promoted by economic and political means."

The second record group for State Department records is Record
Group 84, the records of the Foreign Service posts of the Department
of State. These are the records created, received, and filed at the U.S.
embassies, legations, and consulates all over the world. Most researchers
prefer to use State Department records for correspondence between
the Department and the post, but the post records do have some unique
documentation. The records of the diplomatic missions, for example,
include correspondence with subordinate consular offices and the notes
exchanged with the foreign office of the host country. The most valuable
part of the records of the consular posts is the miscellaneous correspon-
dencecorrespondence with American businessmen or local officials
not otherwise referred to Washington.

It is not easy to use the post records for research. Records from
many posts have been lost or disarranged, and record-keeping prac-
tices were not uniform. In general, before 1912 the records are arranged

61

by series, similar to the Department's filing system for records dated
before 1906; after 1912 the posts used the same decimal filing system as
the State Department, but the files were broken yearly.

An example of untapped resources in this record group are those
records that relate to the work of the consular courts established in
those countries in which the United States had extraterritorial juris-
diction. For the period 1927-47 there are 20 boxes of Casablanca Con-
sular Court records containing 333 civil case files and 182 criminal case
files. What was the quality of justice provided by the American Consul
in Casablanca? One American, charged and convicted for assault and
battery in 1935, was fined 10 francs and costs. Since court costs were 32
francs, the total fine was 42 francs, or $1.63.

Records relating to American participation in international con-
ferences and commissions are in Record Group 43. For the most part
these are the conference documents and records maintained at the site
of the conference, and there are related records in the central file in
Record Group 59. Included in Record Group 43 are the records of the
European Advisory Commission, established in 1943 and superceded
by the Council of Foreign Ministers in 1946. There are also separate
series of records for the World War II conferences at Moscow, Teheran,
Cairo, Alexandria, Bretton Woods, Yalta, and Potsdam. Much of this
material has been printed in Foreign Relations of the United States,
but some of the items that were not printed may also be useful. For
example, omitted from the printed account in the Yalta volume of the
dinner of the heads of states on February 10, 1945, is the following:
"The Prime Minister in an aside to the President said he did not have
a very high opinion of Ernest Bevin who he felt had merely been waiting
during the war for the worst catastrophes to happen."

There are four other State Department record groups that relate
to the history of the World War II period. Record Group 353 has records
of intra- and inter-departmental committees, such as the State- War-Navy
and State-Army-Navy-Air Force Coordinating Committees. There are
also separate record groups for the records of the Office of War In-
formation, the Office of Inter- American Affairs, and the Foreign Econo-
mic Administration.

For the World War I period, there is a separate record group for
the records of the American Commission to Negotiate Peace. Besides
a large subject file of records relating to the work of the conference,
this record group also contains the reports and correspondence of the
American Inquiry that preceded the peace conference.

Very few people use the records in Record Group 76 relating to
boundary commissions, claims commissions, and American participa-
tion in internal arbitrations. For example, the boundary between Costa
Rica and Nicaragua was set by treaty in 1858, but questions of interpre-
tation were submitted to President Grover Cleveland as the arbitrator,
and the United States was also represented on the boundary commission
which marked the boundary in 1900.

62

Another area of research that is little used is that relating to the
negotiation of treaties and other international agreements. These agree-
ments have all been printed, but David Hunter Miller's multi-volume
scholarly analysis of these documents that rank with the Constitution
and laws as the supreme law of the land ends in 1863. Practically
nothing has been done with the unperfected treaties, those treaties that
have been signed but have not gone into effect for a variety of reasons
the refusal of the Senate to approve them, or the President to ratify
them, or a failure of ratification in the other country. One of these un-
perfected treaties, the Protocol for the Prohibition of the Use in War
of Asphyxiating, Poisonous or Other Gases, and of Bacteriological
Methods of Warfare, signed at Geneva in 1925, has been formally with-
drawn from the unperfected treaty file and is now (February 1973)
before the Senate.

The earliest records in the custody of the Diplomatic Branch are
the papers of the Continental and Confederation Congresses. In 1971
NARS established a Center for the Documentary Study of the American
Revolution to provide assistance for scholars working in the 1774-
1789 period. The records of this period have never been satisfactorily
indexed. With the aid of a two-year $150,000 grant from the Ford Foun-
dation, the Center is preparing a computer-assisted index to these
records.

Diplomatic historians of the American Revolution and the Confed-
eration period have relied on the printed compilations of documents,
but some of this reliance may be misplaced. Jared Sparks first published
The Diplomatic Correspondence of the American Revolution, but his
carelessness and obvious errors of omission and commission led to the
publication of a new edition by Francis Wharton. But Wharton's edition
also has its defects. A comparison of the originals of six Adams letters
with the Wharton versions reveals at least 30 errors of omission and
commission.

Although no comparison has been made, to my knowledge, between
the printed diplomatic correspondence for the 1783-1789 period and
the originals, it would be very surprising if there are not gaps as well
as numerous transcription errors in these as well. The materials were
compiled under the direction of a State Department clerk, William A.
Weaver, who prepared the seven volumes for publication in only two
years.

The printed diplomatic correspondence by itself, of course, tells
only part of the story of our diplomacy. When using the microfilm copy
of the original records, researchers have available to them the com-
mittee reports, journals, drafts and proposals for treaties and agree-
ments, as well as other pertinent documentation that is not included in
the Wharton and Weaver publications.

I wish to emphasize that researchers need to recognize the limita-
tions of federal records in the National Archives. The people who write
the papers that get filed in federal agencies do so for a bureaucratic

63

reason, and that reason is sometimes not related to history as it really
happened. It is not "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth." With a seal and a ribbon I can authenticate copies of documents
in my custody, but I cannot authenticate the accuracy of what is stated
in the document only that it is a true copy. It is the task of the research-
er, the historian, to evaluate the authenticity of the documents he
examines.

64

TEXTS AND TEACHING: A PROFILE OF

HISTORIANS OF AMERICAN FOREIGN

RELATIONS IN 1972

By SANDRA CARUTHERS THOMSON

and

CLAYTON A. COPPIN, JR.

How do teachers of the history of American foreign relations see
themselves and their discipline? What teaching methods do they use,
what strengths and weaknesses do they identify in the field, and how
have recent events affected their outlook? Probably every diplomatic
historian has his own opinions on these matters, gathered as our own
were from informal talks with colleagues, ideas exchanged at profes-
sional meetings, and from the media. For more than idle speculation,
however, some concrete data was required. After some thought, the
authors of this paper decided to compose a questionnaire, to acquire
factual data about age, training, personal opmions about approach to
the subject, and to look at the effect of certain events on one's outlook.
In order to obtain a sample which would include most of those teaching
diplomatic history in colleges and universities in the United States,
we mailed the questions (see Appendix) to those on the current member-
ship list of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations.
Of the 450 we mailed out, 197 were returned and of those, 182 were
usable, a relatively large response. Our tacit assumption (unfortunately
untested), was that the great majority of the SHAFR membership were
historians trained in, and teaching American diplomatic history.

The areas of interest we addressed ourselves to were several. First,
we sought some data on those who are teaching courses on the history
of American diplomacy or American foreign relations. We wished to
learn the ages of the recipients, where they had been educated, and how
they taught the subject what texts, problems and documentary collec-
tions and monographs were used. Second, we were curious as to their
particular interpretation of the subject matter. Did the "labels" applied
in problems books correspond to the self-perceptions of those teach-
ing the subject? Third, we wished to determine the effect of current and
controversial events on the respondents. Few events in American his-
tory have provoked such agonizing and soul-searching as the American
involvement in Vietnam. Since 1968 when President Lyndon Johnson
chose not to seek reelection rather than to risk repudiation for his war
policies, Americans in all walks of life have sought answers to the many
problems posed by our continuing involvement in the war. Several
years ago, Daniel Ellsberg reached his private verdict against further
implication in a policy he could no longer support, and began the un-
authorized publication of the famed Pentagon Papers.

The popular debate over the war, of course, has helped stimulate
the revision of American history being undertaken by the scholars gen-

65

erally termed the "New Left." It was apparent that some American diplo-
matic historians, concerned about the war itself, were perceiving impli-
cations for earlier periods of American foreign policy from their con-
clusions about Vietnam and the Cold War. Judging from the endless
variety of problems books and readers pouring from the presses, diplo-
matic historians were as disturbed as the general public by the Vietnam
debate, and questions asked about the war were leading some to a re-
examination of long held assumptions about the wisdom of formerly
unchallenged decisions in foreign affairs.

How many in the field of American foreign relations were so moved?
Was the "New Left" just a strident and vocal minority among the con-
servative or moderate majority? We sought to quantify the data about
the effect of the war, the publication of the Pentagon Papers and politi-
cal preferences and to compare these data to reach some conclusions.
The results of the study have been gratifying, enlightening, and frustrat-
ing, for we discovered some of the limitations of the questionnaire ap-
proach and the difficulties in analyzing the information we had obtained.

Before explaining the outcome of the project, we must identify some
of the problems encountered. One respondent remarked, "You will
learn less than you think," which was, thanks to the computer, quite
untrue. We learned much more than can be presented in this brief
paper. However, composing a questionnaire is in the same league with
wording a true-false test. The gap between what the questioner seeks
to learn and the way in which the respondent reacts to the words used
is hard to perceive in advance, and thus poses problems very difficult
to overcome. A few, perhaps a half-dozen of the recipients, were so
offended by the questions that they not only refused to answer but also
sent us hostile communications heaping opprobrium on our heads, damn-
ing our motives, and even suspecting our source of funds (which came
largely from our own pockets). Others raised quite legitimate complaints
about our use of a 1-7 rating scale (which, for purposes of computerizing
the results, was far too broad, allowing too many choices). They also
castigated our use of such undefined terms as "traditional" and "radi-
cal." A number objected to our limiting their response to the Vietnam
War to a simplistic continuum from "immediate withdrawal" to "indefi-
nite presence." Some felt that, despite our guarantees of their anony-
mity, questions about their political behavior were, to quote, "none of
your damned business." Some of these complaints we had anticipated
but had decided to ignore because of another consideration: The desire
to make the questionnaire short enough to tempt more people to take
the time to answer it. In this day of the deluge of paper, brevity and
simplicity are sometimes greater virtues than absolute accuracy of
detail. And, after all, we are all called upon to make choices between
less-than-optimal alternatives and denied the opportunity to make our
feelings "perfectly clear" by means of a position paper. Since we wished
to computerize the results, we had also to keep the questions simple
so the results could be transferred to punch cards.

Having perused the responses rather thoroughly, we can now make

66

some further criticisms of the approach. The wording did lead to am-
biguity, although for some questions that was probably unavoidable.
The profession itself cannot agree on whether to call those interpre-
tations of American foreign policy that are generally supportive of past
administrative decisions as nationalist, "establishment," traditional,
consensus, or by the more obviously offensive label, "court historians."
The term traditional seemed to us to be a fairly neutral one. An item we
had not expected to be so controversial was the phrase "diplomatic
history." A number of respondents felt the subject matter should proper-
ly be designated foreign relations, and from some of their criticisms it
was apparent that the Association's membership is split among his-
torians, some of whom took the opportunity to castigate the "social
scientists" for infringing on their "turf," and political scientists and
international relations specialists, some of whom felt that any associa-
tion with the word "history" was contaminating; others wished in addi-
tion to avoid the narrowness implied by the original phrase. It was ob-
vious that we should have asked the respondents to identify the specific
area of their own training.

The nature of the sample also can be open to some criticism. From
the data on age groups, it will be seen that the respondents covered the
spectrum well. However, it was impossible to determine, since the ques-
tionnaire specified anonymity, just who answered; did we hear primarily
from the younger or less-well-known members of the group? We can
state only that the respondents were all members of SHAFR; not all
of them are currently teaching diplomatic history, although most are.
About a dozen recipients returned unanswered questionnaires because
they were not now teaching the subject. However, we did use responses
from teachers trained in foreign relations who were not currently teach-
ing it, including a few from graduate teaching assistants, and historians
working in research positions for the federal government. And, of
course, we did not solicit responses from the many teachers of diplo-
matic history who are not members of SHAFR.

A further limitation in the usefulness of this project is the neces-
sarily "dated" nature of the response. Political questions were exciting
and very relevant in October 1972, but are perhaps less so now. With
the end ot ttie Vietnam War, the highly emotional effect it had on the
study and teaching of American foreign relations will perhaps be lessen-
ed. The publication of the Pentagon Papers was replaced as an
emotional issue by the Ellsberg-Russo trial, but the larger issue sur-
rounding the extensive classification of government documents still
remains. One respondent urged us to "applaud Nixon (if he wins) for
dropping the majority of the restrictions on World War II documents
and encourage him to drop the ban on material up through 1960. It
might even make him look good." On this sensitive issue the views of
the SHAFR membership can still be of considerable utility.

Since we were previously inexperienced in the use of the computer,
we neglected to ask as many questions of it as we might have. We also
found ourselves with far more data than we had imagined, and further

67

analysis seems to be merited along several lines. The project was itself
a "learning experience," and the results have, in our minds, only con-
firmed the need for continuing self-evaluation of this branch of
the academic profession.

DESCRIPTION OF THE DATA

The average age of the respondents was 40.85 years. Those who
answered the questionnaire ranged in age from 22 to 75. The regional
location of the institutions where the respondents obtained their
terminal degrees can be seen from Table 1. The mid-west produced
34.1% of the highest degrees (overwhelmingly Ph.D.'s). It was further
apparent that no one school dominates in the production of doctorates
in the history of American foreign relations. U.C. Berkeley, Wisconsin,
and Harvard led with 10, 9, and 8 respectively, followed by Yale, Stan-
ford, and the University of Virginia, but 130 were graduates of schools
other than those. 79.7% said that U.S. Diplomatic was their primary
area of interest, and they were apparently historians by and large.

TABLE I
Regional Location of Terminal Degrees

Region

Number of Responses

Northeast

31

Mid Atlantic

27

Southeast

17

Midwest

62

South

12

Rocky Mt. West

3

Pacific West

24

Other

5

No response

1

Percent of Responses

17.0
14.8

9.3
34.1

6.6

1.6
13.2

2.7
.5

Total

182

100.0

The average enrollment of the institutions where the respondents
taught was between 7,500 and 10,000; however, 59% taught in schools
with enrollments less than 5,000. 79% of the institutions were secular.
22.5% teach in the midwest, which produced more Ph.D.'s than are em-
ployed there. (See Table 2 for regional location of teaching institutions.)
125 of the respondents taught in universities, as opposed to colleges

68

(47) and junior colleges (5), but the universities were small (indicating
that the more well-known of the diplomatic historians from the major
state and private universities probably did not reply.) 62.1% of the in-
stitutions were urban. There were an average of two classes in diplo-
matic history per department, and class size ranged as large as 500 stu-
dents, with the average 41.6. Over one-half the classes are smaller than
29 students.

TABLE 2
Regional Location of Teaching Institutions

Region

Number of Responses

a
Percent of Responses

Northeast

38

20.9 +

Mid Atlantic

22

12.1-

Southeast

16

8.8

Midwest

41

22.5-

South

16

8.8 +

Rocky Mt. West

5

2.7 +

Southwest

12

6.6 +

Pacific West

24

13.2 same

Other

5

2.7

No Response

3

1.6

Total 182 100.0

In the percentage column, regions marked + employ more than they
educate, while those marked educate more than they employ.

Of the respondents, 70.9% indicated that they usually used a text-
book. Table 3 shows the preferences named. Some did indicate that
they switched materials yearly in an attempt to "keep up to date." The
heavy preference for the text by Thomas A. Bailey would seem to indi-
cate that a sizeable number prefer to stick with this well-known and es-
tablished work. 10% favored Wayne Cole's work, which does represent
a different approach, an "interpretive" history. 20% selected the texts
by Daniel Smith and Alexander DeConde, indicating, aside from stylis-
tic and content preference, perhaps a desire to use works available in
paperback, and thus cheaper for the student, enabling the instructor
to combine them more readily with other materials.

69

TABLE 3

Textbooks Used in Courses in History
of American Foreign Relations

Author

Number of Respondents

Percent of Replies

Bailey

36

34.6

Bemis

2

1.9

Ferrell

16

15.4

DeConde

15

14.4

Leopold

3

2.9

Smith

6

5.8

Cole

11

10.6

Pratt

4

3.8

Other

11

10.6

No Response

78
182

42.9

Total

100.0

69 of the 182 respondents reported using a problems book, while 63
used a documents collection (Table 4). The most-used titles can be seen
in Tables 5 and 6. Great variation emerged when we attempted to assess
the combination of materials used. While the figures were not fully
analyzed, a study of the questionnaires indicated that about 36 respon-
dents used both text and problems, about 15 used text, problems and
documents as well, while about 25 used text and documents. A smaller
number, less than 20, indicated they used problems or documents with-
out a text. 88.6% reported using monographs, either entirely or in
combination with a text or other materials. This no doubt reflects the
success of the "paperback revolution," as well as the diligence of
bofjk salesmen.

TABLE 4
Useage of Textbooks, Problems Books, and Documents

Yes

Percent

No

Percent

Using Textbook

124

70.9

51

29.1

Using Problems

69

40.6

101

59.4

Using Documents

63

47.0

71

53.0

70

TABLE 5
Most Used Problems Books

Editor

Number

Percent

Williams

12

21.1

Rappaport

18

31.6

Gelfand

1

1.8

Heath Series

2

3.5

Combs

7

12.3

Graebner

4

7.0

Paterson

2

3.5

Smith

5

8.8

Other

6

57

10.5

Total

100.0

TABLE 6
Most Used Documents Collections

Editor

Number

Percent

Williams

13

31.7

Smith

1

2.4

Graebner

7

17.1

Bartlett

6

14.6

Rappaport

1
41

2.4

Total

100.0

The question as to which monographs have had the greatest in-
fluence on the respondent's teaching (see ji'j^ll, Appendix) lent itself to
several interpretations. Younger scholars and graduate students often
named works that had influenced their own development as teachers,
while older historians also saw the question in terms of the works that
were most effective as teaching devices, even if they themselves did
not agree with the interpretation. Many did not answer the question,
and one irritated (or irritable) respondent replied sharply, "How the
hell should I know?" Of the works mentioned, however, those by the

71

radical historians led the field. 38 respondents mentioned William
Appleman Williams, usually his Tragedy of American Diplomacy,
occasionally his Roots of the Modern American Empire. Walter La-
Feber's The New Empire was mentioned by 29, and works by Gabriel
Kolko by 12. It should be noted that a number of those who named
works by radicals specifically disclaimed agreement with the viewpoint
presented, however. Other influential authors were also named: George
F. Kennan by 19, and the following scholars by 5 to 13 respondents each:
Samuel F. Bemis, T.A. Bailey, Hans Morgenthau, Norman Graebner,
Robert Osgood, and Albert Weinberg.

The item concerning the interpretations of foreign policy stressed
by the academician in his courses produced some interesting data as
well as many complaints (see Table 7). Since the great majority of re-
spondents checked more than one interpretation, and the interpreta-
tions listed were not perceived by most as mutually exclusive, it is not
possible to separate out economic determinists on an absolute basis.
A rough calculation of the number that chose only one or two interpre-
tations showed, for example, that only six selected economic motiva-
tion by itself; about 20 chose it in combination with special interests,
an intellectual approach, or politics. About 12 chose intellectual alone,
while 15 selected national security by itself (several wrote in national
interest as well). The great majority of historians stressed their attempt
to follow a multi-causal approach, or at least to present various inter-
pretations in contrast to each other. Many other ideas were written in,
such as psychological, social, ideological, balance of power or "real-
politik," options and alternatives, peace studies, public opinion, and
realist. Only two respondents condemned the question itself as "silly;"
most seemed to understand what we were interested in. Our aim was to
determine if historians did attach ideological labels to their approach
to foreign relations, especially since so many of the problems books do
so identify them. We found, however, that most teachers try to avoid
this.

TABLE 7
Interpretations of American Foreign Relations

Item

Total number checking

Number choosing

that item

that item alone

National security

83

15

Economic

79

6

Polit. leaders, politics

74

6

Special interests

32

2

Intellectual

68

12

Other

50

72

As to the method of presentation, approximately 54.2% favored a
topical over a chronological approach, although some expressed pref-
erence for a combination of the two. The average time spent lecturing
was 62.14%. 55% spent between 50-75% of their class time in lectures,
which would tend to confirm the rather prevalent view of history as an
essentially conservative discipline in terms of teaching technique. Sev-
eral respondents did, however, mention elsewhere on the questionnaire
their interest in the use of audio-visual, media materials, and oral his-
tory or outside lecturers in an attempt to be innovative, and some
decried the large classes that made the lecture format obligatory.

How much have historians changed their interpretation of American
foreign policy in the last five years? On a scale of 1 to 7, the mean
score was 3.7 (1 corresponded to a significant change.) The data would
appear to confirm that in the last five years there has been, on the
average, a moderate change in approach. However, we might have had
more conclusive data if we had asked how long the respondent had been
teaching. The results of the next question asked, as to how much the
Vietnam War had affected interpretation, showed that the war had had
a moderate overall effect. However, because this question was subjected
to a more thorough computer analysis, we will save further comment
on it for later in the paper.

The item on classification of government documents produced a
more dramatic tabulation. 72.7% felt that classification procedures are
too strict, while some 3.9% of the respondents indicated that they be-
lieved classification policies are not strict enough. This response is in
line with the next item, the publication of the Pentagon Papers. 57.5%
agreed with the way in which the Papers were released to the press;
36.3% thought they should have been published, but in a different
manner; while 6.1% denied that they should have been published at
all (see Table 8 for the data.)

VIETNAM, TEACHING OBJECTIVITY, AND CHANGING
INTERPRETATIONS IN DIPLOMATIC HISTORY

On the interrelated questions of the effects of the Vietnam War
on interpretation, political preferences, teaching objectivity, and chang-
ing approaches to diplomatic history, computer analysis provided us
with the most interesting results of the study. The data are shown in
Table 9, which lists first the attitudes on the Vietnam War and then
political preference. A majority of the respondents favored withdrawal
from the war over a so-called "neutral" position, while very few favored
maintaining an indefinite presence in that country. This would appear
to be highly related to their political persuasions in past presidential
elections. In 1964, when the country was presumably offered a clear
choice on the war in the candidacies of Lyndon B. Johnson and Barry
Goldwater, diplomatic historians favored the Democratic candidate
by an overwhelming margin 87.8%. They still remained with the Demo-
crats, though by a less impressive (69.47o margin, in the 1968 Humphrey-

73

Nixon contest. However, the 1972 election showed them somewhat
more spUt, with a 66.5% margin for McGovern (with many written com-
ments indicating much soul-searching over the choices offered). How-
ever, since the academicians were still 2 to 1 for McGovern, what is
more striking is how different their preferences were from the nation's
as a whole.

TABLE 8
Government Documents and Pentagon Papers

Opinion on Classification of Government Documents
umber checked on scale Number of Responses

- 2 (Much too strict) 130

- 4 (Somewhat strict) 41

- 7 (Classification not strict enough) 8

Total 179

Opinion on Publication of the Pentagon Papers

dumber approving of publication 103

avoring a different method of publication 65

)pposed to any publication at all 11

fo opinion 3

Total 182

TABLE 9
Vietnam and Voting Patterns

Opinion on Vietnam

Number of Responses

avoring immediate withdrawal (1-2)*^ 119

o strong response (3-5)^ 38

avored prolonged presence there (6-7)^ 10

indicates number

lecked on 1-7 scale. Total 167

Voting Patterns

1964

1968

19

72

Number

Percent

Number

Percent

Number

Perc

epublican

17

11.5

25

13.9

31

18.

emocratic

130

87.8

125

69.4

109

66.

ther

1

.7

1

1.1

21

12.

74

An additional comparison was made of the respondent's personal
interpretations of American foreign relations with their self-evaluations
of political persuasion. The results, which are not surprising, appear in
Table 10. By a large margin they preferred to avoid ideological ex-
tremes. This is further confirmed by their reluctance to identify them-
selves with only one or two overall interpretations of America's foreign
relations (question 12).

TABLE 10
Political Persuasion and Classroom Interpretation

Personal interpretation of

Personal political

American foreign relations

evaluation

Radical (1-2 on scale)

15.6%

24.5%

Moderate (3-5)

69.3%

66.9%

Conservative/traditional

15.0%

8.6%

(6-7 on scale)

The age of the respondents showed a predictable relationship to
their feelings about the war. Of those most affected by the Indochina
conflict (checking item 1 on question 16), the average age was 32.6.
Those who indicated a moderate effect (checking 3-5 on the scale)
averaged 40.5 years of age, while those unaffected (checking 7) were
an average of 45.5. The age relationship was even more pronounced on
the question involving classification of government documents; those
favoring a more liberal policy were 39.5, while those taking the most
opposed stance averaged 60. Likewise, the age of the respondents
seemed to affect their personal political evaluation in a predictable
fashion: the radicals (1-2) averaged 35 years old, the moderates (3-5)
41.8, while the conservatives (6-7) averaged 44.8.

A variety of further relationships were examined in the data involv-
ing Vietnam. Those who felt that the conflict had had a pronounced
effect on their interpretation of foreign policy reported a marked
change in their approach in the last five years, while those who denied
any effect on their views professed a moderate to negligible change in

75

years, while the radicals professed a great deal. A similar picture emerg-
ed in comparing personal political identification (radical vs. conserva-
tive) with the amount of change. The degree of change also showed a
high parallel to the effect of the Vietnam War; tiiose who reported
pronounced change in approach were also those who indicated the
greatest effect of the war on their perspective.

A further analysis revealed that those who thought the classifica-
tion of government documents was too strict (124 of 173 responses on
that item) were at least rather strongly affected by Vietnam (3.8 on the
1-7 scale). Those few who jlt classification was not strict enough were
virtually uu>.ffected by the war.

The item on teaching objectivity did not lend itself to easy analysis;
those who admitted mixing personal political beliefs into their classroom
presentation are to be found across the spectrum of viewpoints (Table
11). One's response to this question is probably more likely related to
one's philosophy of teaching and conceptions about the possibility or
desirability of injecting or omitting bias from presentation than to the
other factors studied. Many radicals admitted that they did not separate
their own opinions from their classroom analyses, although they often
claimed to label them as such. The conservatives, on the other hand,
usually claimed to separate totally their beliefs from classroom presen-
tation, although they generally identified their interpretation as mod-
erate or traditional in approach. The question of objectivity does, in
effect, involve a value judgement as well as a self-evaluation, and thus
it would not seem to relate strictly along lines of political persuasion.
Perhaps there is a better relationship to be drawn along age lines;
younger scholars, having been more exposed to newer ideas in educa-
tional and social psychology, are perhaps more able to recognize that
racial and ethnic biases are implicit in virtually all standard teaching
materials as well as in personal attitudes, thus making total objectivity
impossible. Further study on this item seems desirable.

TABLE 11

Classroom Objectivity

Number of Responses Percent

Total separation of own political

beliefs from classroom inter- 72 40.7

pretation (1-2 on scale)
Moderate separation of own beliefs

(3-5 on scale) 80 45.2

Little or no separation of own

beliefs (6-7 on scale) 25 14.1

Total 177 100.0

ERRATUM

The following is a printing omission at the end
of page 75"

their classroom interpretation. Age may well have had
a bearing here, too. The great number favoring im-
mediate withdraxval from Vietnam (checking 1 - 2 on the s
scale), who numbered 112 of the 163 replying to that
question (#21), reported a moderate amount of change
in their approach to foreign policy. The mean response
was 3.5. Interesting is the picture that emerges as
one considers how much change in interpretation has
been made by those who see themselves as radicals or
traditionalists . The latter had changed very little
in outlook in the last five

One further comment on the issue of objectivity. Those who said
that they totally separated their personal beliefs from their classroom
interpretations were far less affected by the Vietnam War than those
who admitted that their beliefs emerged in their teaching. The parallel
here seems logical to anyone who became emotionally involved in the
war issue; it was very hard to keep one's own feelings from entering into
the discussion. In fact, here the reverse would not follow; "no comment"
or no criticism of the war was itself a strong statement about it. In fur-
ther comparisons it was seen that the "traditionalists" were less moved
to change their interpretation of past foreign policies by the war than
were the radicals.

Those who approved the manner of publication of the Pentagon
Papers agreed that the classification of government documents is too
strict, while those who disagreed on the first count also strongly dis-
puted the second. Radicals agreed, as one might expect, that classifi-
cation of documents is overly extensive and rigid, but they were joined
in that assessment by the vast majority who could be termed moderates.
Only the four self-proclaimed conservatives disagreed sharply, indicat-
ing a preference for even stricter classification. A similar trend was
evident in comparing those who felt classification was too strict with
those favoring immediate withdrawal from Vietnam; only a similar
handful disagreed with both propositions.

Attitudes about the war and its effect on interpretation of diplo-
matic history seemed to have little bearing on the way respondents
voted. This may have resulted from the heavy preference of these
academicians for the Democratic candidates, presumably often for
reasons unrelated to the war issue, on which there was no simple choice.
The data did indicate that those who reported that the war had pro-
foundly affected their interpretation of diplomatic history tended much
more to see themselves as radical politically (5.67 on the 7-point scale).
Those who reported little effect from Vietnam were generally moder-
ates (3.6). This also makes sense; the war has, to most observers, been
responsible for radicalizing the political beliefs of a significant segment
of the academic world (see Table 12 for data). However, there was no
such dichotomy on the issue of classification of government documents;
the vast majority of respondents agreed that classification was too strict,
regardless of their political persuasions.

Those who termed themselves radicals differed from moderates
and conservatives in several other particulars. Radicals reported a much
stronger degree of change in their classroom interpretations in the last
five years; other data indicated that the war had affected them much
more than the moderates. Conservatives were more critical of the pub-
lication of the Pentagon Papers, while moderates preferred the "yes,
but . . ." choice. Again, on the sticky issue of the separation of personal
belief from classroom interpretation, it was much more difficult to
separate out the ideologies.

The way in which the respondents intended to vote in November,

77

TABLE 12
Effects of Vietnam on Personal Interpretation

Item checked on 1-7 scale

(One=^very strong effect of war,
seven;=war had minimal effect)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Total

[>f Responses

Average response

(one=conservative;

seven=raclical)

9

5.67

34

4.35

28

4.00

31

4.38

17

3.41

25

3.68

23

3.61

67

Average 4.16

1972, likewise was seemingly little affected by their attitudes on the
war and the documents. Some academicians in the field of foreign re-
lations may well have had the same problems with the McGovern can-
didacy as the public at large; they were troubled about his domestic
policy and often grudgingly praiseworthy of Nixon's policy toward China
and the Soviet Union. Others tended to vote Democratic anyway, prob-
ably through long preference for the party. Those who favored an in-
definite presence in Vietnam were voting Republican; the radicals
favored the candidacy of Benjamin Spock or McGovern, while tradi-
tionalists and moderates were more split between Nixon and McGovern.
Despite the great preference for the Democratic party, the McGovern
candidacy clearly did not command as great a hold over diplomatic
historians as had Lyndon Johnson's.

The Vietnam War was closely related to the amount of interpreta-
tion change which these teachers reported for the last five years. The
data indicated that the more one was affected by the war, the greater
the amount of change in interpretation of the history of America's
foreign relations. Those who were least affected by the protracted con-
flict were least likely to have changed their approach to the subject.
Those showing the greatest change were also likely to be those who also
favored withdrawal from Vietnam. On that question, 85 of 163 respon-
dents favored immediate withdrawal from the war. In a cross-tabula-
tion of those 85 it was clear that the more affected by the war. the more
likely the respondent was to have changed his interpretation of Ameri-
can foreign relations. Among those 85, the war had had a predictably
strong effect. However, there was a great spread in response to the
question about changes in interpretation, probably because some of
the younger and more radical scholars had always been radical in their
approach to American foreign policy and thus did not modify their
interpretation because of Vietnam.

78

Although much further work remains to be done with the data,
some conclusions are already apparent. Among historians of American
foreign relations there is a perceptible difference in opinion and outlook
which is in part attributable to age the "generation gap." On the issues
of Vietnam and the publication of government documents relating to
our involvement m that conflict, their reactions are mixed, but sub-
stantially in favor of an end to the conflict and greater access to the evi-
dence concerning policy decisions about it. They showed a verv strong
preference for the Democratic party, although support for its presi-
dential candidate has been declining since the Johnson landslide of 1964.
However, most placed themselves as moderates politically, and that
general attitude seemed to carry over to their approaches to the history
of American foreign relations. Most favored a multi-causational ap-
proach and hesitated to identify with any single "label." They try to be
objective in their portrayal of their subject matter, but a strong minor-
ity admitted that some of their own beliefs filtered in, whether identi-
fied as such or not. The overall picture that emerged from this study,
then, is of a group, (perhaps better described as a subgroup of the larger
discipline of history), basically moderate in approach but stronelv
moved by the controversies of the last decade.

MISCELLANEOUS COMMENTS

One of the most informative areas of this questionnaire was not
subject to computer analysis; these were the personal comments about
the field of history of American foreign relations. There was a wide
variation of opinion on the "state of the discipline." Thirty-five replied
that they saw nothing wrong with the teaching of diplomatic history
today, or that they couldn't comment without more knowledge of what
others were doing. However, many did have complaints. A narrow,
parochial approach was criticized by 35, who felt the subject was pre-
sented with too ethnocentric a view. A similar number condemned what
they called a polemical, "true believer" approach, which they often
linked to the New Left. About 20 criticized the so-called "Establish-
ment," the "old boys" who they saw as having too great a tendency to
"snuggle up to the national government." A dozen or more condemned
what they felt was an excessively presentist attitude, while others noted
the tendency toward outmoded approaches excessive lecturing, nar-
rative history, an obsession with names and dates, and dull writing,
which filled the journals with masses of unread articles. Most of those
complaining tended to mention several of these themes.

While many did find areas to praise, such as the generally high
quality of textbooks, monographs and journal articles, and the wide
diversity of viewpoints debated, there were many suggestions for im-
provement. About ten noted the historians' general lack of training in
social science methodology and asked that these techniques be made
more available. An equal number specifically requested a journal for
articles dealing with the history of American foreign relations. There
were several suggestions for more general get-togethers, especially for

79

informal sessions dealing with new approaches in teaching diplomatic
history. There were very few specific suggestions as to what new
methods might be tried, though some suggested a broader approach,
placing more emphasis on the domestic influences on foreign policy,
and a multi-national way of looking at the topic. Others urged narrow-
ing topics for study so that the student could become more aware of
the difficulties of choice among the various options open on a prob-
lem. Some suggested the use of outside speakers who could explain
the way in which policy is actually formulated by the government.
In sum, the questionnaire indicated a wide interest in a continuing
self-analysis, an awareness of some general problems in the field such
as is indicated by those loaded words, "lack of relevance." Respon-
dents noted declining numbers of students as well as a lack of jobs and
an oversupply of applicants. They seemed to be aware of the tendency
toward a narrow, parochial approach but were not too clear on ways
to modernize teaching methods to overcome this. The continuing ex-
change of ideas about the field itself as well as its content seemed to
many to be one of the most encouraging prospects of all.

FOOTNOTE

^ Percentage totals in the tables accompanying this article are rounded off
to 100.0 where necessary.

80

APPENDIX

QUESTIONNAIRE

All responses are confidential

1. Age

2. Where did you receive your academic training

3. Is U.S. Diplomatic your primary area? Yes ; No

4. Enrollment of institution where you teach

5. Regional location

6. Secular ; Protestant ; Catholic ; Other

7. Junior college ; College ; University

8. Rural ; Urban

9. Do you usually use a textbook? Yes ; No ; Author

10. Do you usually use a problems book? Yes ; No ; Editor

Selected documents? Yes ; No ;

Editor Monographs? Yes ; No

11. What monographs do you feel have had the greatest influence on
your teaching? a) ; b) ; c)

12. Which of the following interpretations do you usually use: (a) Na-
tional security ; (b) Economic ; (c) Political leaders

& partisan politics ; (d) special interests ; (e) intel-

tellectual ; (f) other

13. Do you prefer a topical approach? Yes ; No

14. What per cent of time do you lecture in your teaching?

15. How much have you changed your classroom interpretation in the
last five years? Significantly Not at All.

12 3 4 5 6 7

16. How much has the Vietnam War affected your interpretation?
Significantly Not at All.

12 3 4 5 6 7

17. Do you feel that the government classification of documents is
Too strict Not Strict Enough.

12 3 4 5 6 7

18. Do you believe the Pentagon Papers should have been published?
Yes ; Yes, but in a different manner ; No

19. What is your average enrollment in diplomatic history courses?

20. How many different courses does your department offer in U.S.
Diplomatic history?

21. How do you feel about U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War?
Immediate withdrawal Indefinite Presence.

12 3 4 5 6 7

81

22. How much do you separate your personal political beliefs from

your classroom interpretations? Significantly Not

at All. 12 3 4 5 6 7

23. How did you vote in: 1964 ; 1968

24. How do you see your personal diplomatic history interpretations?
Traditional Radical.

12 3 4 5 6 7

25. How do you see yourself politically?
Radical Conservative.

12 3 4 5 6 7

26. What do you feel is wrong with the teaching of diplomatic history
today?

27. What do you feel is wrong with the profession of diplomatic history
today?

28. What do you feel is done best in the field of U.S. diplomatic his-
tory today?

29. What changes would you like to see in the way graduates and under-
graduates are taught U.S. diplomatic history?

30. What are the most challenging new areas or subjects in diplomatic
history today?

31. What is your political preference in the 1972 presidential election?

82

U If ^'

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE
STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XIV June, 1975

POLITICAL MORALITY,

RESPONSIVENESS, AND

REFORM IN AMERICA

Published By

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE

A Division of the University System of Georgia

CARROLLTON, GEORGIA

WEST GEORGIA COLLEGE
STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Volume XIV June, 1975

POLITICAL MORALITY, RESPONSIVENESS,
AND REFORM IN AMERICA

CONTENTS

Causes and Cures of
Political Corruption George C. S. Benson 1

Politics, Corruption, and
Power S. J. Makielski, Jr. 21

The Interlocking of Power and Morality:

C. Wright Mills' The Power Elite Mark Stern 31

Frameworks for
Democratic Reform Gerald M. Henson 41

The Quest for the American

Public Orthodoxy: An Assessment Gerald De Maio 49

Existentialism and Liberal Democratic Values:
Reflections on Individualism and
Corruption in American Politics Kenneth L. Deutsch 67

TITLES IN PRINT

Vol. II, 1963, Georgia in Transition.

Vol. Ill, 1964, The New Europe.

Vol. IV, 1965, The Changing Role of Government.

Vol. V, 1966, Issues in the Cold War.

Vol. VII, 1968, Social Scientists Speak on Community Development.

Vol. VIII, 1969, Some Aspects of Black Culture.

Vol. XI, 1972, Georgia Diplomats and Nineteenth Century Trade
Expansion.

Vol. XII, 1973, Geographic Perspectives on Southern Development.

Vol. XIII, 1973, American Diplomatic History: Issues and Methods.

Price, each title, $2.00

Copyright '- , West Georgia College

Printed in U.S.A.

Darby Printing Co., Atlanta, Georgia

Price, $3.00

11

CONTRIBUTORS

GEORGE C. S. BENSON received the M.A. degree from the Univer-
sity of Illinois and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in Political Science
from Harvard University. He is President Emeritus of Claremont
Men's College, a former Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense (Edu-
cation), former Director of the Administrative Division of the Office
of Price Administration, and has served as president of the Indepen-
dent Colleges of California, the Western Association of Schools and
Colleges, and the Town Hall of Los Angeles. He has served as editor
of State Government magazine and has published numerous articles
on intergovernmental relations and ethics in American life. Dr. Ben-
son is the author of The Politics of Urbanism, The New Centraliza-
tion, Financial Control and Integration, Civil Service in Michigan,
and The State Administrative Board in Michigan. Dr. Benson is
presently Director of the Salvatori Center for the Study of Individual
Freedom in the World.

S. J. MAKIELSKI, JR., received the Ph.D. degree in PoHtical Sci-
ence from Columbia University. He taught at the University of Vir-
ginia from 1964 to 1971, where he was also Research Associate in the
Institute of Government. His publications include Beleaguered Mi-
norities: Cultural Politics in America. Dr. Makielski is presently Pro-
fessor of Political Science at Loyola University, New Orleans.

MARK STERN received the Ph.D. degree in Political Science from
the University of Rochester. His primary teaching and research inter-
ests lie in the fields of American politics, political socialization, par-
ties, and political behavior and methodology. He is the author of
"Measuring Interparty Competition," which appeared in the Journal
of Politics, and "The Pro-Civil Rights Congressional Districts of the
South," in Politics 1974. Dr. Stern is presently Assistant Professor of
Political Science at Florida Technological University.

GERALD M. HENSON received the M.A. degree from East Carolina
University and the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in Political Science from
the University of Maryland. His primary teaching and research inter-
ests lie in the fields of empirical theory and methodology. Dr. Henson
is presently Assistant Professor of Political Science at Western Illi-
nois University.

GERALD DE MAIO received his undergraduate degree from Man-
hattan College, the M.A. degree in Political Science from New York
University, and is presently a Ph.D. candidate in Political Science at

111

New York University. His primary teaching and research interests lie
in the field of political theory. He is co-author with Robert Burrowes
of "Domestic External Linkage: Syria, 1961-1967," in Comparative
Political Studies. His dissertation topic is "American Conservatism:
A Viable Public Orthodoxy?"

KENNETH L. DEUTSCH received the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in
Political Science from the University of Massachusetts. His primary
teaching and research interests lie in the fields of normative political
philosophy, epistemology and political science, political ideologies
and political culture. He is the author of Political Obligation and
Civil Disobedience. Dr. Deutsch is presently Assistant Professor of
Political Science at the State University of New York at Genesco.

IV

FOREWORD

This volume continues the precedent of utiHzing the services of a
volume editor working under the loose supervision of a general editor,
a policy which began with the 1973 issue of Studies in the Social
Sciences. Responsibility for selecting the theme and papers herein
included, and initial editorial refinement, was that of the volume
editor. The role of the general editor was limited to broad consulta-
tion, final editing, and liaison with the printer.

In past issues, volume topics have been selected from various
social sciences, and this year the choice devolved on political science.
It was a propitious occurrence because of the effects on American
political life engendered by the Watergate scandals and our nation's
Southeast Asia policies. Clearly Americans are assessing and evaluat-
ing their political institutions, the processes leading to political
decision-making, and politicians. Questions emerging from the de-
bate ensure the timeliness of this issue.

As in the past, the journal is partially financed by The University
System of Georgia. It is distributed gratis to libraries of colleges and
universities in Georgia, and to selected institutions of higher learning
in each southern state. Interested individuals or other libraries may
purchase copies for $3.00 to help defray printing and mailing costs.
Standing orders for the series are available at reduced rates.

It is with considerable pleasure that we submit to you this volume
on political morality, responsiveness, and reform in America.

John C. Upchurch
Associate Professor and Chairman
Department of Geography
General Editor

New York University. His primary teaching and research interests lie
in the field of political theory. He is co-author with Robert Burrowes
of "Domestic External Linkage: Syria, 1961-1967," in Comparative
Political Studies. His dissertation topic is "American Conservatism:
A Viable Public Orthodoxy?"

KENNETH L. DEUTSCH received the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in
Political Science from the University of Massachusetts. His primary
teaching and research interests lie in the fields of normative political
philosophy, epistemology and political science, political ideologies
and political culture. He is the author of Political Obligation and
Civil Disobedience. Dr. Deutsch is presently Assistant Professor of
Political Science at the State University of New York at Genesco.

IV

FOREWORD

This volume continues the precedent of utilizing the services of a
volume editor working under the loose supervision of a general editor,
a policy which began with the 1973 issue of Studies in the Social
Sciences. Responsibility for selecting the theme and papers herein
included, and initial editorial refinement, was that of the volume
editor. The role of the general editor was limited to broad consulta-
tion, final editing, and liaison with the printer.

In past issues, volume topics have been selected from various
social sciences, and this year the choice devolved on political science.
It was a propitious occurrence because of the effects on American
political life engendered by the Watergate scandals and our nation's
Southeast Asia policies. Clearly Americans are assessing and evaluat-
ing their political institutions, the processes leading to political
decision-making, and politicians. Questions emerging from the de-
bate ensure the timeliness of this issue.

As in the past, the journal is partially financed by The University
System of Georgia. It is distributed gratis to libraries of colleges and
universities in Georgia, and to selected institutions of higher learning
in each southern state. Interested individuals or other libraries may
purchase copies for $3.00 to help defray printing and mailing costs.
Standing orders for the series are available at reduced rates.

It is with considerable pleasure that we submit to you this volume
on political morality, responsiveness, and reform in America.

John C. Upchurch
Associate Professor and Chairman
Department of Geography
General Editor

PREFACE

Seldom in the history of America have questions of political mor-
ality, governmental responsiveness, and political reform been of
greater moment than during the period of the Watergate scandals
and our withdrawal from the Vietnam conflict. Seldom in our na-
tional history have Americans questioned with greater intensity and
concern the morality of those in public life and the degree to which
political practices in America comport with the democratic values so
fundamental to our political system. The political environment of the
years since 1972 has constituted a strong influence upon the theme
for this issue: "Political Morality, Responsiveness, and Reform in
America."

The articles which appear in this issue approach this theme from
either an historical or a theoretical perspective, instead of focusing
upon specific proposals for political reform, as have so many recent
essays prompted by Watergate and Vietnam. In the first article,
George C.S. Benson considers the history of political corruption in the
United States, compares political corruption here to that in other
political systems, argues that the facts of American history only par-
tially support Huntington's modernization and functional theory,
and concludes that American corruption stems from an over-
emphasis upon the values of business or free enterprise. He further
concludes that American political corruption is a result of the heri-
tage of the political machine, oft-corrupt law enforcement machinery,
and failure to teach adequately moral standards.

S.J. Makielski, Jr., contends that corruption in politics is tied to
power, that power without limits of responsibility tends toward self-
magnification and political corruption, and that meaningful propos-
als for reform must come to terms with this basic relationship. Mark
Stern focuses upon the relationship between political power and pol-
itical morality posited by C. Wright Mills, contending that Mills'
analysis is synthesized within his moral framework, constitutes the
basis of his perception of the American polity as one governed by a
"higher morality," and should be given greater consideration in
analyses of contemporary American politics.

The focus of the articles by Gerald Henson, Gerald De Maio, and
Kenneth Deutsch is essentially theoretical. Henson considers the the-
oretical frameworks of praxis democracy and poiesis democracy, sug-
gests that possible areas of reform follow from each, and concludes
that debate on reform should carefully distinguish between the two.
De Maio explores some of the literature which attempts to explain

VI

the American political experience and which introduces into the con-
tinuing debate over the American political experience the classical
concept of the politeia or public orthodoxy. It is his contention that
the documents of the American political experience are grounded in
Hobbesean assumptions and thus reveal a liberal public orthodoxy.
He concludes that the failure to recognize the philosophical assump-
tions contained in America's public orthodoxy has, for the most part,
resulted in prescriptions which merely restate those assumptions and
keep the discourse within the parameters defined by the prevailing
public orthodoxy. The final article by Kenneth Deutsch presents a
critical analysis of American liberalism and political morality from
the perspective of existentialism. He argues that existentialism pro-
vides a more effective justification of liberal democratic values than
do the other major philosophies of recent years by focusing upon the
individual and upon problems of moral choice and by speaking di-
rectly to issues of individualism and public interest in American poli-
tics.

The object of this issue is the consideration of broad questions of
political morality, political responsiveness, and political reform in
America as the nation approaches her bicentennial. The trauma of
Watergate and Vietnam, with the attendant intense public and pri-
vate debate and assessment of the broad philosophical questions pos-
ited by those events, emphasizes the timeliness of a reconsideration
of these fundamental concerns. Hence, the focus of this issue is upon
historical and philosophical considerations, rather than upon propos-
als for specific reforms of institutions and political practices in Amer-
ica, as we approach our two-hundredth national anniversary.

Dudley McClain
Assistant Professor

of Political Science
Volume Editor

Vll

CAUSES AND CURES OF POLITICAL
CORRUPTION

By
George C. S. Benson

This article briefly summarizes the record of political corruption
in the United States, on the assumption that most readers are aware
of the historical background. It then reviews a number of reasons
advanced for corruption by writers and other observers, primarily
over the past decade. Finally, the article advances the reasons for
corruption which seem most important to the author, including one
which has been adumbrated by several distinguished writers, but
which has not been fully stated before.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Leonard White, in his series on administrative history of the
United States, has suggested that the first third of the century of the
Republic was relatively free of corruption. The "leading citizens,"
whom both Federalists and Republicans tended to appoint to office,
were likely to be fairly honest. We were still largely an agricultural
country, which reduced the chances for corruption, and we still had
a degree of revolutionary pride in our democratic institutions.

With the election of President Andrew Jackson in 1828 and the
widespread acceptance of the theory of rotation in office, the level of
appointees to office began to decline rapidly. Almost at the same time
the movement of masses of immigrants who were unused to American
institutions of democracy, and the irresponsible type of city charters
adopted in the nineteenth century, made possible the rise of the
urban political machine.' The machine almost invariably brought
with it a high degree of political corruption. There were occasional
reform mayors, but cities like New York and Philadelphia have prob-
ably had substantial on-going corruption, especially in their police
departments, from 1850 to date. The political power of the machines
made it possible to extend some of this corruption to state govern-
ments and to a limited extent to the federal government. The latter
had perhaps its worst scandals in the Grant Administration (1869-
1877), but serious scandals also appeared in the Cleveland, Harding,
Truman, and Nixon administrations.

Reform tendencies have often appeared. At the turn of the cen-
tury, for example, under the prodding of the muckrakers, there were
signs of a general reform movement. Cities like Milwaukee, reformed
by Socialists, Cincinnati and Kansas City, reformed by upper-middle

class citizen groups, and Los Angeles, where a major machine was
never formed, have had continuous records of relative honesty. Some
states, such as California since 1910 (except for the Samish regime
in the state legislature), Wisconsin since LaFoUette's time, and New
York since 1920, have had excellent records. Virginia has been an
interesting example of a machine-run state which has furnished hon-
est if not inspired government for several decades.

The writer, judging the corruption situation for the benefit of his
own course in Municipal Government in 1932, predicted that political
machines and corruption were on their way out. Except in Chicago
the machine has indeed lost power, and it shows signs of tottering
there. Universal education has made many people independent of
machine help. Ethnic groups have found their places in American
life. Federally sponsored welfare programs have made the machine,
with its sham benevolence, less useful.

What the writer did not foresee, however, was the continuation of
large amounts of corruption after the political machine disappeared.
Mayor Lindsay, one of the long line of reform mayors, was forced in
1970 to investigate the New York City police department, which was
still over half corrupt, in spite of Tammany Hall's loss of political
power. In a study of Boston, Chicago, and Washington, it was noted
that "Excluding any participation in syndicated crime, roughly 1 in
5 officers was observed in criminal violation of the law. This observa-
tion was made by persons who had little time to be acquainted with
the policemen. The lawbreaking was almost always acceptance of
money or merchandise."^

A. J. Reichley writes in Fortune:

The last two years alone have seen: the conviction of Federal
Judge Otto Kerner for taking a bribe in the form of race track stock
while he was Governor of Illinois; the conviction of Attorney General
of Louisiana Jack Gremillion for perjury; the conviction of Gus
Mutscher, former Speaker of the Texas House of Representatives,
for participation in a stock swindle; the conviction of former U. S.
Senator Daniel Brewster for taking a bribe; the indictment of close
associates of Governor William Cahill of New Jersey for promoting
a scheme to evade income tax laws covering campaign contribu-
tions. None of these deeds approached Watergate in seriousness, but
all are evidences of the low level to which ethical standards have
fallen in many areas of government.'

Undoubtedly the most publicity ever given to political corruption
in this country is that given the Watergate episodes, in which a Presi-
dent of the United States quite deliberately assisted in the cover-up
of two illegal burglaries. It will probably be a long time before the
complex of causes leading to President Nixon's breakdown in admin-

istrative integrity will be fully explained. Of more importance to this
article is the question of what the intense publicity on Watergate will
do to political corruption in this country. At present it has led to
federal and state laws on campaign financing sponsored by Common
Cause. If this is the only result, there may be little beneficial effect
upon some of the on-going types of corruption described herein. It is
even possible that limits on campaign spending and/or public financ-
ing will help incumbent legislators stay in power, and thus increase
the possibility of corrupt action. We cannot tell until we have had a
chance to observe the results of such legislation.

Today it is probably fair to say that America has more corruption,
both absolutely and proportionately, than any other modern democ-
racy. Corruption, for example, occurs very seldom in the modern
British national government and infrequently in British local govern-
ment. Of course, Britain did have a great deal of corruption in the
first quarter of the last century probably more than occurred in the
U.S.A.; but what Professor Friedrich describes as a "miraculous"
reform movement overcame this corruption and incompetence.^ Later
in the century, the British central government succeeded in helping
local government eliminate most of its corruption. The late Hiram
Stout, in British Government, states that "On the score of integrity,
no major scandal has touched the Civil Service in recent years. "^ A
1972 New York Times article corroborated this by indicating that
corruption is negligible in the British judiciary, as well as being low
in France and West Germany."

Roland Huntford, on the other hand, is sharply critical of Swedish
governmental policies, but comments: "It is vital for an understand-
ing of Swedish society to realize that public corruption, in the form
of personal bribery, does not exist. "^ Professor Heidenheimer tells us
that the German Civil Service had a minor wave of corruption in the
fifties, but the German public official is still widely admired.* Hans
Rosenberg gives us some background of the more-than-century-old
Prussian bureaucratic efforts to maintain honesty.* Holland, more-
over, after a good deal of effort, has succeeded in setting high stan-
dards against corruption of government officials;'" and Switzerland
seems to maintain high standards of honesty in its government." In
fact, the only modern democracy which may have had amounts of
corruption parallel to ours was France under the Third Republic.'^
Despite this it is our impression that France now has less corruption
than the United States.

It is, of course, clear to all that political corruption has become a
serious liability to American life. One acute observer believes that
trade union corruption, which Senator McClelland and Counsel Rob-

ert Kennedy valiantly tried to explore, could have been cured if gov-
ernment had been honest.'^ It is hard to know how much union cor-
ruption has added to costs of production or reduced benefits to work-
ers. The Watergate aberration of the Nixon Administration clearly
cost the country a good deal in the loss of progress in foreign policy
formulation and implementation and in domestic legislation.'^ Cor-
ruption is also essential to organized crime and is probably an impor-
tant cause of on-going crime (in which America also unfortunately
leads advanced modern democracies), at great cost to our economy.'^
But the financial losses of corruption may well be outweighed by what
Professor Friedrich calls the damage to our "ideatic core."'*

Following this brief introduction to the history and extent of the
corruption problem, it will be appropriate to analyze the causes of
corruption suggested by various political observers. This analysis will
include "modernization" and the "functional" theory of corruption
suggested for developing countries by Professor Samuel P. Hunting-
ton. Another explanation revolves around the lack of a social or bu-
reaucratic "class" structure in America. A third explanation is our
over-emphasis on business or free enterprise, which is complemented
by the obverse suggestion of Senator Paul Douglas that corruption
comes from too much government regulation of business. Dominance
of party machines is also offered as a reason, with Civil Service and
stronger city charters given as control mechanisms. Weakness of na-
tional moral standards has been suggested by other observers.

After discussing each of these theories, the writer will present his
own view of the cause of on-going corruption. It involves a complex
of factors, including the corrupt tradition set by decades of machine
rule, the decentralization and poor administration of law enforce-
ment machinery, and the failure of most American institutions to pay
attention to ethical standards.

As these theories of the causes of corruption are analyzed, the
reader will naturally be thinking of the "cure" for each cause. Accord-
ingly, remedies will be discussed with causes. The reader is cau-
tioned, however, that there may be different kinds of corruption
which require different kinds of remedies. There is little similarity,
aside from moral disapprobrium, between the act of the New York
police detective who demands protection money from a brothel and
the actions of the giant milk cooperatives which finance campaigns
of both national political parties in order to secure support for a milk
price increase.

The second warning to the reader is that we Americans thinking
in constitutional, legal terms probably have too much confidence in
purely legal reforms. Our belief in checks and balances has led us to

seek a change in the law or the charter or the constitution on numer-
ous occasions, when the election of better people to the office is the
only real answer.

MODERNIZATION AND FUNCTIONAL THEORY OF
CORRUPTION

Political scientists have written much in recent years about a
"functional" theory of corruption. One of the principal statements of
this is in Professor Samuel Huntington's book, Political Order in
Changing Societies, in which he argues that corruption comes with
"rapid social and economic organization."'^ New sources of wealth
and power make new demands on government and resort to bribery
or other forms of corruption if their demands are not met legiti-
mately. Modernization has changed the values of society toward
"universalistic and achievement-based norms." It also creates new
sources of power and wealth. It increases the laws and regulations
operating over society, sometimes establishing "unreasonable puri-
tanical standards." Reducing corruption may involve scaling down of
norms for officials, as well as leading the behavior of those officials
toward the norms.

Corruption, says Huntington, is also lessened in a highly stratified
society which has a highly developed system of norms. Since corrup-
tion involves exchange of political action for economic wealth, the
form of corruption depends upon whether wealth or political power
is easier to gain. "In the United States, wealth has more commonly
been a road to political influence than political office has been a road
to wealth.""* In societies which have fairly strong national political
institutions, the incidence of corruption is likely to be greater in the
lower levels of government.

Huntington's "functional" theory of corruption is best given by a
quotation:

Just as the corruption produced by the expansion of political
participation helps to integrate new groups into the political system,
so also the corruption produced by the expansion of governmental
regulation may help stimulate economic development. Corruption
may be one way of surmounting traditional laws of bureaucratic
regulations which hamper economic expansion. In the United States
during the 1870s and 1880s corruption of state legislatures and city
councils by railroad, utility, and industrial corporations undoubt-
edly speeded the growth of the American economy."

Huntington grants that corruption weakens a governmental bu-
reaucracy. However, he believes that corruption may help party or-
ganization, which in the long run helps to overcome corruption.

Huntington's theses have been followed by several other writers.
Even the usually hard-headed C. J. Friedrich has paid a fair amount
of deference to the "functional" theory of corruption in his Pathology
of Politics.'''

The thesis that corruption comes with rapid social and economic
organization is valid for nineteenth century America, where an econ-
omy was expanding, cities were developing, and new immigrant
groups were entering communities. During most of the nineteenth
century, many American cities, some states, and at times the na-
tional government became very corrupt. "Modernization" was not
creating new norms, as Huntington suggests (perhaps he was discuss-
ing only developing countries), but there were new forms of wealth
and power. The third effect of modernization, creation of new laws
and regulations, was not very notable in the U.S.A.; in fact, we were
probably as busy shedding old regulations as we were adopting new
ones. However, the whole problem of the application of the Hunting-
ton theory of corruption in nineteenth century America deserves close
historical analysis.

If two of Huntington's three reasons for the creation of corruption
by modernization did not apply in nineteenth century America, the
theory is probably not an adequate explanation of the extent of our
corruption. It certainly does not explain the surprising amount of on-
going corruption in twentieth century America; in fact, Huntington
probably would not maintain that it does. His observation that class
stratification may help save a country from corruption, however,
seems to be borne out of our experience. It is generally granted that
America has not had a class structure comparable to that of the
Northwestern European countries, and it is probable that their class
structure did help those countries establish traditions of governmen-
tal honesty. Class structure is more fully discussed in the next sec-
tion.

The theory of the functional uses of corruption seems to be one of
Huntington's positions which is least applicable to America. It does
not explain a large fraction of American nineteenth century corrup-
tion or the preponderant fraction of our continued twentieth century
corruption. The histories of Tammany Hall show a great amount of
looting of the New York City treasury, which had no significant
connection with advancement of economic life. Exorbitant prices
paid for city purchases, "kickbacks" on city contracts, and large
paychecks to non-working people are simply methods of stealing. The
Tweed Ring's activities were largely of this simple type of plundering.
The granting of franchises for operating street cars and for selling
gasoline may be interpreted as "functional," though it is also possible

that the bribes used to secure these franchises were extorted from the
utility and its customers rather than spent for a functional activity.
If these are to be regarded as normal economic activities, corruption
hindered rather than helped them.

Examination of municipal corruption in twentieth century Amer-
ica also leaves little place for the "functional" theory. Most utilities
are now regulated at the state or federal level. The continued corrup-
tion evidenced by fraudulent contracts, police exactions, and protec-
tion payments for organized crime is not "functional."

Nevertheless, some elements of "functional" corruption do con-
tinue at the federal and state level, where regulations regarding
prices, rates, types of service, amount of imports, and other controls
do affect economic groups, which in turn sometimes try to influence
government action corruptly. It is quite possible that there should be
careful consideration of such regulations to see if the amount of regu-
lation could not be reduced or the process of regulation made more
impersonal and automatic to reduce the possibility of corruption. But
elimination of all such "functional" corruption would leave intact the
great mass of on-going local government corruption, which is much
more personal exploitation than economic functionalism.

CLASS AGAINST CORRUPTION

Several discerning observers have noted that the lack of rigid class
structures in America has facilitated the development of political
corruption in this country. Ernest Griffith has stated this theory in
terms of respect for officials rather than class, but since high office
in Britain (of which he was writing) went to members of the upper
or upper-middle class at that time, he was addressing himself to the
same phenomenon:

A respect for office-holding that surrounds the official with a
kind of political halo has a profound effect on the official himself.
It postulates noblesse oblige. In America this respect passed with the
entry of the new democracy. Rotation in office and the spoils system
destroyed well nigh completely any feeling that office-holding in-
volved obligations. Office-holding had come to be looked upon not
as a privilege but as a reward or even as a right. Noblesse oblige is
impossible in such an attitude. This was and is the root of American
corruption; its converse is the reason for the high British standard^^

Other observers have put the same point differently, that other
modern democracies have a ruling class or an upper class which has
more responsibility for governing honestly than do the constantly
changing groups which find themselves in charge of government in a
less class-minded America. Huntington, in developing the theories

referred to above, comments:

The degree of corruption which modernization produces in a so-
ciety is, of course, a function of the nature of the traditional society
as well as the nature of the modernizing process. The presence of
several competing value systems or cultures in a traditional society
will, in itself, encourage corruption in that society. Given a rela-
tively homogeneous culture, however, the amount of corruption
likely to develop during modernization would appear to be inversely
related to the degree of social stratification in the traditional society.
A highly articulated class or caste structure means a highly devel-
oped system of norms regulating behavior between individuals of
different status. ^^

Britain is today so little concerned with political corruption that
the writer has not been able to discover contemporary studies of the
relationship of the class structure (now becoming a "meritocracy" of
intellectual rather than hereditary choice) to the lack of corruption.
But there are two comparative studies of practice regarding corrup-
tion in the House of Commons and in Congress which indicate that
the British desire to treat M.P.s as "gentlemen" has resulted in
higher ethical requirements for membership in the legislative body
than exist in America. ^^

A sociological variation of the class theory has come from the
fertile pen of Seymour Martin Lipset. Comparing the United States
with Canada, he concludes that Canadians are less motivated by
equality and individual achievement than Americans, but value an
educational "elite" more. Canadians stress moral values more in edu-
cation, where Americans emphasize "citizenship, patriotism, social
skills, and family living." Not surprisingly, there is substantial evi-
dence that Canadians have more respect for law, for Canada is more
"collectively oriented" and less "business" oriented than the United
States. 2^

This writer does not presume to pass judgement on the validity
of Lipset's interesting generalizations. For our purposes his com-
ments may be viewed as an illustration and extension of the theory
that class stratification may help resist corruption. Lipset extends
the theory to indicate that the citizen frame of mind which accepts
an elite also accepts government, authority, and honest procedures.

How valid is this theory of social class versus corruption? A strong
objection is that classes in some societies, for example the aristocratic
class in Czarist Russia, were to some extent carriers of a tradition of
corruption. The corrupt Britain of 1800 was probably more socially
stratified than the more nearly honest Britain of 1900. Caste-ridden
India has been much bothered with corruption; and upper classes in
Italy have not been a group favoring honest conduct of government.

8

Nevertheless, the writer beheves that there is some truth in the
theory that the lack of an hereditarily or educationally determined
upper group in American life since 1829 has been a contributing
factor to political corruption; or, perhaps more accurately, it has
meant that we lack one possible piece of sociological machinery to
work against corruption.

However, it does not follow that we should undertake to establish
an elite in America as a method of controlling political corruption.
The vertical mobility of American society has many advantages
which most Americans would not like to lose. It provides the oppor-
tunity to achieve in all areas of human endeavor. It means that no
one group needs to feel that it is kept at a lower level of American
society. Indeed, vertical mobility is part of an egalitarian objective
to which we have long been committed.

The real lesson to be drawn from the class-against-corruption
theory is that America should try to eliminate corruption without
taking on the disadvantages of rigid class stratification. One way is
by the process of indoctrinating most members of the society with the
sense of public responsibility which class stratified societies have
given only to the elite. How this may be done is explained more fully
toward the end of this article.

The other possiblity is that we educate those citizens who are
going to have special responsibilities in the public obligations of their
future jobs. The American armed forces have certainly been able to
produce disciplined, patriotic, courageous, and honest leaders
through a long process of education, both in institutions and on the
job. The civil service and foreign service have been a bit less success-
ful in inculcating ideas on the job, but their final product has gener-
ally been able, conscientious, and honest. Individual state and local
governments have also produced incorruptible public servants.

But this piecemeal way of producing noblesse oblige can be only
partly successful. It is nearly impossible to prescribe it to legislators,
whether federal, state, or local. There are many governmental tasks
for which it is not possible to educate a meritocracy. The very free-
dom of upward mobility in American life makes it difficult to plan
out education in ethical responsibilities for small groups.

OVEREMPHASIS ON BUSINESS OR FREE ENTERPRISE

Another reason which is often cited for continuing corruption in
American life is our emphasis on business or on free enterprise. The
theory as advanced by Lincoln Steffens was that most of the bribes
came from business; the problem was to get business Under control.
It was on this theory that prosecutors of the Ruef-Schmitz machine

in San Francisco turned loose most of the bribe receivers. The goal
was to convict the bribers. ^^ An elaboration of this view is that Ameri-
can emphasis on success in business encourages efforts to "get mine"
regardless of ethical scruples.

An important reverse twist to the "business system" explanation
of political corruption was advanced by Senator (also Professor) Paul
Douglas of Illinois. In a thoughtful book, he suggested that elimina-
tion of a number of statutes by which government tried to control
business would reduce the occasion for political corruption.^"

At first sight, the theory of business fault sounds quite plausible.
Who, indeed, but the briber starts the corruption? If the Southern
Pacific Railroad had not wished to secure a monopoly of transporta-
tion, would California have had to bear the Octopus? Was not the
Gas Ring the source of Philadelphia's corruption problems? The
theory is especially attractive because it gives us the involved corpo-
ration to oppose.

Another element of truth in the "business" explanation of Amer-
ica's on-going political corruption is to be found in the mistakes made
by a number of businessmen when appointed to public office. A large
fraction of the aberrations of political executives in the Eisenhower,
Kennedy, and Johnson administrations were a result of carrying over
into government a lax business practice of accepting gifts or weekend
vacations." If some businesses make a habit of giving expensive pres-
ents to purchasing agents, it may not wreak great havoc in a competi-
tive market where the purchasing agent presumably makes the best
buy regardless of gifts. But if the practice of accepting gifts is carried
over into government, which has a monopoly of control, it may be
very bad indeed.

More careful reflection tells us that "business" has not always
been the major source of corruption in America. Some of the exam-
ples used against the "functional" theory of corruption are applicable
here. Most of Tammany Hall's exploitation of citizens was not at the
behest of business but was governmental exploitation of brothel own-
ers, saloon keepers, gamblers, and their clients. The unhappy situa-
tion of many big city police forces today is not a result of business
corruption; in fact, the business leaders of most of those cities would
probably welcome more honest urban government. As Henry Jones
Ford points out in his article on "The Shame of the Cities," Steffens
himself states that "Several companies which refused to pay black-
mail had to leave. "^*

If we look at other countries, we can see that the free operation of
business need not bring political corruption. Sweden and Switzerland
rival America in per capita income, based on business enterprise,

10

with little political corruption. West Germany, revived by a free eco-
nomic system, rigidly enforces laws which send bribers of officials to
jail. Britain, original home of the Industrial Revolution, keeps its
businesses from corrupting its government.

An answer to the above suggestions may be that America empha-
sizes business and free enterprise more than these other nations. This
answer may or may not be true. We talk of free enterprise but we
regulate some businesses which are not regulated elsewhere. We prob-
ably make more speeches for free enterprise than do other nations,
but we make more speeches on other topics, too.

The conclusion which the writer cannot avoid is that business-
men, like other groups in society, will work for and support honest
government if the intellectual leaders of society persuade them that
honest government is best for everyone. No one has made great effort
to persuade them of this fact in recent decades.

The reverse twist of this "business causes corruption" argument,
raised by Paul Douglas, deserves careful consideration. A good many
of our economic control statutes should be carefully reviewed. Why
does the President of the United States have to set the price of milk?

THE PARTY DOMINANCE THEORY

A fourth reason advanced for corruption, especially in the last
quarter of the nineteenth and the first quarter of the twentieth cen-
tury, was the dominance of party machines. Direct primary elections,
the right of voting referenda on legislation, and recall of public offi-
cials were mechanisms intended to reduce the dominance of party
leaders. White cites Charles Francis Adams, who put the blame for
corruption on party organization "bred in the gutter of New York
politics. "2"

The obvious difficulty with this theory is that other nations have
learned to operate non-corrupt politics through party machinery.
Huntington assumes, probably correctly, that party organization will
end corruption. Adams' theory was an example of a frequent Ameri-
can mistake: the assumption that mechanical changes would elimi-
nate our political difficulties. A current example of a similar effort
to reform by mechanics is the Common Cause effort to limit the size
of campaign funds. As already noted, this reform may or may not
make for more moral campaigns; it is unlikely to result in any serious
reduction of the amount of corruption of government in this country.

CHANGE IN FORMS OF GOVERNMENT

In the tradition of the Founding Fathers, Americans have long

11

sought changes in statutes or ordinances or charters or state constitu-
tions which would presumably eliminate corrupt practices. A few
examples follow:

Civil Service

From the Civil War to the middle of this century, it has been
assumed that civil service, protecting government workers from spoils
politics, was a reform which would help eliminate political corrup-
tion. In some ways this has been an echo of the theory of class against
corruption the difference being that members of the class are chosen
by competitive examination instead of aristocratic birth.

In the second half of the last century, civil service reform groups
existed in most large cities. Many of their members undoubtedly
believed that civil service was a major cure for corruption, perhaps
because it was a part of Britain's major reform.^"

Unfortunately, civil service proved to be only a partial answer to
our problems. It certainly helped pull the federal administration out
of some third-class political traditions and helped produce the rela-
tively honest federal administration of today. It has helped states like
California, New York, and Wisconsin and cities like Los Angeles and
Milwaukee do creditable administrative jobs. But it has not kept
cities like Boston, Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia from a great
deal of on-going corruption. Civil service may help the administration
of a city or state through one four-year term of a bad mayor or gover-
nor; but it will not help much if many bad top executives are elected.

Stronger Chief Executives

Another legal reform which has frequently been advanced for re-
form is the concentration of political responsibility in a strong chief
executive. In the middle of the last century, many city charters and
state constitutions, perhaps following the Jacksonian rotation in off-
ice theory, provided for election of many department heads, judges,
and boards of control. In the words of Ernest Griffith:

... in the hodge podge of elected officials in America, in the indefi-
nite relationship between the council and the executive, and be-
tween both and the state, and in lack of any sort of statutory budget-
ary procedure, some coordinating force was needed. In fact, some
such force was inevitable if the government was to function at all.
The boss was a necessary evil.^'

Accordingly, reform groups worked for city manager or strong mayor
charters for cities and for state constitutions which gave governors
more power. In general these changes have been good. Mayors, man-

12

agers, or governors have functioned better. In some cities and states
the reform has remained permanent.

But the strong chief executive is no panacea. Substantial amounts
of state and local corruption have continued under strong mayors in
New York and Chicago, and under strong governors in Illinois and
Maryland. This reform is helpful but not enough.

Give Up Separation of Powers

American observers have not missed the fact that American fed-
eral and state government is unique in its doctrine of separation of
powers, as well as its corruption. Henry Jones Ford has written an
article indicating that the separation of the executive and legislative
function encourages efforts of special interests to capture individual
legislators. Walter Bagehot had a similar thought.'^ The City Man-
ager Plan is itself closer to British responsible government than to our
separation of powers. Recent Watergate difficulties have led many
people to wonder if we do not need some system by which the execu-
tive branch of the national government is more responsive to the
legislative branch.

However, we have no certainty that this particular legal change
would improve our position. As a panel of public administrators
pointed out in commenting on Watergate, a series of episodes like
Watergate could easily have occurred under a responsible system of
government. 3^ Separation of powers has served American well for
almost two centuries and is likely to continue, at least at state and
national levels of government.

IMPROVE ETHICAL STANDARDS

Several acute observers have commented on the possibility that
weakness in American ethical standards lay behind the on-going
problem of corruption. Ostrogorski believed that the "Caucus" was
diminishing America's moral reserve. ^^ Senator Paul Douglas wrote
in 1952:

. . . more important than the institutional improvements which I
have suggested is our need for a deeper set of moral values. . . . The
faults which we see in governments are all too often the reflection
of our own moral failures. All this may dawn upon us, so that we
will not only help to reform government but also to reform our-
selves. ''

Professor and former Civil Service Commissioner Leonard D. White,
writing in 1957 about the period 1869 to 1901, was concerned about
general moral standards but believed that improvement was coming.

13

He commented that "vigilance was still necessary," a remark which
is still true almost twenty years later.

This writer believes that Ostrogorski and both of his highly-
esteemed former colleagues did not go quite far enough in recognizing
that America does have an underlying problem of inadequate ethical
education. Elsewhere, the writer and his colleague. Dr. Thomas S.
Engeman, have developed this position more fully. ^* America's high
rates of crimes of violence as well as political corruption seem to us
to be related to our failure to teach ethics consistently in schools,
churches, and other media of instruction.

CAUSES OF CORRUPTION

The writer would welcome further research, but is inclined at the
moment to regard the main causes of on-going political corruption in
this country as the following:

(1) Although the political machine is dying, the traditions of eth-
nic voting, of semi-corrupt police forces, and of bribe-offering con-
tractors continue strongly in many American cities, especially those
with large poverty areas. As an example. New York City's mayoral
election in 1969 was one of the most ethnic in its history. ^^ Police
Commissioner Murphy, serving under a reform mayor, commented
that he had vastly underestimated the difficulty of developing an
honest police force in New York. The writer's guess is that New York,
Philadelphia, Chicago, and Boston have rarely had honest police
forces reform mayors and police chiefs or commissioners not having
time to root out or change the habits of all the dishonest men on the
force.

If corruption continues in large cities, some of it is almost certain
to spread to state governments and to some portions of the federal
government. For example, organized crime is most strongly rooted in
a few cities like New York and Chicago, which are still influenced by
political machine traditions; but organized crime spreads itself to
control state legislators, judges, prosecutors, or congressmen, as may
be needed for its tasks. New York State has held this extension to a
minimum; Illinois has been less successful.

(2) A second fundamental difficulty with ensuring rectitude of
American political life is our slow, clumsy, and ineffective law en-
forcement machinery. Our extensive decentralization is an especially
difficult problem. All the other modern democracies retain some de-
gree of supervision of law enforcement machinery by central govern-
ment agencies. If a British city police force becomes corrupt, the
inspector of the national government makes suggestions to the appro-
priate local authorities. In France the Ministry of Interior would order

14

corrections. But in the United States the badly run city or county is
usually left to wallow in its own corruption, with federal assistance
limited to sporadic income tax prosecutions.

(3) The third underlying reason for America's on-going political
corruption relates to ineffective teaching of moral standards. This
problem may arise from the great variety of religions in America, or
from the failure of any religion to prepare its youth for the complex
ethical problems of our society, from the almost complete elimination
of ethical education in the public schools to the amorality of televi-
sion, or both.

It may be true that the churches, traditional purveyors of ethics,
have tried from time to time to stem the tide of corruption. White,
in discussing the worst corruption of the Grant era, says: "The
churches did not waver in holding man's duty to his fellowman before
him. . . ."^* And clearly individual clergymen have led movements
against corrupt political machines.

But the instruction given by most churches to youth involves
almost nothing which would lead a young man or woman to avoid
corrupt political action. The nineteenth century teaching of Biblical
texts opposed corruption only indirectly; the twentieth century
teaching of social ethics does not oppose corruption at all. Professor
Clebsch, after noting that denominations have concerned themselves
with their own ritual and dogma, queried: "What American denomi-
nation has developed moral norms that are at once realistic and genu-
inely religious to guide persons who are perplexed by a welter of new
problems such as abortion, divorce, euthanasia, extra-marital sexual
intercourse, financial manipulation. . . ?"^'* He might have added
political corruption and ordinary crime as items that are ignored.

The schools have largely eliminated ethical instruction from their
programs, perhaps because of fear that teaching ethics was as uncon-
stitutional as teaching of religion, perhaps because certain intellec-
tual attitudes, like those of John Dewey and Sigmund Freud, were
antagonistic to teaching ethics.^" There is now a slow change in educa-
tional attitudes toward ethics, but there is still a long way to go before
young people will enter political life with firm ethical convictions.

The media are, with some exceptions, apathetic toward moral
standards. Newspapers are more responsible than television, but nei-
ther one views ethical education as part of its responsibility.

CURES FOR CORRUPTION

What is needed to reduce corruption in American life? The follow-
ing suggestions are made with the belief that they are not ultimate
answers; rather, they are devices worth trying.

15

First, America needs better ethical instruction by mechanisms of
society. The present system of relying on parents for almost all ethical
instruction is grossly inadequate, as the experiences of Watergate,
Governor Kerner, Equity Funding, and large amounts of local corrup-
tion tell us.

Schools need to restore some study of the responsibility of the
individual for honesty, truth, courage, and helping others. Case stud-
ies are probably the best means of doing this at the secondary level,
but other methods are available."" Schools have not always been suc-
cessful in teaching civics, but this may be partly because their text-
books have avoided the real ethical problems in government. ^^ Their
work in race relations has been better, but it, too, would probably be
helped by more careful study of individual ethics.

The churches, like the schools, need to pay greater attention to
instruction in individual ethics. Sunday School instruction could be
greatly improved. ^^

Television and the newspapers have great possibilities for curing
political corruption if they would work on the problem. If one-quarter
of the television time and newspaper space devoted to Watergate
were spent on state and local corruption, we would soon have better
government in the United States. But it is unlikely that the media
will turn major attention to such an appetizing diet as local corrup-
tion.^^

Second, we need an effort to establish enough central supervision
of law enforcement machinery, so that no jurisdiction can continu-
ously operate a corrupt regime. Only by continuous raising of the
standards of law enforcement agencies can we help people learn to be
law-abiding themselves. Grants-in-aid to local law enforcement units
should be conditioned on honest conduct of affairs.

Third, we need continuing and more intelligent efforts to cure the
"poverty pockets" which continue to be a blemish on American life
and a place for corruption to gain special footholds. We need espe-
cially better schools, better housing, better police protection, and
better jobs for the people living in those areas.

Clearly by addressing ourselves with vigor and purposefulness, to
each of these possible "cures," we might begin to lessen the strangle-
hold of corruption on the many aspects of American life. It is, after
all, a battle worth waging.

FOOTNOTES

' Leonard D. White, The Federalists (New York: Macmillan Co., 1956);
Leonard D. White, The Jack sonians (New York: Macmillan Co., 1954); Er-
nest S. Griffith, The Modern Development of City Government, 2 vols. (Lon-

16

don: Oxford University Press, 1927), vol. 1.

^ Albert J. Reiss, Jr., The Police and the Public (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1971), pp. 156-163.

' A. James Reichley, "Getting at the Roots of Watergate," Fortune (July,
1973), p. 91.

^ Carl J. Friedrich, The Pathology of Politics (New York: Harper and Row,
1972), p. 136. See also Sidney D. Bailey, British Parliamentary Democracy
(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1971), pp. 98-103 and 166-172; and Alexis de
Tocqueville, Letter to Henry Hallam, May 29, 1835.

5 New York: Oxford University Press, 1953, p. 278.

' Alvin Schuster, "Graft Charges Rare in Western Europe's Judiciary," New
York Times, 8 October 1972.

' Roland Huntford, The New Totalitiarians (New York: Stein and Day,
1972), p. 129.

* Arnold J. Heidenheimer, The Governments of Germany (New York:
Thomas Y. Crowell, 1971), pp. 210-216.

Hans Rosenberg, Bureaucracy, Aristocracy, and Autocracy (Boston: Bea-
con Press, 1958).

'" H. A. Brasy, "Administrative Corruption in Theory and Dutch Practice,"
in Arnold J. Heidenheimer, ed., Political Corruption (New York: Holt, Rine-
hart & Winston, 1970).

" Denis de Rougement, La Suisse (Paris: Hachette, 1965), p. 120; G. A.
Chevallaz, La Suisse on Le Sommeil Du Juste (Lausanne: Payot, 1967),
chapter 12.

'2 William L. Shirer, The Collapse of the Third Republic (New York: Pocket
Books, 1971), pp. 57, 187.

" John Hutchinson, The Imperfect Union (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1972),
pp. 380-385.

'^ Frederick C. Mosher et al., Watergate: Implications for Responsible
Government (New York: Basic Books, 1974), pp. 9-10.

'' Donald R. Cressey, Theft of the Nation (New York: Harper and Row,
1969).

Friedrich, The Pathology of Politics, Part III.

" New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968, p. 59.

Ibid., p. 67.

' Ibid., pp. 68-69.

2 Part III.

2' Griffith, The Modern Development of City Government, vol. 2, p. 614.

^^ Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies, p. 64.

^' H. R. Wilson, Congress: Corruption and Compromise (New York: Rinehart
and Co., 1951); Robert S. Getz, Congressional Ethics (Princeton: Van Nos-

17

trand, 1966).

^* Seymour Martin Lipset, Revolution and Counterrevolution (New York:
Basic Books, 1968).

^' Walter Bean, Boss Ruef's San Francisco (Berkeley: University of Califor-
nia Press, 1968); Lincoln Steffens, The Shame of the Cities (New York: Hill
and Wang, 1957), p. 3.

^ Paul H. Douglas, Ethics in Government (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1952).

^' David A. Frier, Conflict of Interest in the Eisenhower Administration
(Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1969).

^* Henry Jones Ford, "Municipal Corruption," Political Science Quarterly,
19 (1904), pp. 673-686, reprinted in Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Political
Corruption (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1970).

2" Leonard D. White, The Republican Era (New York: Macmillan Co., 1958;
Free Press paperback, 1965), p. 366.

^" Art Hoogenboom, Outlawing the Spoils (Urbana: University of Illinois
Press, 1968).

'' Griffith, The Modern Development of City Government, vol. 1, p. 27.

'^ Henry Jones Ford, "Municipal Corruption," in Walter Bagehot, The Eng-
lish Constitution (New York: D. Appleton, 1908), p. 87.

^^ Mosher, Implications for Responsible Government, pp. 16-18.

^* M. Ostrogorski, Democracy and Political Parties (New York: Macmillan
Co., 1902), vol. 1, pp. 598-599.

'^ Douglas, Ethics in Government, pp. 102-103.

^* George C. S. Benson and Thomas S. Engeman, Amoral America, forth-
coming, 1975.

^' Nathan Glazer and Daniel P. Moynihan, Beyond the Melting Pot, 2nd ed.
(Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1970).

' White, The Republican Era, p. 380.

' William A. Clebsch, "American Religion and the Cure of Souls," in
McLaughlin and Bella, Religion in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), p.
255.

*" George C. S. Benson and Thomas S. Engeman, "Dewey, Freud, and
American Morality," The Political Science Reviewer, 4 (Fall 1974).

** George C. S. Benson and Joseph Forcinelli, "Individual Ethics in the High
School," Bulletin of the National Association of Secondary School
Principals, forthcoming (1975).

" Richard M. Merelman, Political Socialization and Educational Climate
(New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1971), pp. 6-7.

'' George C. S. Benson and Thomas S. Engeman, "Ethical Instruction and
the Churches," Religious Education, 69 (September-October 1974), pp.

18

568-578.

** Bill and Nancy Boyarsky, Backroom Politics (New York: Hawthorne
Books, 1974), Chapter 11.

19

POLITICS, CORRUPTION, AND POWER

By

S. J. Makielski, Jr.

James Q. Wilson, writing well before Watergate, suggested that
one of the problems of corruption is the "Problem of Corruption,"'
that is, generally decent, potentially effective politicians are deprived
of their capability to act because of public attitudes toward any signs
or symptoms of corrupt behavior. Thus, the political leader, in his
effort to avoid the appearance of corruption, will often fail to act,
appoint advisors who are inexperienced but look "clean," and spend
more time on image than on getting on with the business of govern-
ing. Underlying this argument is an important assumption: the task
of the public man is to act, and as long as he acts so that public
benefits substantially outweigh public costs, it is hardly fair to quib-
ble over any private "leakage" that might occur.

It is necessary to give some thought to this assumption because it
has appeared elsewhere,^ and, adopting as it does the posture of mod-
em "realistic" political science, it stands to influence the thinking of
many political scientists. In turn, this means that those who are
equipped to offer the best-reasoned and most knowledgeable sugges-
tions for reform, as well as being the most attentive audience for
reform proposals, perhaps will be tempted to assume that a little
corruption is not a serious problem but perhaps even a good thing.^

The purpose of this paper is to explore the relationship among
power, corruption, and moral behavior in public life, assuming that
our understanding of the relationship shapes our thinking about the
behavior of public officials, and, one hopes, ultimately that very be-
havior itself.

POWER AND RESPONSIBILITY

As A. A. Berle has argued, power must be a central feature in any
society: it is the means by which chaos is held back.^ Put more posi-
tively, we can think of power for our purposes as the ability to act or
to cause others to act.' As such, it can be viewed as distinct but not
necessarily separate from authority, that is, the legal or customary
right to act or to cause others to act.* Those with authority often
possess power, as we shall see, but they may on occasion be powerless.
Significantly, authority is one of the more useful tools or bases of
power, giving the power-holder the legal sanction and often public
deference to act as he chooses.

21

In American society, we have striven to make power and authority
coterminous, on the logical democratic premiss that power should be
sanctioned by authority, thus subjecting the power-holder to the re-
straints that go with authority, restraints usually summarized in the
term "responsibility." Thus, power without responsibility becomes a
feared and fearful object, as can be seen by the contemporary litera-
ture on the "the corporations" and "organized crime," and the older
literature on "the bosses" and "the interests." In each case, the
threat is seen to be an institution, interest, or set of interests that is
free of the restraints of authority and thereby able to make its own
rules of political behavior without suffering the consequences inher-
ent in democratic processes.

It goes without saying that the struggle to mesh power, authority,
and responsibility has not always been successful. Even the bitterest
critics of the "power elite" interpretation of American society must
admit that there are at least times and places where individuals or
organized interests exercise power without confronting the hmits
imposed by authority.

As troubling as this problem is (and it will no doubt continue to
vex us), there is another side to the power-authority-responsibility
combination which is at least as troublesome, perhaps as dangerous,
and which raises some of the more serious questions of the morality
of politics. It regards authority and responsibility-laden positions
which give their holders power, and with that power the opportunity
to exploit their positions in immoral ways. This serves, in effect, to
give the powerful an opportunity that they would not otherwise pos-
sess.

The simplest, and perhaps most familiar example concerns the
policeman, usually a relatively ordinary citizen, who is given a brief
screening, a short period of training, sworn in, supplied with a badge,
a uniform, a set of weapons, and assigned a duty area. He carries with
him an awesome authority embodied in "the police power" when he
steps or drives onto the streets.

The policeman also carries substantial power as an extension of
that authority: to use his weapons, to use his power to correct, intimi-
date, detain, bully, arrest, with the relatively confident knowledge
that he is supported by his fellow policemen and, more than likely,
by the judicial process. It must be granted that he experiences some
degree of formal supervision through the police hierarchy and some
degree of informal supervision through the possibility of citizen com-
plaints. Even granting this, however, we must also recognize that he
is nonetheless placed in a situation of power that reaches beyond his
authority and responsibility and yet is simultaneously protected by

22

his position of authority. It is Uttle wonder that some policemen will
occasionally enforce the law with their fists, clubs, or blackjacks; that
they will not infrequently be found "on the pad"; that some will
choose to ignore certain classes of law-breakers while bullying catego-
ries of other people, or that some, once in a while, will engage in
larceny themselves.

To say as much is not to explain or excuse the corrupt policeman
as much as it is to restress the essential quality that made Watergate
so traumatic. Men possessing authority, and with it great power, used
those positions of presumed responsibility with utter disregard for
responsibility. That is, the carefully constructed triad of power-
authority-responsibility was broken; and when the disposable items
were shed, it came down to a matter of the exercise of power alone.
To press the problem one step further, it must be recognized that it
was by virtue of access to authority that the opportunity to wield the
power came into being. Authority made the FBI and CIA subject to
intense pressures to provide a cover for the "top men," those holding
greater positions of authority. Authority clearly provided the succes-
sive lines of retreat from "executive privilege" to "national security"
to "preserving the Presidency."^

Although Watergate is very much in the forefront of the people's
awareness today, it must not be assumed that it is a special case,
aside from its cast of characters. There is no essential difference
between those who covered up the Watergate crimes and the crooked
cop, the county official who accepts construction company bribes, the
zoning official who accepts a developer's Christmas present, the
building inspector who "overlooks" violations of the code, or the pur-
chasing officer who writes specifications so they can be met by only
one firm. Each is in a position of authority which has been granted a
degree of power; each chooses to break the triad to rely on power to
act and authority to conceal.

The important element here is that the very nature of authority
provides certain power situations which can then be turned to indi-
vidual, partisan, or special-interest advantage. What we confront is
a syllogism: (1) power is a necessary social force; (2) power is in theory
restrained and sanctioned by authority in order to grant the necessary
power for social action; (3) but these positions of authority in turn
create power situations in which power may act outside the realm of
or contrary to the dictates of responsibility.

It does not follow, of course, that all persons in positions of author-
ity will use them to extend their power and to violate the precepts of
responsibility; but the incentives to do so are strong indeed.

One final aspect of the power-authority-responsibility triad must

23

be discussed. Aside from the political advantages of wedding power
and authority (that is, making the power-holder subject to public
controls), responsibility acts as a reasonable substitute for a political
code of morality. The responsibilities of public office are established
by constitutions, charters, and statutes in the first instance. These
are usually enlarged upon by common and equity law practice
mandaumus, injunction, and the doctrine of ultra vires, for example.

Further, a body of social conscience usually surrounds a public
office: a collection of attitudes transmitted by predecessors, custom-
ary modes of behavior, and anticipated attitudes of public perform-
ances.* Therefore, a public office is a role a bundle of expectations
shaped by law and attitude, assumed to be larger and more perma-
nent than its transient holder. There are, of course, broad ranges of
interpretation for acting out the role. A policeman catching a 10-year-
old shooting out the windows in the public school building swats him
on the behind and confiscates the air rifle. Is the policeman engaged
in brutality? Illegal seizure of property? Should he turn the child over
to the juvenile authorities? A good argument can be made for both
lines of behavior. Yet we can detect an underlying theme: the obliga-
tion of the duties of office and an intent to perform those duties in a
manner appropriate to the authority given and to the public trust
that granted that authority.

This, however, raises a major problem. Responsibility does imply
a responsibility to someone or something. A moral code implies a
system in which it is anchored. It has been suggested, obviously, that
responsibility finds its anchor in the role it establishes; but the mesh-
ing of power and responsibility creates serious problems, for power
has its own internal logic.

THE MORAL CODE OF POWER

Power is the ability to act. Power and authority mean the ability
to act in a way that tradition, law, and custom establish for the public
good. Without power, much injustice would exist without a chance
for correction; many wrongs would be endured without hope of right-
ing them. In the absence of some other totally unknown and totally
untested social system, power is essential to the day-to-day and the
long-term welfare of most humans.

If power is necessary, then, what forces impel the power-holder to
use it to good ends? As already discussed, it can be hoped that the
doctrine of responsibility works to this effect. In the event that re-
sponsibility is not clear, due to ambiguities or because it is too confin-
ing to be "realistic," what other forces, if any, may be relied upon to

24

leash power?

In the abstract, the answer is "very few." Power implies, indeed
means, mastery. The greater the power, the greater the mastery over
others and the circumstances surrounding the power-holder. As a
consequence, the power-holder has fewer constraints on him and his
behavior than the man with no power. Power is dominance: the ca-
pacity to impose one's ego on the world around the individual. Thus,
power is subservient only to greater power.

Given its nature, the moral code of power is that one must have
it to act; one must keep it to act; one must have more to act un-
checked by a greater power. To the extent freedom to act is good,
power is good. For the public official, the politician, power is good in
itself because it is the capacity to act more forcefully and with greater
binding power than others." The public official who cannot act is not
only pathetic but a waste of public resources and personal opportuni-
ties.

Stated in these bald terms, such a description seems to stretch the
concept of a moral code beyond a breaking point. In the world of
human affairs, however, where the struggle to act is often frustrated,
power occasionally means more than what immediately appears. The
laborious process of gaining the agreement of tens or even hundreds
of individuals, the slow process of building the endless physical and
human blocks to action, all are real enough that the power-holder is
apt to find himself eagerly seeking more power, not merely to en-
trench himself or even to empire-build, but to be able to do more to
achieve those things that others block or have failed to do.

This does not necessarily establish any relationship between
power and corruption, however. Neither power itself nor the power-
holder establish conditions of corruption in and of themselves. It is
rather the situation of power, a situation already briefly discussed in
relation to authority.

All power situations give the power-holder a scope of formal au-
thority and power over a number of other people and their actions.
The population of this formal scope may be quite small: the power
of the head of the typists' pool, for example, or that of the warden of
the county jail. On the other hand, it may be enormously large that
of the President of the United States.

Power situations also usually include a degree of informal scope,
most clearly seen in those who tie their own political hopes to the
success of the power-holder or who depend on him in other ways.
Thus, the power- holdef and those who fall within his scope are linked
in a situation in which the former can more or less directly affect the
actions or opportunities of those within his scope.

25

It seems safe to assert that in almost all power situations there will
be some people whose preference is to have the power-holder use his
position to their explicit advantage. That is, the power situation cre-
ates a pattern of interaction, and within that interactional pattern
will be those who hope to enlarge their opportunities, wealth, or own
power through a skewing of the actions of the public official. In short,
the power situation makes it possible to bring together corrupter and
corrupted.

To so argue appears to relocate the moral decision onto the shoul-
ders of those who fall within the scope of power rather than to focus
on the power-holder, the public official, himself. But it must be kept
in mind that the power-holder also lies within the scope of power. He
is playing a power and authority role. But two more serious points
need to be made. First is the impact of power on those who come near
to it: "Lord Acton stopped on a half truth; and that, the less impor-
tant half. Power corrupts all right. If you have enough of it, it may,
in the end, absolutely corrupt you, but you only need the least little
bit . . . to do a good job corrupting other people."'" The hypothesis
can be offered that the broader the scope of power, the greater the
number of those who will be tempted to use it to corrupt purposes
as, sadly, Watergate and the role of "lower officials" in the White
House hierarchy seem to indicate.

Second, the moral code of power does not establish any standard
for the interactions between power-holder and those who would seek
special-interest uses of that power, except for the criterion: Will it
increase my power? Power tends to try to maximize itself. If it is
accomplished by corruption, there is nothing in tradition, practice,
or the "hard-nosed" realities of power that inherently discourages
corruption. We have tended to assume that responsibility would un-
dertake that task.

What of simple greed, however? That is, the public official who
has chosen politics as a means of attaining small or large wealth by
whatever means possible? At first glance, greed would seem to invali-
date our foregoing argument. One can point out that politics as an
economic investment is both a long-standing American practice and
also a case in which power is not the central concern but simply a
means of making a prosperous living. It appears that money is too
closely tied to power in America to separate the two except in unusual
cases. Some men of power choose to forego wealth; some wealthy men
do not choose to become involved in the exercise of power. But there
has been and continues to be a close meshing of the two. The corrupt
official who grows wealthy because of his corruption often extends
and amplifies his power at the same time; and his motives may be a

26

mystery even to himself.

The model of power suggested here closely follows the aphorism
laid down by Thucydides: "The strong do what they have the power
to do and the weak accept what they have to accept."'' Power is both
means to wealth, fame, achievement, more power and end. But
it must be kept in mind that its influence is not limited to the formal
power-holder but includes those within its scope. The latter are rarely
burdened with any of the dictates of responsibility and may become
instrumental in helping or causing the power-holder to break the
power-authority-responsibility triad.

Thus, while power can be said to have a moral code, it is one
which bears little resemblance to morality in the deeper sense of that
word. Rather, the moral code of power is capable of tolerating corrup-
tion if corruption will give to those who lie within power's scope what
they want.

In realistic terms, then, it seems unwise to attempt to attribute
corruption in politics to "rythmic effects" in a nation's moral climate,
or to relativistic attitudes toward politics that may shift with the next
public opinion poll, or to such simple correlations as poverty engen-
dering greedy politicians, and so forth. Corruption is potentially a
permanent companion of power; it is a "logical" one in the sense that
where there are greater and lesser degrees of power there will always
be those who want more, who want to share in it, and who want to
benefit personally from the use of it.

The puzzle we confront is that society requires power; but power
unchecked by responsibility is a breeding ground for corruption. Any
eff"ort at reform must begin with this puzzle and must attempt to
solve it.

PROSPECTS FOR REFORM

The Sheriff of Alpha County has held office for twenty years. In
the last three elections he has not been challenged either in the pri-
maries or the general election. Although his duties are formally hm-
ited to law enforcement and maintenance and operation of the county
jail, those who do business with the county have long been accus-
tomed to "clear it first with the Sheriff." In consultation with mem-
bers of the school board, a separately elected body, he determines
who will be the vendor for all school supphes, who will get the mainte-
nance contract for school buildings and grounds, and who will be the
prime contractor for new school buildings. Of the five members of the
school board, one is his brother, one is his wife's uncle, and one owes
him a large sum of money.

27

He is a silent partner in the Alpha Building and Supply Company,
the same company that wins the bids on five out of six proposals for
the county road work. He is also a member of the Board of Directors
of the Second National Bank of Alpha. All the county's idle funds are
on deposit at that bank, and no interest is paid to the county.

He is regularly consulted by the Governor on matters that affect
his county. Those planning to run for governor routinely come to visit
him at least two or three times during the campaign or in the precam-
paign jockeying. Although the county represents only a third of his
U. S. Congressional district, it has received more than $5,000,000 in
federal funds for public works in the last eight years. He can call both
U. S. Senators from his state and know that his calls will be answered
by the senators, in person, within the hour. His annual salary has
never been more than $12,000 per year, but when he dies, his estate
will be valued at over a half- million dollars.

The Sheriff of Alpha County is hypothetical, but he and others
like him are familiar enough in every state. They are the "profession-
als" of American politics, professionals as politicians and as office-
holders. They also demonstrate vividly what has been referred to as
the scope of power in this paper.

Any proposals for reform must be addressed less to the Water-
gates, Teapot Domes, or Credit Mobiliers, than to the on-going
linkage of authority and power without responsibility, which so often
appears to be the skeleton and musculature of "the system." But
what reforms are appropriate to this power system? If one keeps the
Sheriff of Alpha County in mind, it becomes clear that election com-
missions, campaign finance laws, and voluntary declarations by can-
didates on the sources of their financial support are attractive
nostrums, but they have very little relation to the problem of corrup-
tion in American politics. Although it is possible that a person seek-
ing office will barter his future behavior in return for a campaign
contribution, the more serious problem is his scope of power once in
office: the gradual build-up of promises, favors, connections, commit-
ments, threats, and friendships that consoHdate power, that increase
it, that expand its scope beyond its limits of authority and responsi-
bility.

It would seem that we have very few if any proposals for reform
that address themselves to the Sheriff of Alpha County, or to those
like him in state government, the federal bureaucracy. Congress, or
wherever men and women hold power. It is probably true that the
scarcity of proposals is directly related to our rather dim understand-
ing of how these men and women use their offices, what they feel are
their real obligations, and whether they seek to create their scope of

28

power or have it thrust upon them.

It would appear that the first and most urgent concern is to reform
our own modes of thinking. As social scientists and socially attentive
persons, we have been quick to admire the "politically skilled" man
and slow to wonder if technique is the end of the politics. Perhaps we
have also been too willing to accept a "little" corruption as "func-
tional to the system," without asking what it is the system is doing
or why it does what it does. What is being suggested here is that any
valid reforms must come from a valid assessment of the realities of
power and a commitment to understanding why so much powerful
action is only to enhance power at the cost of responsibility.

Until we are willing to come to terms with our analytical stan-
dards and to question why we have been willing to ignore what is
easily apparent around us, the prospects for reform will continue to
rest upon "tinkering," rather than upon deep-seated and lasting
change.

FOOTNOTES

' James Q. Wilson, "Corruption is Not Always Scandalous," in John A.
Gardiner and David J. Olson, eds., Theft of the City (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1974) p. 29.

^ Daniel Elazar, "The New Federalism," The Public Interest, 35 (Spring,
1974), pp. 96-97.

^ It is worth recalling that at least from the turn of the century until well into
the 1930s, political scientists were commonly activists in various reform
movements.

* A. A. Berle, Power (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1969), pp. 6-

7.

' There is, of course, no commonly accepted "operational" definition of
power. The one used here is only one of many and as subject to analytical
criticism as any other.

" The distinction made here between "power" and "authority" is a common
one. See Edward C. Banfield and James Q. Wilson, City Politics (Cam-
bridge: Harvard University Press, 1963), p. 101.

^ Parallel lines of retreat tend to appear in police corruption investigations:
first, that the investigation is "destroying the morale" of the force; then, "it
will give the poUce a bad name"; and finally, "we will be prevented from
protecting the citizen from the real criminals."

* During the course of a lengthy interview, a local treasurer commented to
the author, "Sure, my job is political in the elections sense of the word. You'd
better believe it. But I'm also obliged to do a good job, to be efficient, keep
good records, and so forth. And I take that seriously."

' Robert A. Caro, The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York

29

(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974), traces this evolution in a vivid and
fascinating account.

'" James Gould Cozzens, Guard of Honor (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1948),
p. 434.

" Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, Book V, Section 89, trans, by
Richard Crawley (Chicago: Encyclopedia Brittanica, 1952), p. 505.

^xS

30

THE INTERLOCKING OF POWER AND

MORALITY: C. WRIGHT MILLS'

THE POWER ELITE

By
Mark Stern

The plural elite-single debate in political science often centers on
the question of "Who holds power?".' The implications of this debate
for political ethics and the moral basis of a polity are seldom made
explicit. Perhaps the single most important study in which morality
and ethics follow from a given power structure is C. Wright Mills' The
Power Elite, a work which sets forth a hypothesis of power that has
probably received more critical attention than any other contempo-
rary theory.^ Moreover, Mills himself has been called "one of the
intellectual precursors of the New Left movement of the 1960s. "^

This essay focuses upon the connection between the theory of
political power expressed by Mills in The Power Elite and his concep-
tion of political morality resulting from such power relationships in
the United States. Mills' theory of power and morality is applied in
a case study using the trans-Alaska oil pipeline controversy.^

MILLS' THESIS

Mills' theory of power stems from his ideas of what man ought to
be. To Mills, to have control over decisions which affect one's life, or
at least to participate meaningfully in the making of such decisions,
is the essence of self-respect and power for one's self in democratic
society.^ This is precisely what the average man does not have in
contemporary society, and it is what sets the elite apart from the non-
elite in society. The first words in Mills' work are:

The powers of ordinary men are circumscribed by the everyday
worlds in which they live, yet even in these rounds of job, family,
and neighborhood they often seem driven by forces they can neither
understand nor govern. "Great changes" are beyond their control
.... [They] feel that they are without purpose in an epoch in
which they are without power.

The power elite is composed of men whose positions enable them to
transcend the ordinary environments of ordinary men and women;
they are in positions to make decisions having consequences.'

To Mills, the ordinary man "ought" to be able to control his
immediate environment, his immediate situation, in order to have a

31

modicum of self-respect and autonomy. But the ordinary man is but
a powerless part of a powerless mass, even within the immediate
institutions which surround him. Churches, schools, families are all
shaped and molded to fit the needs of those who run the major insti-
tutions in society: the giant corporations, the national political execu-
tive, and the military.^

The power elite thesis put forth by Mills is more than just a
description of decision-making in the United States; it is a picture of
the process of power and "it is a conception of who is involved in the
process" and of the result of the process.* Historical determinism is
not a component of this process, as elucidated by Mills. Responsibil-
ity for what happens in society rests on human decisions, not on some
immutable laws of history, biology, or God-given forces. What can be
done by men at any given point in history is dependent upon what
has happened in prior times. The past, however, serves only to define
the present, not to determine it. In the contemporary period the
limits placed upon elites are fewer than ever before, and the means
of power are more enormous than ever. Thus, how the powerful mem-
bers of society handle power is a question more important today than
ever before.

Power in contemporary society is vertically organized. Those at
the top, the power elite, control what happens in society and do so
through a systematically organized, interlocked, and overlapped se-
ries of groups.* The power elite is not existent in one realm, but rather
in the three most powerful realms simultaneously: the major corpora-
tions, the national political executive, and the military.

The top members of these powerful institutions share a common
set of objectives, generally common origins, educational backgrounds
and socio-psychological orientations, common career patterns, and
common social and business interests. Individuals in the "middle
level of power," a level exemplified by Congress, deal with secondary
issues and are secondary bargainers in the political process. They
may be involved in a balance of power among their coequals, but the
power they balance is of secondary nature. The decisions made at the
middle level of power are either those not deemed important enough
for the most powerful to deal with, or are severely constrained by
those in the most powerful institutions. The power elite make the
decisions related to "slump, war, and boom." The Presidency is part
of the power elite in American society, and the executive branch of
government is involved in resolving the fundamental political issues
of society.

At the bottom of the power pyramid is the pubhc, which is in-
creasingly a "mass public,"'" one manipulated by the elite through

32

mass media. Political candidates are sold to the public much as any
other product for mass consumption, and political decisions are pre-
sented to the public as givens. The public is provided an education,
not for knowledge and citizen responsibility, but for economic train-
ing so as better to serve corporations. The public is a mass used by
elite-dominated institutions from which they have less and less au-
tonomy.

To Mills, the United States has a vertically-structured, elite-
dominated political and social system in which the mass public is
manipulated for the private ends of those at the top. It therefore
cannot be a moral society, for a moral society must allow for individ-
ual autonomy within the democratic framework and self-direction
without overt manipulation by others. Though much may be done in
the name of "public interest," it is not the public's interest that is
really considered in the making of public policy, but rather the inter-
ests of "the higher immorality."

The pursuit of success as measured by money is the real determi-
nant of public policy. Old values disappear. Absolute codes of right
and wrong are irrelevant. Success as measured by the accumulation
of wealth is the mark of virtue. "The higher immorality" is "a sys-
tematic feature of the American elite, and its general acceptance is
an essential feature of the mass society."" Anything is permissible in
the pursuit of success, and anything is to be expected from those at
the top, for after all they are the most successful. "As news of higher
immoralities breaks, they [the public] often say, 'Well, another one
got caught today,' thereby implying that the cases disclosed are not
odd events involving occasional characters but symptoms of a wide-
spread condition. "'^

A society which lacks an elite with any firm moral sense is be-
lieved to be comprised of a network of small rackets, producing the
"sharp operator" and the shady deal at all levels. The best operators
rise to the top, and knowledge is neither a prerequisite to nor neces-
sary corequisite of power. And as knowledge grows ever more divorced
from power, those in power seek a substitute in the "expert."'^ The
leadership thus has its experts and knows what is best, and the public
is to follow for the national good. Action, not bound by reason nor
exposed to the realm of public debate, then becomes mindless and
capricious. "America . . . appears now before the world a naked and
arbitrary power as, in the name of realism, its men of decision enforce
their . . . definitions upon world reality."" To Mills, power and mo-
rality are clearly interlocked, and a socio-political system which oper-
ates from the premise of the "higher immorality" is a "system of
organized irresponsibility.""

33

MILLS' THESIS APPLIED

One cannot help but shudder at Mills' uncanny sense of prophecy
when reflecting upon the Watergate and Vietnam tragedies. But it
may be argued that Watergate and Vietnam are but isolated epi-
sodes, not typical of most of the events of our time; and while they
may help define our time, they are not all that is our time. The
remainder of this essay, therefore, examines a controversy that is
rather typical of our time, the trans- Alaska oil pipeline question, and
does so in the light of C. Wright Mills' analysis of power and morality
in the contemporary era. Although no claim is made that this contro-
versy is the same as all others which involve major economic conse-
quences for the United States, it is used here as a case study which
might help provide a clearer answer to whether or not Mills' model
of power and politics in the United States is operative.

The controversy over the trans-Alaska oil pipeline began in 1967
with the discovery of oil beneath the north slope of the Brooks
Range.'* One of the primary difficulties which had to be overcome
before the oil could be marketed was that of developing a method of
transporting it from Prudhoe Bay, near the Arctic Ocean, to the
continental United States. The oil companies involved in the project
decided almost immediately that a hot oil pipeline from Prudhoe Bay
to the warm water port of Valdez, augmented by tankers which could
then carry the oil southward to our west coastal states, would be the
most economical method of delivering it to the marketplace.

The oil companies holding leases on the north slope Atlantic
Richfield, British Petroleum, and Humble Oil (a subsidiary of Stan-
dard Oil of New Jersey) formed a group called the Trans-Alaskan
Pipeline System to construct the proposed line. After completion of
the 1969 Alaskan land-lease auction, held by the State of Alaska to
raise revenues and promote further oil company exploration and pro-
duction, the original north slope developers merged with new lease
holders in the Alyeska Pipeline Service Company.'^ However, the
three original lease-holders retained control of 95 percent of the
proven reserves in the north slope area and maintained control over
the consortium involved in the over-all project.'*

The path of the pipeline, as proposed by the Alyeska group,
crossed federal lands, and thus its construction could not begin until
a permit had been obtained from the Department of Interior. The
Interior Department was inclined to issue quickly the necessary per-
mit, but environmental groups obtained an injunction halting its
issuance until the Department satisfied the requirements of the Na-
tional Environmental Policy Act of 1969 by undertaking an environ-

34

mental impact study. In March 1972, the court-ordered construction
ban was lifted when the Interior Department completed the environ-
mental impact statement, which showed the project to be in conform-
ance with the Environmental Policy Act. In May of the same year,
Interior Secretary Rogers C. B. Morton announced the intention of
his department to issue the necessary permit forthwith.'*

Within a year, environmental groups again brought the project to
a halt by a court ordered injunction based on the 1920 Mineral Leas-
ing Act. The basis for the granting of the injunction was that the 1920
Act limited rights-of-way to twenty-five feet on either side of a pipe-
line: but the north slope line had to have a much wider right-of-way
in order to be constructed. The Supreme Court upheld the district
court decision, and the ban on construction of the pipeline was con-
tinued. On November 13, 1973 the Senate passed S 1081, which had
been approved the previous day by the House of Representatives.
This bill sealed the fate of the environmentalist opposition to the
Alaska oil pipeline by lifting the earlier limitations on widths of fed-
eral rights-of-way so that the pipeline could be constructed. The bill
prohibited further court actions based on the National Environmen-
tal Policy Act of 1969, and directed the Secretary of Interior to issue
immediately the necessary authorizations so that pipeline construc-
tion could begin. ^^

In his discussion of the mass society. Mills posits two important
factors related to the oil pipeline question: the decline of the volun-
tary organization as an effective instrument of the public, and the
transformation of the public into a mass media market.^' Both factors
figure significantly. First, the only effective opposition to the project
was organizational. Environmental groups twice brought the pipeline
to a halt. When the Department of Interior submitted its pro-pipeline
environmental impact statement. The Wilderness Society, Friends of
the Earth, and the Environmental Defense Fund issued a thirteen-
hundred page rebuttal. ^^ Mills argues that the effective political or-
ganization in modem society is the large organization, and the large
organization is "inaccessible to the individual who would shape by
discussion the policies of the organization to which he belongs." The
individual thus loses contact with the voluntary organization to the
extent that it is effective. The organization becomes mass in scale as
the individual becomes more dependent upon it and less able to have
access to it.^^

Second, the public was subjected to a major media campaign on
the pipeline issue. There is little question, however, that the media
campaign was dominated by those favoring its construction.^^ Not
only did the private corporations carry on an extensive media cam-

35

paign directed at the mass public, but from the beginning of the
controversy the executive branch of government was also carrying on
its media campaign aimed at generating public support for the pro-
ject. The Interior Department even published a booklet, Special Re-
port to the People: The Potential and the Promise, in which the
virtues of the pipeline project were extolled while minimizing the
environmental dangers. ^^ The publication was issued before the de-
partment had undertaken its environmental impact study. Moreover,
the President publicly called for construction of the pipeline and,
after the Arab oil boycott, stressed the need for it to help meet the

crisis

26

The media battle and the administration's push for the pipeline
were essentially public battles to justify decisions already made in
private. The pipeline was going to be built; the investment had been
made and agreement reached between government and the private
sector to secure a return on the investment. Mills maintains that the
giant corporations in tandem with the political executive would dom-
inate in any decision of this magnitude and would, through an inter-
locking of personnel and perspective, be in common agreement."

By late 1969, private industry had invested millions in the
Prudhoe Bay-Valdez pipeUne and had orders not subject to cancella-
tion for pipe and equipment worth additional millions.^* Shortly be-
fore becoming Secretary of Interior, Walter Hickel, as Governor of
Alaska, had the state government financially committed to the pro-
ject by ordering construction of an access highway to the north
slope. ^' In 1969 the State of Alaska also auctioned off new leases for
further development of oil production in the north slope area.^" In
1970, as Secretary of Interior, Hickel assured Alyeska officials "the
pipeline will be built. "^* In 1969, President Nixon appointed a federal
task force to develop plans for the exploitation of Alaskan oil. Later
in the same year the Interior Department lifted a federal lands freeze
in Alaska to allow the construction of a service road for the pipeline.
The freeze had been imposed to protect the claims of native Alas-
kans. ^^

Instances of the interlocking of personnel between the private
corporate sector affected by the pipeline decision and the public offi-
cials involved in making the decisions are numerous. Walter Hickel
was the sole owner and President of the Hickel Investment of Anchor-
age, a director of the Alaska Pipeline Company, board member of the
Anchorage Natural Gas Company, and a member of the Petroleum
Club of Anchorage. ^^ Robert 0. Anderson, Chairman of the board of
Atlantic Richfield, was a member of Richard M. Nixon's presidential
finance committee, ^^ and was identified as "the kingmaker who influ-

36

enced Nixon to choose Hickel ... as his Secretary of Interior."'^
Frank N. Ikard, a former Congressman appointed to presidential
committees by Mr. Nixon, is president of the American Petroleum
Institute, which has lobbied for the Alaska pipeline.^* The National
Petroleum Council advises the Secretary of Interior on fuel and oil
matters; its membership includes, among others, Anderson, Ikard,
and also John K. Jamieson, president of Standard Oil of New Jersey,
whose subsidiary is a major participant in the Alyeska group."

Mills asserts that the balance of power and the center of initiative
on major political decisions has shifted increasingly from the Con-
gress to the Executive branch during the twentieth century. Congres-
sional debate is structured to limit the consideration of a host of
fundamental issues; and their prerogatives have been further weak-
ened by readily granting emergency powers to the Executive.^* And
as noted above, the Executive played a prominent role in defining the
public debate early in the development of the pipeline controversy.

Only a scattering of articles were inserted into the Congressional
Record by Congressmen discussing the problems of oil shortages and
environmental dangers. However, Congress was forced by private cor-
porations and the Executive branch of government to confront the
issue, in order to nullify the efforts of environmental organizations to
block the project. The major sections of S 1386 were all geared to
ending the construction stalemate, which had been based upon court
decisions involving earlier laws.

Representative Morris K. Udall, a member of the House Interior
and Insular Affairs Committee, complained that the pipeline bill had
been considered in an "atmosphere of confusion, controversy and
urgency, real and imagined. ..." Representative John P. Saylor,
the ranking Republican member of the committee, felt this was "an
outstanding example of 'pressure' legislation . . . hasty and ill ad-
vised, far-reaching and precedent setting." Many other members of
the committee voiced concern over the lack of debate and the short-
circuiting of the National Environmental Policy Act.'* Representative
Michael J. Harrington, in words further reminiscent of Mills' work,
charged that "Congress was not asked to formulate a poHcy but
rather to rubber-stamp a fait accompli."'" The President and his
aides, in cooperation with the executives of the major oil corpora-
tions, had structured the public debate from the start and deter-
mined the nature of the congressional debate at the conclusion of the
political decision-making process.

CONCLUSIONS

Morality and power are interlocked in Mills' The Power Elite.

37

Power is linked to position in the contemporary polity, but is devoid
of any firm base of morality. Getting what one wants regardless of the
consequences for the public realm is the watchword of the successful.
The masses are the powerless recipients of decisions made by the
elites; the masses are manipulated by the elites. Whether in terms
of the private ends of the elites or the new realpolitik so prized by
them, a moral vision of the public realm does not enter into the public
or private debates of those who are in control.

The Alaska oil pipeline controversy, as a case study, lends support
to Mills' view of the relationship between power structure and moral-
ity in the United States the early 1970s. The public debate was cir-
cumscribed and weighted heavily in favor of oil interests. Both the
private sector giants and the national political Executive took much
the same public stance on the issue. Many of the national administra-
tive actors had private interests in the oil companies involved in the
controversy. Moreover, Congress's role in the resolution of the issue
was limited by constraints imposed by the national political
Executive and the private corporate interests. Congress entered the
controversy under the pressure of an "emergency" and basically en-
acted the agenda set before it by the Executive branch.

The trans-Alaska oil pipeline issue is but one among many in the
public realm. It is only a single case and therefore not conclusive,
merely suggestive of the relationship between power elites and the
public. But clearly the public debate over the public realm was
muted in the case of the Alaska pipeline in deference to private power
and private need. In this sense there may be an analogy between this
issue and the old English commons or land set aside for public use.
In our day the "common" is likely to gain in importance as it becomes
less bountiful and as other alternatives become more costly.

FOOTNOTES

' The literature in this area is voluminous, but no single piece of work has
caused as much debate among contemporary political scientists as has C.
Wright Mills, The Power Elite (New York: Oxford University Press, 1956).

^ There are several critiques of Mills writings. See, for example, Kenneth
Prewitt and Alan Stone, The Ruling Elites (New York: Harper and Row,
1964); G. William Domhoff, The Higher Circles (New York: Random House,
1970); Arnold Rose, The Power Structure (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1967).

^ Prewitt and Stone, The Ruling Elites, p. 83.

* Other case studies utilizing a single-elitist approach may be found in G.
William Domhoff, The Higher Circles. Case studies utilizing a plural-elitist

38

approach may be found in Arnold Rose, The Power Structure.

' This theme is more eloquently stated in Mills, The Sociological
Imagination (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963).

Mills, The Power Elite, pp. 3-4.

'Ibid., p. 6.

* Ibid., p. 21.

Ibid., pp. 11, 198, 235, 265, 269-297.
Ibid., pp. 303-304.
' Ibid., pp. 343-344.
2 Ibid., p. 347.
' Ibid., p. 324.
^ Ibid., p. 361.
5 /bid.

* The general synopsis of events presented in this section is drawn from:
"Laying it on the Line for Alaskan Oil," Business Week (November 29, 1969),
p. 31.; and Congressional Quarterly Almanac (Washington: Congressional
Quarterly, Inc. 1969-1973), vols. 24-29. The most comprehensive summary of
the pipeline controversy may be found in volume 29, pp. 596-614. See also
Charles J. Cicchetti, Alaskan Oil (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1972).

" Robert Sherrill, Nation, 216 (June 22, 1973), p. 746.

'* Muriel Allen and Richard Levey, "Whose Alaskan Oil?," New Republic,
168 (July 28, 1973), p. 73.

' Sherrill, Nation, p. 748.

2" Congressional Quarterly, (1973), p. 597.

2' Mills, The Power Elite, p. 307.

22 Sherrill, Nation, p. 748.

2=' Mills, The Power Elite, pp. 306-307.

^* Congressional Quarterly (1973), p. 604.

2* Washington: Government Printing Office, 1970.

2 See the "Energy Message" sent by President Nixon to the Congress, re-
ported in Congressional Quarterly (1973), p. 50-A.

2' Mills, The Power Elite, pp. 274-277.

2 Business Week (November 29, 1969), p. 31.

2" Tom Brown, Oil on Ice (San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1971), p. 42.

= Sherrill, Nation, p. 747.

^' Ibid.

'2 Business Week (November 29, 1969), p. 31.

^ Paul A. Theis and Edmund L. Henshaw, Jr., eds.. Who's Who in American

39

Politics, 3rd ed. (New York: R. R. Bowker Company, 1971), p. 464.

'* Ibid. , p. 23.

^' Sherrill, Nation, p. 747.

^" Who's Who in Finance and Industry 17th ed. (Chicago: Marquis Who's
Who, 1971), p. 473.

3' Ibid., pp. 94, 473, 481.

'' Mills, The Power Elite, p. 255.

^' Congressional Quarterly (1973), p. 607.

^ Ibid., p. 614.

3

40

FRAMEWORKS FOR DEMOCRATIC
REFORM

By
Gerald M. Henson

Ideas of political morality and ethics are very closely connected
with the perceived need in the minds of many for political reform.
However, the political frameworks to which people adhere demon-
strably affect their selection of what is in need of reform. To many,
politically moral man is a product of the institutional devices which
he creates, and therefore they believe that the improvement or reform
of political mechanisms will achieve a more ethical citizenry. Others
feel that a totalistic environmental manipulation of the citizenry is
necessary to achieve the desired end.

Even so widely accepted a regime as democracy has adherents of
both these outlooks. Often the arguments concerning political reform
in a democracy compose a debate that is not joined due to the failure
on the part of many to distinguish analytically differing frameworks
of democratic thought. Indeed, even some political scientists appear
to ignore, or to be unaware of, the differing frameworks. For instance,
Thomas R. Dye, after concluding that few linkages exist between the
forms of democracy in the fifty American states and their policy
outputs, states:

The legitimacy of the democratic form of government has never
really depended upon the policy outcomes which it is expected to
produce: rather, it is based upon the assertion that this mode of
decision-making maximizes opportunities for the individual's par-
ticipation in formation of public policy.'

With this statement Dye sweeps aside an entire school of demo-
cratic thought, one which judges the legitimacy of democracy not
only by its form but also by the effects policy outputs have upon the
maximization of individual participation, the improvement of public
welfare, and the enhancement of the total cultural milieu of society.

The purpose of this essay is to distinguish analytically these two
modes of democratic political thought with the expectation that the
reform debate may be joined in a form more closely resembling a
dialogue. A less ambitious purpose is to correct the historical inaccu-
racies of statements such as that of Dye.^ To accomplish this, one
needs to consider some of the theories of democracy.

DEMOCRACY

Conceptualizing democracy is quite difficult, and differing mean-

41

ings are expected. According to Zoll, the number of definitions is
equal to the number of writers on the subject.^ Salvadori estimates
that there are about two hundred different definitions of democracy/
Clearly this great variation in definition poses problems for analysis.
The concept must be further demarcated.

Aristotle stated that constitutions may be classified by (1) "the
nature of the end for which the state exists," and (2) "the various
kinds of authority to which men and their associations are subject."'
In Nichomachean Ethics Aristotle defines that which has an end
other than itself as art or production (poiesis) and that which is good
in itself as science or action (praxis).^ These are typologies of govern-
ments in general and need to be transferred to the concept of democ-
racy.

Ranney and Kendall distinguish between the identification of
democracy as a "way of life" and its understanding as a "form of
government."^ The "way of life" school views democratic government
as having an end other than itself and its legitimacy rests upon the
quality of its decisions. Advocates of democracy as a "form of govern-
ment," on the other hand, are concerned only with the process by
which ordinary citizens control their leaders and participate in the
decisions made by their government. Hereafter democracy as a "way
of life" will be referred to as poiesis democracy and democracy as a
"form of government" will be termed praxis democracy.*

PRAXIS DEMOCRACY

The praxis school of democracy stresses the mechanisms for mak-
ing political decisions, and praxis advocates can be identified by their
definitions of democracy. Lord Bryce, for example, defines demo-
cratic government as one in which at least three quarters of the in-
habitants are qualified to vote, regardless of class status. He stresses
numbers and form.

Another praxis theorist is Schumpeter, who views democracy as
a form of government unassociated with any particular ideals. Demo-
cratic theory is a theory of means, not of means and ends. Schumpe-
ter stresses method, institutional arrangements, competition, and
participation by citizens.'" Unlike Bryce, however, the number of
participants is not so important to Schumpeter. Indeed, he fears high
levels of participation, insisting: "The electoral mass is incapable of
action other than a stampede.""

Giovanni Sartori shares Schumpeter's fear of high levels of mass
participation and warns that such levels lead to totalitarianism. '^

42

Sartori's criticism of poiesis democratic theory places him, by nega-
tion, in the praxis school: "... the ingratitude typical of the man
in our time and his disillusionment with democracy are the reaction
to promised goals that cannot possibly be reached. "''

Recent empirical studies have suggested that the individual does
not satisfy the "requirements for a democratic citizen."'* The authors
of The American Voter describe "the electorate's slight involvement
in politics and limited awareness of public affairs. . . ."'^ Demo-
cratic theorists of the "realist" school, like Carl Cohen, having taken
note of these findings, have tried to define democracy as something
that exists empirically.'"

For the praxis adherent, the reform question is clearly institu-
tional. Schumpeter and Sartori would set up restrictions to enable
only the "qualified" to participate in decision-making. Most contem-
porary praxis adherents, however, probably agree with Bryce and
Cohen that some ideal of democratic participation is imperative.
Therefore, they would stress mechanistic reforms that would facili-
tate procedurally citizen participation. Some of these reforms might
include: shorter residency requirements for voting, a national policy
for lengthening the period that voting polls stay open, easier proce-
dures for obtaining absentee ballots, permanent and facilitative voter
registration policies, more safeguards to assure equal apportionment
of legislatures, etc. Institutional reforms to facilitate participation are
intended, in the mind of the praxis adherent, to make a political
system democratic and, hence, more ethical. Democracy demon-
strates, on the part of the ruling forces, an expression of trust in the
people. Indeed, it presumes that all may participate, and it "deterio-
rates when minorities within it are arbitrarily excluded by law . . .
from participation.""

For the praxis adherent, therefore, participation is the most im-
portant element in judging a democracy. And most contemporary
praxis adherents probably agree with Cohen when he stresses the
importance of participation to the democratic character of a com-
munity.

POIESIS DEMOCRACY

The poiesis school of democratic thought stresses not only a par-
ticular form of government but also goals for democracy. It is a theory
of means and ends. In twentieth century America, poiesis democracy
can be broadly classified along a conservative-liberal dimension. To
a conservative, the goal of democracy is to assure individual liberty.
The question of liberty is conceived as one in which the individual

43

and government are separate. Governmental intervention in the so-
cial activity of the individual is regarded as a violation of one's inher-
ent possession of liberty. The proper sphere of governmental
action and therefore the goal of conservative poiesis democracy is
to prevent an individual in the exercise of his liberty from infringing
upon the liberty of another. Failing this, the role of government is to
secure redress for the individual whose liberty has been infringed.'^

To a liberal, individual liberty is not inherent, but achieved. The
individual and government are not separate, but are joined as part-
ners in a search for the attainment of liberty. Liberty can be re-
stricted by the social conditions in which the individual (through no
fault of his own) finds himself. The role of government, the end for
which it exists, is to reconstruct or at least to alter dramatically the
environment in a manner allowing the individual to achieve liberty.'*
The poiesis theory of democracy is a highly value-laden one.^"

There is no way to prove which view is the proper end of democ-
racy. Choice is necessary, however, and this essay next considers one
school of poiesis democracy. Since the liberal view is the one most
studied, continuity of presentation suggests it should be the one dis-
cussed here.

UBERAL-POIESIS DEMOCRACY

Zevedei Barbu sees democracy as a frame of mind which has the
basic traits of a feeling of change, a belief that man has the capacity
to direct and control this change, and confidence in human reason.^'
This outlook is shared by liberals (although not confined to them),
given their definition of reasonable change. To this school, democracy
as a way of life involves the belief "that if man creates the proper
institutions, then his better possibilities will actualize themselves. "^^
This school sees democracy as an "overarching moral idea," not
merely as a form of government. ^^

Perhaps the best expression of this ideal has been stated by John
Dewey, who defined liberal democracy as the "intelligent use of mod-
ern technology in behalf of the broadest public welfare. "^^ The demo-
cratic conception of the general welfare involves participation mecha-
nisms such as the ballot (with no disfranchisement for any group of
the population), the use of direct primaries in choosing candidates,
and other politcal factors deemed democratic. Again, the central pol-
itical ideal is participation: intelligent, responsible participation. In
theory, educational systems advance the necessary rationality.^^

Further, there must be a level of economic development, coupled
with relative economic equality, whereby the goods of modem tech-

44

nology are available to as many people as possible.^* In addition,
democracy is the "belief in the capacity of every person to lead his
own life free from coercion and imposition by others provided right
conditions are supplied."" The right conditions include a good educa-
tion, the absence of poverty and social misery, and the presence of
democratic political structures. ^^

Dewey views the state as a "causal agency having power to pro-
duce action," and it is therefore the duty of the state to supply the
right conditions.^" He rejects the notion that democracy is merely a
form of government; it is primarily a mode of associated living, a
conjoint communicated experience."'" This mode of living, moreover,
is a state which does not yet exist; but the purpose of a democratic
form of government is to attain such a condition. *'

Barbu and Dewey are rather vague concerning just what programs
a democratic state is to implement so that men may become more
democratic. Two liberal-poi'esis thinkers who are more specific con-
cerning what a democratic government must do are Charles Beard
and Walter Lippman. The former indicated that the policies of a
democratic state are legitimate if they make the ordinary citizen
wealthier,'^ while the latter implied that policies are legitimate only
if they make the citizenry wealthier and healthier.'*

Dewey, Lippman, and Beard all suggest that policies of govern-
ment are legitimate only if they are intended to make citizens
"healthy, wealthy, and wise." These are at least some of the "right
conditions" which must be supplied if the citizenry is to participate
wisely. Moreover, the more citizens participate wisely, the more these
types of policies should be implemented. The democratic process is
ongoing and reciprocal.'^

For the liberal-poi'esfs adherent, the areas in need of reform are
not merely institutional. The total environmental milieu, including
political institutions, is subject to manipulation. This faith in the
ability of man to improve his entire society stems from the philosophy
of pragmatism and its adjunct epistemology of empirical experimen-
tation. Society is the laboratory and government the experimenter.
Such a conception presupposes not only that the ruling forces trust
the people, but that the rulers themselves can be trusted to have high
standards of ethics and morals. Recent political events, however,
might well lead to opposite conclusions concerning leaders. What is
needed is a dialogue that not only takes moral and ethical standards
into consideration, but one that also helps to determine just what is
meant by democracy. If the latter question is debated vigorously,
perhaps we can decide what role we wish to government to play in
our lives and what sorts of reforms are necessary for that role.

45

Whether the role of government is considered to be narrow-gauged
{praxis) or broad-gauged (poiesis) appears crucial in focusing that
debate.

FOOTNOTES

' Thomas R. Dye, Politics, Economics, and the Public: Policy Outcomes in
the American States (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1966), p. 300.

^ A critique of Dye's model and a reconsideration of his data findings will be
presented in a forthcoming paper.

^ Donald A. Zoll, Reason and Rebellion (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-
Hall, 1963), p. 20.

* Massimo Salvadori, Liberal Democracy (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday &
Co., 1957), p. 110.

^ Ernest Barker, The Politics of Aristotle (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1946), p. 110.

" Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, trans. J. E. C. Welldon, (New York: The
Macmillan Co., 1902), p. 184.

^ Austin Ranney and Willmore Kendall, Democracy and the American Party
System (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1956), pp. 12-14.

" For a discussion of the two schools of thought see Donald J. Devine, The
Attentive Public (Chicago: Rand McNally & Company, 1970), chapter 1.
This delineation between poiesis and praxis democracy suggests two oppos-
ing schools of thought which are mutually exclusive. Such, of course, is not
the case. These are ideal types and it is probably impossible to find anyone
who would be a poiesis or praxis adherent under every conceivable condition.
' James Bryce, Modern Democracies, vol. I (New York: The Macmillan Co.,
1924), pp. 20, 22.

'" Joseph A. Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (New
York: Harper and Row, 1950), pp. 262-269.

" Ibid., p. 283.

'^ Giovanni Sartori, Democratic Theory (Detroit: Wajoie State University
Press, 1962), p. 90.

'^ Ibid., p. 54.

'< B. R. Berelson, P. F. Lazarsfeld, and W. W. McPhee, Voting (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1959), p. 312.

'^ Angus Campbell, Philip E. Converse, Warren E. Miller, and Donald E.
Stokes, The American Voter (New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 1969),
p. 290.

'" Carl Cohen, Democracy (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1971). p. 31.

" Ibid. , pp. 49-50.

46

'* See Friedrich A. Hayek, The Constitution of Liberty (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1960), Chapter 9.

'" John Dewey, "Creative Democracy - The Task Before Us," in Carl Cohen,
ed.. Communism, Fascism, and Democracy, pp. 683-689.

See Devine, The Attentive Public, p. 4.

^' Zevedei Barbu, "Democracy as a Frame of Mind," in Carl Cohen, ed..
Communism, Fascism, and Democracy (New York: Random House, 1962),
pp. 683-689.

^^ Jerome Nathanson, John Dewey: The Reconstruction of the Democratic
Life (New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Company, 1951), p. 83.

23 Ibid., p. 90.

'' Ibid.

'' Ibid., pp. 93-95.

2 Ibid., pp. 95-100.

" John Dewey, "Creative Democracy - The Task Before Us," in The Philoso-
pher of the Common Man (New York: Greenwood Press, 1968), p. 224. Em-
phasis added.

2* George Geiger, "Dewey's Social and Political Philosophy," in Paul
Schilpp, ed., The Philosophy of John Dewey (Chicago: Northwestern Univer-
sity, 1939), p. 350.

29 Ibid., p. 351.

John Dewey, Democracy and Education (New York: The Macmillan Com-
pany, 1916), p. 87

3' John Dewey, Freedom and Culture (New York: Putnam's Sons, 1939), p.
173, and The Public and Its Problems (Denver: Allan Swallow, 1927), p. 143.

32 Saul K. Padover, ed., "Essentials of Democracy," in The Meaning of
Democracy (New York: Frederick A. Praeger, 1963), p. 80.

33 Walter Lippman, Drift and Mastery (London: T. F. Unwin, 1914), p. 254.
3^ Dewey, "Creative Democracy," p. 227.

47

THE QUEST FOR THE AMERICAN PUBLIC
ORTHODOXY: AN ASSESSMENT

By
Gerald De Maio

The American political tradition has been the subject of a con-
tinuing debate among American academicians, especially since the
era of the Progressivist historians. The differing interpretations of the
American political experience all implicitly attempt to discern the
political ethos of the American people, that is, the operative political
values by which the American polity constitutes itself as a political
society acting in history. The objective of this essay is two-fold: First,
we assess the revisionist interpretation of the American political ex-
perience offered by Kendall and Carey, an interpretation which is
organized around the concept of the public orthodoxy. It is the
writer's contention that while this revisionist interpretation fails, it
nevertheless raises important questions about the core symbols and
documents which embody the nation's operative political ideals. Sec-
ond, we argue that only by taking into account the nation's public
orthodoxy can discourse concerning political morality and reform be
meaningful.

THE CONCEPT OF A PUBLIC ORTHODOXY

The methodological premise from which this essay proceeds is
that a public orthodoxy is a requisite for any viable society. It is
therefore incumbent upon us to make as perspicuous as possible the
idea of a public orthodoxy before we undertake an examination of the
American public orthodoxy.

Although this concept and its use as a technical term in contem-
porary political science is associated with Willmoore Kendall, the
theoretical groundwork was laid by Eric Voegelin in The New Science
of Politics, which has become a contemporary classic, and his
subsequent writings.' Voegelin speaks of the articulation of political
societies which render them "capable of representing themselves for
action."^ He conceives of political society as a cosmion, a little world
illuminated from within by the use of symbols and myths which aid
its members in the internal self-interpretation of the society. To be
politically viable or to use Voegelin's terminology "in form for ac-
tion" requires an internal structure by which those in authority are
capable of eliciting response from the populace.

Building upon the theoretical explorations of Voegelin, Kendall

49

and Wilhelmsen define the public orthodoxy as:

that tissue of judgments, defining the good hfe and indicating the
meaning of human existence, which is held commonly by the mem-
bers of any given society, who see in it the charter of their way of
life and the ultimate justification of their society. . . . What we
"point to," in a word, is that matrix of convictions, usually en-
shrined in custom and "folkways," often articulated formally and
solemnly in charter and constitution, occasionally summed up in the
creed of a church or the testament of a philosopher, that makes a
society The Thing it is and that divides it from other societies as,
in human thought, one thing is divided always from another.*

They are stating a concept which includes a legal orthodoxy as a
constituent element, which provides the political instruments used to
govern a community, and much more. The concept of a public ortho-
doxy may be equated with the Greek term politeia, which Barker
defined as a "system of social ethics," or with Strauss' characteriza-
tion of the term regime.* The public orthodoxy is a definitive way of
life; it is those public truths which give a society its character and
tone and enable it to be an acting unit in history.

Although the term public orthodoxy connotes rather traditionally
oriented or closed societies, with perhaps an official civil religion, its
use as a theoretical term need not be limited to such societies.

Not only can society not avoid having a public orthodoxy; even when
it rejects an old orthodoxy in the name of "enlightenment,"
"progress," "the pluralist society," "the open society" and the like,
it invents, however subtly, a new orthodoxy with which to replace
the old one . . . theoretically orthodoxy refers to any public doctrine
accepted unconditionally by a community, even if the orthodoxy in
question is somebody else's heresy.'

The public orthodoxy points to the undergirding set of operative val-
ues which make possible communal interaction. For without this
overarching set of values, communication among members of a so-
ciety becomes impossible. The public orthodoxy makes political life
possible. Its use as a technical concept in political science enables us
"to get inside" a society and discern the means by which a people
understands itself and the modes of participation of its political life.
Other political scientists, operating from a philosophical perspec-
tive quite different from that of the aforementioned theorists, have
developed a conceptual framework which is analogous to the concept
of the public orthodoxy. An example is Sheldon Wolin's adapatation
of Thomas Kuhn's depiction of conflicting paradigms within aca-
demic disciplines. From Wolin's perspective, political society "would
be envisaged as a coherent whole in the sense of its customary politi-

50

cal practices, institutions, laws, structure of authority and citizen-
ship, and operative behefs organized and interrelated."' The congru-
ence of these definitions should not surprise us, since the public or-
thodoxy is essentially a societal paradigm which focuses on a people's
attempt at self-understanding.

Wolin borrows Kuhn's terminology and draws the distinction be-
tween a paradigm creator and a paradigm worker. A striking example
of paradigm creation, one directly relevant to this essay, is Hobbes'
debunking of the archetectonic pretensions of classical political phi-
losophy and substitution of a nominalist and profoundly skeptical
philosophy appropriate to the emerging bourgeois man. The para-
digm creator who articulates the public orthodoxy for his society is a
giant; yet work remains to be done in order to solve what Kuhn calls
puzzles. Locke may be conceived of as a problem solver or paradigm
worker. He was to make Hobbes' paradigm for a society premised on
transactional relations among men palatable, as the studies of
Strauss and MacPherson have demonstrated. One might add that
American political theorists who have generally been regarded as
second-rate political philosophers might be more appropriately con-
ceived of as paradigm workers within a liberal public orthodoxy,
whose roots can be traced ultimately to Hobbes.

A major task Kendall set for himself was to ferret out the Ameri-
can public orthodoxy from its basic symbols and documents. His
conclusion was that "the American political tradition is clearly un-
derstood as such by those who live the American way of life and love
it. . . ."^ This statement, in effect, challenges the standard interpre-
tations of the American political experience. It directly challenges
Hartz's assertion that Americans live by a truncated form of Lock-
eanism, and therefore liberalism.

THE TWO TRADITION THESIS

The quest for the American public orthodoxy by intellectuals per-
haps reached its apogee during the 1950s when American Studies as
an academic discipline experienced its most fertile period. It was a
decade which produced several classics purporting to explain the
American political experience. Today we still go back to the books of
this era, such as Boorstin's Genius of American Politics (1953) and
Hartz's The Liberal Tradition in America (1955). The field is not
closed, however, as evidenced by a statement from Kendall and
Carey's Basic Symbols of the American Political Tradition (1970):
"Up to a recent moment just what moment we need not say pre-
cisely the American political tradition did not constitute a problem

51

whereas today it does."* The intervening decade and a half between
the Boorstin and Hartz books and the 1970s witnessed several notable
political assassinations, Vietnam, racial unrest, and the impending
impeachment of a President, which led to his forced resignation. It
is indeed time again to ask: "What is the American public ortho-
doxy?"

Kendall's thesis, in sum, is that there have been two political
traditions in America, one conservative and one liberal, which have
been vying as the legitimate embodiment of the public orthodoxy.
Kendall states the problem thusly: "... the American political tra-
dition is a Conservative tradition, and to a very considerable extent
the great political decisions of recent decades have reflected Liberal
ideas."" The tradition which embodies the public orthodoxy, Kendall
maintains, has been derailed. He sought to recover this older, "con-
servative" tradition. In order to do so, however, Kendall had to take
on the "official custodians" of the heritage who have written the
"official literature" by which the liberal or "new" tradition finds
expression.

The prevalence of a liberal way of life or orthodoxy in America has
been noted by a number of commentators. We focus on Hartz simply
because his work is generally credited with being methodologically
the most sophisticated of the genre of books which underscore the
basic consensual and liberal nature of American values. Hartz's book
is superior for the reason that unlike most of the other books empha-
sizing America's uniqueness. The Liberal Tradition in America at-
tempts to present a comparative view of the American experience
from the vantage point of European intellectual history. This
perspective aff'ords an explanation for the consensus Hartz and others
see with respect to the nation's operative political values. America
lacked a feudal past and with that the intellectual adversaries of
eighteenth century liberalism. Locke could assume a Filmer and "the
myriad associations of class, church, guild and place. , . ."'"
Americans were, to use Hartz's phraseology, "born free," thereby
lacking the tradition of classical political philosophy which Locke
could presume as a counterpoise to his articulations. An orthodoxy
necessarily becomes petrified when it has merely one vocabulary with
which to conceptualize politics. "The ironic flaw in American liberal-
ism lies in the fact that we have never had a real conservative tradi-
tion.""

Kendall's revisionist thesis directly confronts the prevalent aca-
demic view exemplified by Hartz. Guided by the concept of a public
orthodoxy, Kendall argues that American society has a set of shared
values which indentifies it as an acting unit in history. In short, there

52

is a basic consensus about the American Way of Life. But Kendall
views this consensus differently than Hartz, stipulating that
conservative values are reflected by the basic documents of the tradi-
tion. He asks us to go back to the founding fathers to re-educate
ourselves as to the meaning of the American political heritage. The
two core documents which embody the nation's public orthodoxy,
Kendall maintains, are the Constitution and the Federalist Papers.
These documents, he asserts, are (to use Voegelian terminology) in
differentiated form.'^

Public orthodoxies, as we have mentioned previously, embody a
people's understanding of the way politics should be conducted in
their society. Discerning which documents reveal a nation's ortho-
doxy can be a difficult methodological task for scholars. However,
students of American political thought have often noted that antago-
nists throughout the nation's history have gone to much the same
sources, namely the Constitution and, to a lesser extent, the
Federalist. The controversy arises over the interpretation of the docu-
ments. It can be demonstrated (convincingly we think) that the basic
documents of the American public orthodoxy rest upon Hobbesean
assumptions, which are fundamentally liberal. These assumptions
have operative consequences which strike at the heart of the nation's
political life and which must be considered in any discussion concern-
ing political morality and reform.

The ensuing sections focus upon the core documents of the Ameri-
can political tradition, which proponents of differing interpretations
of the American political experience agree embody the nation's pub-
lic orthodoxy. The philosophical assumptions underlying the
Federalist Papers, which Kendall and Carey remind us are essential
for understanding the Constitution, are considered first. Next, con-
sideration is given the negativity of the Constitution, which under-
scores its basically liberal nature. Finally, we consider the implica-
tions that the core documents of the American public orthodoxy have
for political reform. The primary thesis is that the Kendall-Carey
reading of the Constitution and the Federalist obfuscates the Hobbe-
sean character of these documents. The questions Kendall raises are
particularly crucial, for we must understand the nature of a nation's
public orthodoxy before we can talk meaningfully about that nation's
politics.

PHILOSOPHICAL UNDERPINNINGS OF THE FEDERALIST

Kendall and Carey contend that "To treat the Constitution and
The Federalist separately is diflicult. The two documents are closely

53

associated in most people's minds, as well they should be . . . ."
They also insist that "The Federalist is a 'must' for anyone who seeks
an 'intellectual' understanding of our tradition and of the political
system under which we have governed ourselves. . . ."'* No student
of American political thought would find much to disagree with in
these statements, although this was not the case before the recogni-
tion of the Federalist as a classic in political theory. The primary
credit for this intellectual rescue operation, which commenced some
fifteen years ago, belongs to Martin Diamond and Gottfried Dietze,
as well as to Kendall and Carey. The controversy arises when Kendall
and Carey try to rescue the Federalist Papers from their ideational
affinity to Hobbes and Locke.

Kendall was no stranger to the expositors of the liberal orthodoxy
and was fully aware that to read an authentic conservatism into the
Federalist, he would have to show an ideational break with Hobbes
and Locke. It is the writer's contention that his revisionist reading
fails, and that Hobbes and Locke are indeed the theoretical progeni-
tors of the liberal way of life permeating American society.

The Leviathan and Second Treatise articulate a public orthodoxy
which is premised upon the absolute will of the individual. Rights
derived from this principle, foremost among which is the right of self-
preservation, lack corresponding or correlative duties. The classics of
the liberal orthodoxy make little provision for the fostering of com-
munity on the part of the state. This role is relegated to the private
sphere. The function of the state is primarily that of maintaining the
rights of individuals.

Kendall tried to show that the Federalist and the Constitution are
divorced from the Leviathan and Second Treatise. He saw the expres-
sion of the American public orthodoxy embodied in the Constitution
and Federalist Papers more closely akin to the classical conception
of an harmonious relationship between the good of individuals and
the good of society in which rights and duties are correlative. Kendall
maintains that in the American context, this concern for community
is symbolized by a representative assembly attempting to ascertain
a deliberate sense of the community. In this respect, he stated:

the false myths produce fanatics amongst us. They are misrepresen-
tations and distortions of the American political tradition and its
basic symbols which are, let us remind you, the representative as-
sembly deliberating under God; the virtuous people, virtuous be-
cause deeply religious and thus committed to the process of search-
ing for the transcendent Truth. And these are, we believe, symbols
we can be proud of without going before a fall.'^

Americans, Kendall asserts, live under a Federalist Papers Con-

54

stitution "which lays down for us a constitutional morality, a political
ethos that is as natural to us as the air we breathe."'^ This morality,
he argues, fosters a politics of discussion and dialogue among repre-
sentatives of a virtuous people.

Kendall fully agrees with other political scientists who argue that
the Constitution grants weapons to the three branches, expecially the
legislative branch, which could conceivably stymie the functioning of
government. He further argues that this possible "war of all against
all" among the several branches has not occurred because the
Federalist instructs the various branches that "they must act merely
as equal and co-ordinate branches and not throw their weight
around."'^ In short, the constitutional morality urges upon the several
branches a sense of restraint and cooperation for the good of the
community, thus forestalling a breakdown. And as an embodiment
of the nation's public orthodoxy, this morality is internalized and
lived by.

There are several problems with Kendall's reading of the
Federalist. First, cooperation and self-restraint among the separate
branches might be antagonistic cooperation and not the harmonious
state of affairs he sees. Second, the reading rests upon the core sym-
bol of the virtuous people, deeply religious, whose representative as-
sembly seeks to ascertain the common good. Yet he admits that nei-
ther Publius nor the Constitution made any provision for keeping the
people virtuous; there is no conception of character formation
through education conveyed by the Greek term paideia in these docu-
ments. Furthermore, the deeply religious people, through their repre-
sentative assembly in Virginia and later in Philadelphia, consciously
chose to drive a wedge between the public and spiritual orders. Also,
given a different set of assumptions, say liberal ones, the protection
afforded to minorities by the Federalist to thwart irredentism could
readily translate into the Calhoun doctrine of concurrent majorities
disavowed by Kendall.

It seems advisable, therefore, to take another look at the philo-
sophical assumptions underlying the Federalist, which lay down the
political ethos for the American regime. This political ethos is thor-
oughly grounded in the liberal orthodoxy, which is premised upon the
absolute will of the individual who seeks to secure his inalienable
rights through the institution of the office of the sovereign. The func-
tion of the sovereign is to enforce the system of rules for conflict
resolution; he is to be an umpire, to use Locke's description of his
office. Publius emerges as a paradigm worker who labors within the
parameters of the liberal orthodoxy. A cardinal tenet of the liberal
orthodoxy expounded by Hobbes and Locke is the assumption of

55

individualism and of its corollary, self-interestedness. In the very first
Federalist Paper, Publius explicitly states he will discuss the pro-
posed Constitution with reference to "The utility of the UNION to
your political prosperity . . . and . . . the additional security which
its adoption will afl^ord to the preservation of that species of govern-
ment, to liberty and to property."*'

Self-interest is the main encapsulator of the Federalist, not the
sense of community of a virtuous people, which Kendall and Carey
read into the work. The fostering of community has been historically
a conservative project, but the Federalist fails in this respect. As
such, it cannot be construed as a conservative document. Publius is
notably silent with respect to the promotion of communal sentiments
and virtue in the classical sense, as Martin Diamond aptly notes:

Other political theories had ranked highly, as objects of government,
the nurturing of a particular religion, education, military courage,
civic-spiritedness, moderation, individual excellence in the virtues,
etc. On all of these the Federalist is either silent, or has in mind only
pallid versions of the originals, or even seems to speak with con-
tempt.'*

This is quite logically so because the document the Federalist cele-
brates is an extremely negative one whose affinity to Hobbes' societal
paradigm has been well documented.'* Publius emerges as a para-
digm worker who accepts the basic assumptions of the liberal ortho-
doxy and from them seeks to fashion a solution appropriate to the
problems of governing a large commercial republic.

The liberal societal paradigm or orthodoxy assumes fragmenta-
tion and conflictual behavior among men resulting from their trans-
actional relations. The function of public authority is to secure for
private men their individual rights by providing rules and mecha-
nisms for conflict resolution. Publius' central concern is "this pro-
pensity of mankind to fall into mutual animosities. . . ."^^ This
concern, clearly Hobbesean, necessitates a politics geared "to the
great principle of self-preservation; to the transcendent law of nature
and of nature's God, which declares that the safety and happiness of
society are the objects at which all political institutions aim . . . ."^'
This stark affinity to Hobbes led Diamond to write "the primary
fears of the Federalist are Hobbesean, that is, fears of 'foreign war and
domestic convulsion'."^^

Publius addresses himself in the tenth paper to the fear of domes-
tic convulsion, which expresses itself through the violence of faction.
He pessimistically reminds us that nothing can be done about the
causes of faction, since these are sown in the nature of man and are
occasioned by opining, passions, and the unequal distribution of

56

property. He seeks rather to offer a solution to control the effects of
faction. As a paradigm worker, he adapts the Hobbesean statement
of the problem to a new situation, that is, to a large commercial
republic. The largeness or extensiveness of the republic affords the
solution. He is arguing for a society in which individuals' self-
interests are subjected to cross-cutting cleavages, so celebrated by
contemporary political scientists, thus preventing a potential cohe-
sive and tyrannical majority faction from arising.

The tenth paper is revealing in a number of other ways. It renders
extremely tenuous the Kendall-Carey reading of the Federalist as
embodying a symbol of a virtuous and deeply religious people. Con-
sider Publius' stipulation that "neither moral nor religious motives
can be relied on as an adequate control" for the violence of faction. ^^
These are hardly sentiments befitting a virtuous people who seek to
arrive at a sense of community through discussion and dialogue.
Some of the language is even very suggestive, as when Publius speaks
of the "aggregate interests of the community." Society conceived of
as an aggregation conveys the image of atomistically related political
actors, a core liberal symbol. Aggregation of interests does not make
a community of virtuous people. The conservative ideal Kendall and
Carey hint at in these papers is clearly rejected by Publius.

The Hobbesean assumptions of individualism and societal frag-
mentation are carried over by Publius in his exegetical treatment of
the type of government provided by the Constitution. Publius contin-
ually stresses the need for mechanisms to thwart the "encroaching
spirit of power" or the "ambitious intrigues" of executive magistrates
which render difficult the Hobbesean task of "providing some practi-
cal security for each, against the invasion of others."^* This potential
"war of all against all" among the branches of government is rooted,
Publius reminds us, in the "degree of depravity in mankind which
requires a certain degree of circumspection and distrust. "^^ He boldly
states his general solution to the problem in Federalist 51: "Ambition
must be made to counteract ambition."^" After all, Publius reminds
us, government is but a reflection on human nature. More appropri-
ately, one might say that assumptions about human nature have
resulting consequences in the way one thinks about the functioning
of government. Publius clearly demonstrates his acceptance of the
liberal paradigm articulated by Hobbes and Locke. His goal is
Hobbesean, for he states that the primary function of government is
to provide security for the individual against the invasion of his rights
by others. The proposed Constitution, Publius maintains, succeeds
in doing this.

Publius therefore states the mechanisms by which the Constitu-

57

tion provides the stability requisite for accomplishing this goal
through separation of powers and checks and balances. The intellec-
tual backdrop for separation of powers was, of course, provided by the
classical theory of mixed government. The Constitution's framers
learned their lesson well, Publius states in Federalist 9, for they im-
proved over the prescriptions of the classical masters.

It is interesting to note that when Publius acknowledges classical
writers, he focuses upon their pessimistic side. For instance, the com-
munal ideas contained in Book III of Aristotle's Politics are given
little, if any, play. Instead, the founding fathers borrow from Aristo-
tle's cycle of decay and fashion a solution which will "cage the whole
of the cycle within the framework of a single constitutional struc-
ture."^^ But they parted from the classical formula which called for
combining into one governmental structure an executive or monar-
chical office, a patrician upper house, and a plebian lower house.
Rather, Publius' new science seeks to improve on the classical pre-
scription. The Constitution, the Federalist tells us, thwarts the po-
tential "war of all against all" among the branches by giving each
branch partial agency or control over the others so that "their mutual
relations [will] be the means of keeping each other in their proper
places."^** In order to exercise power, the political actors of one branch
must be able to compromise with political actors of other branches,
resulting in a politics of negotiation.

Publius' analysis of the Constitution is premised upon the as-
sumptions of self-interestedness, fragmentation, individualism, and
an incessant craving for power which must be countered in kind. A
case in point is the Federalist's depiction of the legislature as an
"impetuous vortex" against which "the people ought to indulge all
their jealousy and exhaust all their precautions."^^ Publius is quite
emphatic in telling us that we must fear legislatures. This language
is rather incongruous with Kendall and Carey's depiction of the legis-
lature as a representative assembly deliberating under God to ascer-
tain a sense of the community. Rather, what comes across is the
Hobbesean assumption of an incessant quest for power and the ne-
cessity to check it. In number 48, Publius goes on to tell us that
political corruption in the form of pecuniary rewards or bribes is to
be expected and that the legislature is most apt to exercise this form
of influence. Again one sees the maxim of self-interestedness en-
shrined by the framers and Publius as a philosophy of government.
In short, they are operating within the theoretical paradigm con-
structed by Hobbes and Locke. They are paradigm workers within
the liberal orthodoxy.

At this point, we may summarize by stating that the Federalist,

58

which embodies the pubHc morality of the American polity, rests
upon Hobbesean, and hence fundamentally liberal, assumptions
about political society. The Constitution, as a document within the
parameters of the liberal orthodoxy, conceives of the functions of
government narrowly and negatively. Having located the philosophi-
cal underpinnings of the Federalist, one may well ask, as Martin
Diamond does of Publius Madison, "Whether his remedy for one
disease has not had some unfortunate collateral consequences."^" We
now turn to a discussion of the Constitution to discern the translation
of Publius' theoretical arguments into operative orthodoxy by which
the nation lives.

THE CONSTITUTION AS A LIBERAL DOCUMENT

The Constitution is fully consonant with liberal orthodoxy in that
it evidences a negative concept of the role of government, displaying
this negativity in two major respects. First, as the so-called enabling
or delegated powers section of the Constitution lays bare, the docu-
ment addresses itself to economic matters to the minimum neces-
sary conditions by which a large commercial republic can be a going
concern. Second, and perhaps most crucial, the document has little
to say about other things, such as fostering a sense of community,
promotion of virtue, and civic responsibility. It is the omission of
these other objects of government which renders untenable the
Kendall-Carey reading of the Constitution and Federalist Papers as
embodying the symbols of a virtuous people. The basic flaw is that
no provision is made for keeping this presumably virtuous people
virtuous. Rather, the document is concerned with avoiding the hor-
rors Hobbes so poignantly described in that famous passage in Chap-
ter 13 of the Leviathan in which he speaks of the incommodities of
war and domestic convulsion."

The Constitution's affinity to the Hobbesean paradigm is best
illustrated by Article I, Section 8, the so-called "enabling" or "dele-
gated powers" clause, which Jacobson dubbed a (Hobbesean) "de-
monology of politics, foreign and domestic. "^^ What does one find
upon reading it? He finds that the interests of liberal men are pro-
tected, and the Hobbesean fears are thwarted. Jacobson emphasizes
that the accent of this crucial article is definitely on the negative or
coercive functions of government. ^^ And this article is not an excep-
tion; negative spirit permeates the Constitution. Sections 5 and 6 of
this article make provision for the expulsion of members guilty of
disorderly behavior, and explicitly mention illicit emoluments as
though the framers expected these to be more than occasional occur-

59

rences. In the same manner, Section 4 of the second article deals with
the impeachment of the President, Vice-President, and all civil offi-
cers of the United States. Fear of legislative power translates into
Section 9 of Article I, which are not provisions to promote a sense of
community. Rather, they deal with the central Hobbesean tenet
that public peace is to be maintained so that private happiness
may be pursued. The key assumption upon which the nation's public
orthodoxy is constructed is expressed by Jacobson: "Venality and
recalcitrance are as natural to men as the air they breathe. "^^

With such a philosophy of government and human nature embod-
ied in the nation's fundamental law, it is difficult, almost impossible,
to make good on the stipulation made by Publius in Federalist 57:
"the aim of every political constitution is, or ought to be, first to
obtain for rulers men who possess most wisdom to discern, and most
virtue to pursue, the common good of society. "^^ It is with respect to
this question "how to keep the people virtuous" that the Constitu-
tion's negativity is most clearly manifest and damning. It is more
what the Constitution does not include than what it does, which
renders it a document fully within the paradigm constructed by
Hobbes and Locke.

Character formation was not to be the business of the nation's
fundamental law. The primary function of a liberal state is to thwart
the Hobbesean horrors. Freedom in such a state is conceived of as
freedom from. Anything not proscribed by law is generally permitted,
or, as Hobbes aptly put it: "in all kinds of actions by the laws praeter-
mitted men have the liberty of doing what their own reasons shall
suggest, for the most profitable to themselves."^"

In Federalist 30, Publius states quite boldly that "Money is, with
propriety, considered the vital principle of the body politic. "^^ This
concern is reiterated in number 53, in which Publius enumerates the
principal tasks of legislation: interstate commerce, foreign trade,
taxes, and the militia. This had led Diamond to write that: "What
is striking is the apparent exclusion from the functions of government
of a wide range of non-economic tasks traditionally considered the
decisive business of government."^* And Publius in Federalist 84 tells
us that "a Constitution like that under consideration is merely in-
tended to regulate the general political interests of the nation, [and
not] a constitution which has the regulation of every species of per-
sonal and private concerns. "^^ Public and private spheres are sepa-
rated as they necessarily must be in order to be consonant with the
liberal societal paradigm.

The promotion of non-economic tasks such as the fostering of
community and civic virtue is relegated in a liberal order to the

60

private sphere. Churches, and charitable and civic associations, are
expected to fill the void left by the nation's fundamental law. This
sort of communalism, typified by the church supper, is not allowed
to penetrate the public order. In fact, Kendall and Carey tell us that
both the Virginia Declaration of Rights and the Philadelphia Consti-
tution drive "a wedge between politics and religion."^" Still, they
argue, the secularistic government which is provided for in these
documents is not to be antagonistic toward religion.

But Publius did not have a vision of religious sects acting in con-
cord, each in its own way promoting civic virtue. Rather, his vision
is starkly Hobbesean: religious sects promote discord which must be
thwarted. "In a free government the security for civil rights must be
the same as that for religious rights. It consists in one case in the
multiplicity of interests, and in the other in the multiplicity of
sects. "^' Publius here articulates a negative civil theology whose theo-
retical groundwork can be traced to the liberal theorists, Hobbes,
Locke, and Spinoza. Religion clearly must not intrude upon the pub-
lic sphere.

This renders almost meaningless the seemingly endless contro-
versy over just how much religious penetration into the public order
is permitted by the First Amendment. Francis Wilson has written
with respect to our civil theology that Americans today "have much
in common with Hobbes."" But Americans have been operating
within Hobbesean parameters all along; and the negative civil theol-
ogy Wilson sees in contemporary America was not laid by Justices
Holmes, Black, or Douglas. It can be traced to the documents which
embody the nation's public orthodoxy, since they separate the public
and spiritual orders. A negative civil theology merely complements
the negativity which suffuses the Constitution in other respects.

A public order grounded in Hobbesean presuppositions does not
rely upon religious or moral motives to promote the common good.
That solution, Publius told us in Federalist 10, is visionary. The
Constitution's solution, which Publius articulates in his famous
maxim in number 51, is to let "ambition counteract ambition." This
is possible because the nation's fundamental law provides for a num-
ber of power centers which can be relied upon to guard jealously their
respective prerogatives. This in turn gives rise to a style of politics
which places a premium on compromise and stability.

This style of politics has, of course, had its defenders among pro-
fessional political scientists. The pluralist school dominated the
study of American politics for many years. The existence of multiple
access points occasioned by rival power centers has led pluralists such
as Robert Dahl to write optimistically that "few groups in the United

61

States who are determined to influence the government certainly
few if any groups who are organized, active, and persistent lack the
capacity and opportunity to influence some officials somewhere in
the political system to obtain at least some of their goals."" Of
course, this celebration of the American style of politics has been
decried in recent years, and consequently we are subjected to calls for
reform.

IMPLICATIONS FOR POLITICAL REFORM

Given the American political system's ills, it is not surprising that
within the last decade or so a number of perceptive critiques have
emerged questioning the celebration of the American system. Invaria-
bly, they pinpoint methodological shortcomings of the behavioral
(chiefly pluralist) approach to American politics, such as its concen-
tration upon safe, visible issues and not upon nondecisions; its focus
upon legitimate and strongly organized pressure groups, neglecting
latent groups and the powerless, making stability the key value, and
implicitly acting as apologists for the regime while maintaining a
value-free posture. ^^ Unfortunately, too few of these critiques trace
these ills to the roots of the nation's public orthodoxy. And although
such critiques are written from differing philosophical perspectives,
there seems to be a yearning for a sense of community, for a public
interest, for a common good that the nation's operative political style
does not foster and which this essay has contended it cannot foster
because of the public orthodoxy by which the nation organizes its
political life. The call to introduce normative considerations into
American political discourse emerges, in part, as a response to the
behavioral persuasion in American political science. But the behav-
ioral persuasion is only symptomatic and rose in response to the
operative political style occasioned by the nation's liberal public or-
thodoxy. The concerns of today's behavioralists can be traced to
Madison and Calhoun, as has been done by some political scientists,
and ultimately to Hobbes and Locke. ^^ The debate over various re-
forms and the disputes between contemporary American conserva-
tives and liberals tend to fall within the basic parameters of the
liberal orthodoxy, which is premised upon the assumptions of societal
fragmentation and conflict.

Hobbesean assumptions loom large in American political thought,
and it is no accident that Kendall and Carey, despite their symbol
of Americans as a virtuous and deeply religious people, describe the
operative style of American politics in transactional terms. The
American style of politics, they and so many other commentators tell
us, is consensual politics. The function of the political process is to

62

"strike 'deals' that render . . . programs palatable to a greater num-
ber within society."^'' Kendall and Carey also note that a political
system, such as the American system, requires "rules and procedures,
analoguous to those of a poker game . . . .''" Their analysis is replete
with images of deception and potential conflict, which are precisely
the images Publius assumes in the Federalist.

The assumptions (Hobbesean) of communal fragmentation, con-
flict, individualism, and self-interestedness, which are part of the
American public orthodoxy, are so much a part of our political dis-
course that they subtly reappear in the reformist literature which
seeks to effectuate more responsibility in American government.
Often the prescriptions of reform-minded political scientists tend to
be palliatives which can be encompassed within the parameters of the
nation's public orthodoxy and which do not really challenge it. In
fact, the recommendations tend to take on the familiar ring of "more
of the same," which only goes to further strengthen the assertion of
a monistic liberal orthodoxy permeating the political community. For
example, Ted Lowi wants the "restoration of the Federalist No. 10
ideology in which 'factions' are necessary evils that require regula-
tion, not accommodation," and Vincent Ostrom suggests "extending
the principle of self-government to wider and wider realms, each with
limited jurisdiction ... to create new political structures new pol-
itical artifices."^** The familiar liberal fear of accumulation of power
and the assumption of a fragmented community continually reap-
pear; and the discourse is carried on within very narrow parameters.

CONCLUSIONS

In order to discuss meaningfully political morality and the feasi-
bility of reform, we must begin with an examination of the nation's
public orthodoxy. In doing this, it is necessary to start with a people's
attempt at self-understanding as it actualizes itself as an acting unit
in history. The concept of a public orthodoxy helps us discern the way
a people organizes its political life. The style of politics reform-
minded political scientists want to change is premised upon assump-
tions embedded in the nation's public orthodoxy. Failure to recognize
this leads those advocating reform to propose measures which are
either doomed to failure or are merely calls to resuscitate the opera-
tive mechanisms the framers have set in motion. An example of the
latter is Lowi's call for the restoration of the Federalist 10 ideology.
We must learn to reintroduce the conception of the politeia, or public
orthodoxy, to our political vocabulary and not merely relegate it to
the study of classical political philosophy as if it has no meaning for
us.

63

The application by Kendall and Carey of Voegelian methodology
to the American polity reveals that the nation's public orthodoxy is
embodied in the Constitution and Federalist Papers. In this essay, we
have parted from them by tracing the American public orthodoxy to
Hobbesean, hence fundamentally liberal, premises. Our reading of
these documents largely supports Hartz's thesis that American pub-
lic life is permeated with a monistic liberal ideology. Any realistic
assessment of the American political system must start with a discus-
sion of the core documents which embody the nation's public ortho-
doxy and with the philosophical assumptions contained therein.

FOOTNOTES

' Eric Voegelin, The New Science of Politics (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1952); Order and History, 3 vols. (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State Uni-
versity Press, 1956).

Voegelin The New Science of Politics, p. 38.

^ Frederick Wilhelmsen and Willmoore Kendall, "Cicero and the Politics of
The Public Orthodoxy," The Intercollegiate Review, 5 (Winter 1968-69), pp.
84-85.

^ Ernest Barker, The Politics of Aristotle (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1958), p. Ixvi; Leo Strauss, Natural Right and History (Chicago: Uni-
versity of Chicago Press, 1953), pp. 136-137.

* Wilhelmsen and Kendall, "Cicero," p. 88.

' Sheldon S. Wolin, "Paradigms and Political Theories," Politics and Expe-
rience: Essays Presented to Michael Oakeshott, P. King and B. C. Parekh,
eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), p. 149; see also Thomas
S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2nd. ed. (Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press, 1970).

^ Willmoore Kendall, "Three on the Line," National Review (August 31,
1957), p. 180.

* Willmoore Kendall and George W. Carey, The Basic Symbols of the Ameri-
can Political Tradition (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press,
1970), p. 3.

Kendall, "Three on the Line," p. 180.

'" Louis Hartz, The Liberal Tradition in America (New York: Harcourt,
Brace & World, 1955), p. 60.

" Ibid., p. 57.

'^ Voegelin distinguishes between compact and differentiated symbols. Com-
pact symbols contain potentiality for development in diverse, and perhaps
contradictory, directions. Differentiated symbols, on the other hand, are suf-
ficiently developed to contain political principles. See Voegelin, Order and

64

History, vol. I, p. 5; Kendall and Carey, Basic Symbols, pp. 17-29.

'' Kendall and Carey, Basic Symbols, p. 96; Kendall and Carey, "How to
Read 'The Federalist'," Contra Mundum, Nellie D. Kendall, ed. (New Ro-
chelle: Arlington House, 1971), p. 403. Kendall and Carey adopt the method-
ological stricture of treating The Federalist as the work of Publius represent-
ing a consensus or common ground on which Madison, Hamilton, and Jay
could argue for the proposed Constitution. We will abide by their stricture,
agreeing that there does exist a commonalty of views.

'* Kendall and Carey, Basic Symbols, p. 154.

'^ Ibid., p. 142.

' Ibid.

" Federalist 1, p. 36. The edition of the Federalist used is The Federalist

Papers, intro. by Clinton Rossiter (New York: New American Library, 1961).

'* Martin Diamond, "Democracy and The Federalist: A Reconsideration of
the Framers' Intent," American Political Science Review, 53 (March
1959), p. 64.

'" See, for example, Frank M. Coleman, "The Hobbesian Basis of American
Constitutionalism," Polity, 7 (Fall 1974), pp. 57-89.

2 Federalist 10, p. 79.

2' Federalist 43, p. 279.

^^ Diamond, "Democracy and the Federalist," p. 62.

23 Federalist 10, p. 81.

^* Federalist 48, p. 308.

2^ Federalist 55, p. 346.

=" Federalist 51, p. 322.

" H. Mark Roelofs, The Language of Modern Politics (Homewood: Dorsey
Press, 1967), p. 235. Roelofs develops at some length the theme of Aristotelian
bias in American constitutional arrangements in pages 229-235 of this work.
For a discussion distinguishing Publius' solution from the classical theory of
mixed government, consult Martin Diamond, Winston Mills Fisk, and Her-
bert Garfinkel, The Democratic Republic (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1966),
ch. 3.

2 Federalist 51, p. 320.

2 Federalist 48, p. 309.

3" Diamond, "Democracy and The Federalist, " p. 67; Mark Roelofs cogently
develops this theme in "The Adequacy of America's Dominant Ideology,"
Bucknell Review, 18 (Fall 1970), pp. 3-15. He is much more critical of
the founding fathers and what we have called the nation's liberal orthodoxy
embodied in the Federalist than is Diamond, whose view is that it is a second-
best regime and therefore worthy of celebration.

" Leviathan, ch. 13, p. 82. The references to the Leviathan are from Hobbes'

65

Leviathan, intro. by Michael Oakeshoot (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960).

^^ Norman Jacobson, "Political Science and Political Education," American
Political Science Review, 57 (September 1963), p. 562.

'' Ibid.

'' Ibid.

35 Federalist 57, p. 350.

^' Leviathan, ch. 21, p. 138.

3' Federalist 30, p. 188.

3* Diamond, "Democracy and The Federalist," p. 63.

3 Federalist 84, p. 513.

*" Kendall and Carey, Basic Symbols, p. 149.

*' Federalist 51, p. 324.

" Francis Wilson, "The Supreme Court's Civil Theology," Modern Age,
13 (Summer 1969), p. 251.

" Robert A. Dahl, Pluralist Democracy in The United States: Conflict and
Consent (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1967), p. 386.

" Two representative collections of essays which critique the behavioral per-
suasion in political science, and by implication the American style of politics,
written from what may be described as left and right perspectives, respec-
tively, are: Charles A. McCoy and John Playford, eds.. Apolitical Politics: A
Critique of Behavioralism (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1967); and Her-
bert J. Storing, ed.. Essays in the Scientific Study of Politics (New York:
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962).

*^ See, for example, Jacobson, "Political Science and Political Education,"
pp. 566-68; Ralph Lerner, "Calhoun's New Science of Politics," American
Political Science Review, 57 (December 1963), pp. 918-932; and Cole-
man, "The Hobbesian Basis," pp. 57-89.

^' Kendall and Carey, Basic Symbols, p. 111.

" Willmoore Kendall and George Carey, "The 'Intensity' Problem and Dem-
ocratic Theory," American Political Science Review, 62 (March 1968), p. 19.

^* Theodore Lowi, "The Public Philosophy: Interest-Group Liberalism,"
American Political Science Review, 61 (March 1967), p. 23; Vincent
Ostrom, The Political Theory of a Compound Republic (Blacksburg: Center
for the Study of Public Choice, 1971), p. 125.

66

EXISTENTIALISM AND LIBERAL

DEMOCRATIC VALUES: REFLECTIONS ON

INDIVIDUALISM AND CORRUPTION IN

AMERICAN POLITICS

By
Kenneth L. Deutsch

"Crisis" is a term much used to reflect the contemporary human
condition. Wherever we look, the mood of crisis and malaise is about
us. During the past half century the expectation of inexorable prog-
ress and human perfection has been tragically refuted by crises such
as world wars, superpower intervention into the aff"airs of small na-
tions, bloody civil wars, bureaucratic manipulation, and political cor-
ruption. The philosopher Eliseo Vivas has commented that "it is one
of the marks of human decency to be ashamed of having been born
into the twentieth century."' Perhaps on subtler grounds, we cannot
deny the fact that though technology has produced material abund-
ance for some persons, our epoch is characterized by mass unrest,
social and political alienation, and continued skepticism toward our
unifying political myths.

By the onset of the twentieth century, the "Grand Designs" of
Western intellectual life began to collapse. The Enlightenment
Weltanschauung of science and education, which promised so much
in terms of "rational man" and technological panaceas, have not
reduced political conflict and despair. Empirical science alone no
longer provides us with an unshakeable faith in resolving socio-
political problems. Environmental problems and the "irrationality"
of an extensively educated voter place into question absolute faith in
science and education as the foundations of liberal democracy. The
scientific rationality of August Comte or the utilitarian educational
faith of John Stuart Mill or the re-establishment of community
through social reconstruction of John Dewey have been placed into
severe doubt.

Likewise, faith in Natural Law and the essential dignity of man
has been shaken by positivist and linguistic analysis, as well as by
the secularization of our political life. John Locke's theory of Natural
Law as the absolute and objective standard of political legitimacy,
which claimed for man a priori natural rights of life, liberty, and
estates, no longer has the efficacy of creating political unity (not even
the Supreme Court utilizes this approach in interpreting law). Nor

67

does the intellectual community (with some exceptions) continue to
show fidelity to the precepts of Natural Law as an adequate justifica-
tion of liberal democratic values.

Given the severity of contemporary crises, the weltanschauungen
of Empiricism and Natural Law have been substantially weakened
as explanatory designs for comprehending our predicament or as uni-
fying myths for concerted human action for resolving those crises. It
is the purpose of this essay to show that Empiricism and Natural Law
are not the only political philosophies available as explanatory or
normative theory for democratic practice. It is the author's position
that the philosophical themes and exemplary human image of Exis-
tentialism offer a more efficacious outlook in dealing with political
problems of bureaucratic manipulation, authoritarianism, corrup-
tion, apathy, and support for liberal democratic values.

THE EXISTENTIALIST ALTERNATIVE

The Existentialist position emerged as a result of the concrete
problems of freedom facing Western man during the past three de-
cades. Existentialism is the philosophical response to the "unauthen-
tic" arguments of those who practiced or accepted brutality with the
following claims: "I was only following orders"; "Everyone was doing
it"; "You cannot fight the bureaucrats"; "Politics is always lying";
"One person cannot make a difference"; "The leadership must pro-
tect national security."

Existentialism is a philosophical outlook concerned with the sub-
mergence of the individual to overwhelming political, military, and
ideological structures, which serve to reduce the individual to a ma-
nipulated thing rather than an authentic person capable of exercising
freedom of choice. The Existentialist claims that human beings can
freely choose not to obey inhumane orders; we can refuse to submerge
ourselves within the social group; we can choose to disobey an unjust
law; we can choose to fight a bureaucratic decision. Authentic exist-
ence, then, is accepting one's freedom to choose and recognizing the
limitations and restrictive attempts of other philosophical and socio-
political positions which attempt to define human nature according
to predefined and essential categories (whether it is the category of
"natural law," dialectical materialism, nationalism, or that of the
physical needs of utilitarianism). We are capable of transcending the
confining and unauthentic thought systems that reduce human be-
havior to the definitions of humanity proffered by the ideologue, the
scientist, the technician, or the abstract philosopher.

For the Existentialist, man is the basic point of departure. His

68

concrete existence and the realization that he alone originates his
interests must be our central concern. As Ernst Breisach indicates in
his survey of Existentialist thought, there are recurring themes that
characterize this posture: (1) the hostility to closed systems of
thought and to all attempts to view "truth" from the outside, as an
absolute; (2) the radical and personal questioning of the purposes of
life, designed to "keep one's soul on tiptoe"; (3) the fervent appeal
to every person to live life as an adventure; and (4) the search for an
"authentic existence."^ Although it is correct that Existentialists
have taken diverse normative political postures, they all share one
dominant theme, namely that existence precedes essence; man is
what he chooses and, by choosing, man is determined by his free or
voluntary choices rather than by external manipulation. As is argued
below, some Existentialists apply this position consistently and con-
sequently defend a reformulated liberal democracy as the best means
of realizing their values of authentic existence and a sense of com-
pleteness and fulfillment.

EXISTENTIALIST POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY AND LIBERAL

DEMOCRACY

It is very easy to misunderstand Existentialism. It does not rest
its case with trembling, with anxiety, or all the other dreary meta-
phors of human existence alienation and absurdity notwith-
standing the importance of these notions to the philosophy. Exis-
tentialism does not ask us, with the onset of the awarness of death
as finality and the absurdity of existence, to lapse into a physcho-
logical depression. Rather as a philosophical posture, it summons
us to act beyond these initial psychic states to a new level of
awareness: of self, of freedom of choice, of human responsibility, of
authenticity. It summons us to take charge of our own condition, to
take personal control over our anxiety to act and to choose; in other
words, to make it the occasion for achieving an authentic life. Miguel
de Unamuno, in his poignant book The Tragic Sense of Life, stated
the intense message of Existentialism when he quoted Etienne de
Senancour: "Man is perishable. That may be; but let us perish resist-
ing, and if it is nothingness that awaits us," let us so act that that
would be an unjust fate.' To confront nothingness and absurdity, to
deny it by filling it up with a life that ought never to be lost or
annihilated, to live one's life in such a way as to be something better
than nothingness and human destruction, is the key to the Existen-
tialist political ethic of the reaffirmation of human social and politi-
cal action.

69

At first glance, there would seem to be little reason to expect a
close relationship between the themes of Existentialism and the pol-
itical commitment of liberal democratic theory. The general thrust
of Existentialism has been toward individual experience, toward our
awareness of our subjective condition. But as Henry Kariel has said
of Existentialists:

They support skepticism regarding ultimate values, self-
determination as an individual right, and whatever practical ar-
rangements are likely to reconcile the individual to his defeats as he
struggles to make his values prevail. To be sure, these writers do not
address themselves to the specific problem of making a constitu-
tional political order a durable and workable one. But . . . they do
clarify the imposing psychological demands on those who, in consti-
tutional regimes, are empowered to govern. They stress, moreover,
the agonizing choices men must make in public life, revealing the
moral burden of all political arrangements. Under the pressures of
recent European history and politics, they trimmed the theory of
constitutionalism to essentials, depriving it of all tinges of Platon-
ism, natural law and idealism. Without explicitly attempting it,
they developed the basis for a cogent political doctrine.^

Before one examines the Existentialist justification of liberal
democratic values, we should explicate the pivotal values of liberal
democracy. To be sure, it is impossible to provide a comprehensive
model of modem Hberal democratic values to which all of us would
subscribe. However, a core set of political values can be identified,
which come under the general rubric of modern liberal democracy,
ones that most of us would agree are essential to this political posture.
The central political values are:

(1) the postulate that the idea of freedom is central to the develop-
ment and realization of the human personality;

(2) the peaceful voluntary adjustment of disputes;

(3) the insurance of peaceful change in a changing society,

(4) the orderly and honest succession of rulers;

(5) a minimum use of coercion;

(6) a recognition of diversity and pluralism;

(7) effective competition for the reins of power;

(8) popular and responsive control of policy-makers, asserted
through periodic elections, parties and pressure groups;

(9) popular control requires freedoms of speech, assembly, press,
petition and association, and political opposition is tolerated and
accepted, and minorities are free to criticize and agitate, and;

(10) modern liberal democracy stresses "fraternity" by treating
others not simply as atoms or objects, but with the concern for their
welfare, what John Stuart Mill termed "benevolence" and the "so-
cial feelings of mankind" rather than the atomism and "possessive

70

individualism" more characteristic of the "older" or classical Hberal
theory.^

Albert Camus best represents those Existentialists who have con-
sistently applied their concepts of Absurdity, freedom of choice, and
human responsibility to concrete problems of democratic politics.
Camus, and particularly American Existentialists, confront us with
a wide-ranging yet unified vision of man's situation and condition,
which is articulated with a total critique of authoritarian and totali-
tarian ideological postures and an affirmation and justification of the
liberal democratic values discussed above. By justification of liberal
democracy, the author is referring to the prudential reasons or argu-
ments that the Existentialists like Camus oflfer for liberal democratic
values that have been or can conceivably be challenged.

THE POLITICAL ETHIC OF ABSURDITY AND REBELLION

The esteem in which Albert Camus is held in France and in Eu-
rope is due primarily to his attempt to surpass the contradictions in
post-war Existentialist thought and found a positive political ethic.
As the French intellectual historian Pierre-Henri Simon put it,
"Camus has not only sought for, but he has found the evidences of a
way of salvation, he has set up the land-marks for a positive human-
ism."* The basis for Camus' positive political ethic and his justifica-
tion of liberal democratic values is his concept of the Absurd line of
reasoning.

In providing arguments for the logic of the "absurd," Camus
states that nature or the world is distinct from and foreign to the
understanding of man, but is still his home where he is fascinated,
suppressed and finally conquered. The second argument is that death
is the final and inescapable destiny of all men, and that we must
adjust our lives and behavior to this inescapable destiny. The other
four arguments are the hopelessness of life, the need to refuse the
world without renouncing it (revolt), purity of heart (accepting our-
selves for what we are and demanding others to accept this fact), and
a happiness which is the reaffirmation of the dignity and unique
value of human life in a world which does not call man his own. As
Camus puts it:

But what is happiness if not the simple accord between a being and
the existence which he leads? And what more legitimate accord can
unite man to life than the double consciousness of his desire for
duration and his destiny of death? In this way one at least learns to
count on nothing and to consider the present as the only truth given
us by "grace."'

71

When Camus argues that all human life is led in exile, that man
is a stranger in his world, his connection with Existentialism becomes
quite clear. Central to Camus' thought is man's experience with the
Absurd; and it is the description and discussion of the Absurd which
is undertaken in The Myth of Sisyphus. For Camus, the foundation
for this philosophical essay is the type of experience which has be-
come the profound personal event in our times: the breakdown of our
normal, habitual rhythm of intercourse with the world and the conse-
quent discovery of the meaningless, cyclical pattern of these habitual
activities, a pattern which once appeared to us as progress but now
appears to be a purposeless, never-completed circle about which the
individual turns until the inevitable moment of death ends his turn-
ing. Camus states:

This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said.
But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational
[existence] and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the
human heart. The absurd depends as much on man as on the world.
For the moment it is all that links them together. It binds them one
to another as only hatred can weld two creatures together. This is
all I can discern clearly in this meaningless universe where my ad-
venture takes place.'

The experience of the Absurd is the undeniable datum of modern
social life. From the Homeric tales, Camus has chosen Sisyphus to
represent Absurd Man, the person who was condemned to the most
terrible of punishments: the eternally futile and hopeless labor of
rolling a boulder up a hill only to see it topple down and then be
required to roll it up again and again in his endless torment. Sisyphus
is clearly conscious of the extent of his own misery. Yet it is in the
recognition of his destiny for what it is that Sisyphus has become his
own master. Since the Absurd cannot be conquered completely, the
problem for man is how to deal with this basic aspect of our condition.
Once the individual has discovered the Absurdity of the habits, obli-
gations, and necessities which his social and political role forces upon
him, then the question must be faced: Is life still worth living, is
suicide the only honest action, or do we have good reason to hope? If
the Absurd is the contradiction between the anguished demand of our
consciousness and the indifferent silence of the world, can we be
prevented from committing "philosophical suicide" or surrendering
ourselves to the Absurd by renouncing not only physical action but
also mental action and thereby rejecting the independence of the
mental act? Should we reconcile ourselves to this Absurdity by em-
bracing God's mystery or by immersing ourselves wholly in ideologi-
cal movements?

72

In responding to the Absurd, Camus enjoins us in The Plague to
adopt a positive concern for mankind. He rejects suicide or capitula-
tion as "human" ways of dealing with the Absurd. Only life makes
possible the "encounter between human inquiry and the silence of the
universe," and hence Camus affirms the value of life. He rejects
suicide because although it eliminates the problem, it does not solve
it. He rejects "faith" (or hope) because it is an attempt to solve the
problems of the Absurd with "knowledge" that is beyond man (such
as "God" or "History" or "Reason"). The only proper posture toward
Absurd existence is to live with it and rebel against those forces which
reduce the prospect for saving human life and authentic existence.

Professor Maurice Friedman clearly states Camus' concept of re-
bellion against the Absurd when he analyzes Camus' prototype of the
rebel:

It is Doctor Rieux who recognizes the plague, who organizes resist-
ance to it, who patiently fights it. . . . It is through his unsentimen-
tal, day by day fight against the plague in a community of men
pushed to the limits of their humanity that he is able at the end to
"bear witness in favor of those plague stricken people" and, while
leaving a memorial "of injustice and outrage done them," to "state
quite simply that we learn in a time of pestilence: that there are
more things to admire in man than to despise. ..." His affirma-
tion at the end of the book . . . is a witness to humanity wrested
from the absurd. Ricux's dialogue with the absurd implies a trust
that, though the absurd will never be anything but absurd, meaning
may emerger from man's meeting with it.

While Doctor Rieux accepts the unremitting, endless struggle
with "the plague" as an inescapable part of the human condition, he
also affirms that meaning and value in life may arise from that strug-
gle if one rebels against the Absurd and meets the Absurd rather
than assuming it does not exist. By supporting life for others and
assuming a responsibility for the condition of man in the "plagues"
we experience in common, the rebel affirms life and gives meaning
to his own existence. For the Absurd man (the man who lives with
and resists unauthentic existence) suffering is individual, but in re-
belling he views suffering as a common experience, "a mass plague,"
Rebellion then affirms our existence, "Within the human condition,"
as Fred H, Willhoite, Jr,, has expressed Camus' position, "revolt
assumes the same place as Descartes cogito ergo sum in the realm of
abstract thought; rebellion reveals the initial certainty luring the
individual from his solitude,"'" And as Camus has put it, rebellion
"founds its first value on the whole human race. I rebel therefore
we exist,""

73

By rebelling for authentic existence, the rebel must respect the
limit he discovers in himself a limit where minds meet and, in meet-
ing, begin to exist. This meeting Camus views as a dialogue, not just
in the sense of people talking to each other, but a sustained effort at
mutual understanding, mutual acknowledgment, and mutual re-
spect. It is dialogue that is Camus' highest value in interpersonal
relationships. It is the highest value in the sense in which men have
created their life together, in their co-operation and in their struggles
for existence. Rebellion which promotes dialogue will "deny servi-
tude, falsehood and terror."'^ This is Camus' persistent desire to say
NO to injustice, affirm his own existence, and encourage civility
among men in promoting a common authentic life.

Existentialism does not invent values, nor create them as an ex-
pression of power from Above; it discovers them in the concrete exist-
ence of life. Man creates his essence only after he has existed. Man
can deny the injustice of servitude, falsehood, and terror only through
the civility of the dialogue. As Camus expresses it:

If injustice is bad for the rebel, it is not because it contradicts an
eternal idea of justice, but because it perpetuates the silent hostility
that separates the oppressor from the oppressed. It kills the small
part of existence that can be realized on earth through the mutual
understanding of men. In the same way, since the man who lies
shuts himself off from other men, falsehood is therefore proscribed
.... The mutual understanding and communication discovered
by rebellion can survive only in the free exchange of conversation."

Camus specifically rejects the "conspiracy of silence" in which the
terror of ideological thinking or physical coercion takes the place of
persuasion. He rejects those revolutionary ideologies which want to
submerge man in dialectical materialism or national myths. He re-
jects, in effect, those acts of rebellion which coerce others, which
reduce the prospect of dialogue, which place man into predefined
categories and roles. Therefore, rebellion is limited. The revolution-
ary ideologue and the authoritarian ruler both try to place us into a
Procrustean bed.

We live in a world of abstractions, of bureaus and machines, of
absolute ideas and of crude messianism. We suffocate among people
who think they are absolutely right, whether in their machines or in
their ideas." We must reject the rebellion of the ideologue. We must
go beyond ideology to the concreteness of human problems of exist-
ence. We must meet the real "plagues" facing us and respond to them
by rebelling in a way which maximizes dialogue and human freedom
when faced with human slavery, manipulation, injustice and lies.
Camus' precept of rebellion requests that we must, to use Ernst

74

Breisach's felicitous phrase, try to "keep one's soul on tiptoe"; we
thereby respect humanity, intelligence, and mutual understanding.
If we lose this, we capitulate to the Absurd and thereby become
more likely to invite dictatorship with its trappings of physical and
mental coercion the unauthentic political life.

Camus' concepts of the "plague" and "rebellion" certainly bring
to mind the past ten years of poHtical manipulation, deception, and
injustice which this nation has witnessed. In responding to our "polit-
ical plague," Camus would most probably have supported Dr. Daniel
Ellsberg's diagnosis and remedy of the "Vietnam War Plague," which
was the result of the systems analysts, game theorists, and exponents
of "national prestige" who had placed us into ten long years of war.
It was Dr. Ellsberg's expressed purpose to rebel against these systems
of thought by making clear the necessity for dialogue on the war and
providing the public with the "Pentagon Papers," which were to ex-
pose the political deceptions and dangerous abstractions which were
part of the executive decision -making process. For Ellsberg, as for
Camus, the essence of liberal democracy is an informed populace
which is capable of making the governmental structure truthful and
responsive. Likewise, Camus' position on "plague" and "rebellion"
would give support to the Washington Post investigative reporting of
the "Watergate Affair" and its consequent political and legal cov-
erup. A free and untrammeled press, too, is essential to the life of
political dialogue. Finally, Camus' position would also be sympa-
thetic to the non-violent civil disobedience campaigns of Dr. Martin
Luther King as they stimulated a dialogue on the subject of Black
repression and rebelled against the unauthentic life of the Black man
who could not live in a "civil" and peaceful manner.

CAMUS' JUSTIFICATION OF LIBERAL DEMOCRATIC
VALUES AND INSTITUTIONS

Albert Camus' political ethic, exemplified in his concepts of "Ab-
surdity," "plague," "rebellion," and "dialogue," provide our age of
political pathology with the most meaningful justification of the lib-
eral democratic values of individual integrity, fraternity, civil liber-
ties, and peaceful resolution of disputes that has been proferred in our
epoch of "mass man." Camus enjoins us to recapture the Athenian
concept of measure, to reject Utopian schemes of human perfection,
whether of the Left or the Right. Liberty is essential to a meaningful
or authentic human existence, yet Camus' "rebel" must act in lucid
cognizance of his responsibility for dialogue and "for finding proxi-
mate solutions for insoluble problems,"'^ This approach to political
life is a reaffirmation of the value of political openness, political

75

debate, political compromise as a result of dialogue and social justice
for all elements of the polity. Liberal democracy without "rebellion"
is an impossibility. The Hobbesian conception of aggressive man and
the Utopian conception of man's perfectibility must be replaced with
the image of the fraternal man of dialogue. This can be achieved only
by "true" and "responsible" rebellion which rejects nihilism and uto-
pianism.

Albert Camus was quite aware of the failure of many so-called
"liberal" democratic regimes to correct political, economic, and so-
cial injustices (such as the Black problem in the United States).
However, he was forced to conclude that: "Perhaps there is no good
type of political regime, but democracy is assuredly the least bad
one."'* Pure participatory democracy is impossible, since unlike the
Athenians with their slave labor, contemporary man must work and
does not have the leisure necessary to contemplate daily political
problems.'^

Camus, the man of political measure and prudence, saw our only
real hope for a free and limited political system in the absolute pro-
tection of freedom of expression and in a competitive political party
system. The pluralism of political parties is the basic hallmark of
liberal democracy, since "it alone allows one to denounce, hence to
correct, injustice and crime. It alone today allows one to denounce
torture, disgraceful torture, as contemptible in Algiers as in Buda-
pest.""* Freedom of speech, press, and association is defended not in
John Stuart Mill's terms as the empirical verification of an increasing
quantity of propositions which may have part of the truth, but be-
cause political freedom of expression brings us to realize our common
problems, helps to create a vita actiua, solidarity, and the communal
dialogue. As Camus puts it, "Liberty is the ability to defend what I
do not think, even in a regime or world that I approve. It is the ability
to admit that the adversary is right.""

In addition to the "liberty" of individuals and the plurality of
parties, it is necessary that institutional checks exist which protect
us from the abuse of power. Camus agrees completely with Lord
Acton's dictum that "power tends to corrupt and absolute power
tends to corrupt absolutely." Camus reiterates Acton's words when
he states that "nowhere in the world has there been a party or a man
with absolute power who did not use it absolutely."^"

In addition to the conventional liberal checks on the abuses of
power, Camus was very much concerned with incorporating social
and economic justice as part of his justification of the liberal demo-
cratic outlook. The oppressed do not only seek political freedoms.
This is not adequate to a life of solidarity and dialogue. Freedom to

76

speak with an empty stomach and an unjust wage will not produce
solidarity and a civilisation du dialogue. Camus' sympathy for the
common working man is patent when he states that "The oppressed
do not want simply to be liberated from their hunger, they also desire
to be freed from their masters."^' For Camus the polity must provide
not only negative freedom, or the absence of government restraints,
but it also must provide positive freedom, positive acts which bring
all parts of the polity to a level of well-being where all can participate
in the civilisation du dialogue. The sense of human compassion for
all segments of the polity is basic to the continuation of liberal demo-
cratic values. Liberal democracy without fraternity is impossible.

Finally, the Existentialist shares the liberal democrats' hostility
to the unresponsiveness and impersonality of modern bureaucratic
life. To Camus, organizational societies tend to perceive people in
terms of their adaptability instead of their personal uniqueness, their
productivity rather than the quality of their action. One can be cer-
tain that Camus would look with disdain on our cost/benefit analysts
and the Planned Program Budget Systems used for gauging national
priorities. Large bureaucratic structures also reduce the prospect for
dignity and meaning of work. "When work is a degradation, it is not
life, even though it occupies every moment of a life. Who, despite the
pretensions of this society, can sleep in it in peace when they know
that it derives its mediocre pleasures from the work of millions of
dead souls. "^^ Albert Camus would certainly agree with another lib-
eral, John Stuart Mill, who viewed the bureaucratic life as a regular-
ized structuring of human life, which if not checked would limit
severely the prospect for creativity and self-direction.^' And as Mill
stated, our self-expressive faculties like "perception, judgment, dis-
criminative feeling, mental activity, and even moral preferences are
exercised only in making a choice," and therefore can be developed
only by being exercised. ^'' It is at this juncture that the liberal and
Existentialist themes of individual spontaneity and human political
action merge. If liberal democracy is to be viable, we cannot have one
without the other.

In short, the link between Existentialism and the political posture
of liberal democracy is in the shared optimistic view of man's poten-
tial for political rebellion against tyranny, the relationship of political
dialogue, the prospect of fraternity and the maximization of human
choice. Camus has provided us with an approach to responsible polit-
ical action which could help us achieve many of the liberal demo-
cratic values which have yet to be realized. With the diminution of
the prestige of Empiricism and Natural Law as the conventional
methods of political reasoning in liberal democracy, perhaps our edu-

77

cational system and the political socialization process in this nation
could become more sensitive to the experiential validity and useful-
ness of the "Absurd" and "measured" reasoning of Albert Camus. He
has provided us with a new political language that can channel our
thought into a new organ of conduct.

"BEING AND DOING": CONTEMPORARY EXISTENTIALIST
POLITICAL REFORMS

Contemporary Existentialists in this nation have suggested re-
forms of American "liberal democracy" on four levels: the attack on
the "pyramidal prism" in which underdeveloped or unauthentic indi-
viduals have become "colonists" in an overdeveloped nation; the
need for a peaceful political process which will replace authoritar-
ianism with more political participation; a redefined socio-political
ethic; and an educational and political socialization process which
will resist training automatons and begin educating individuals will-
ing to accept the tensions of human freedom. Only by solving these
basic problems within our own polity can our so-called "liberal" de-
mocracy begin to realize the rhetorical values we have so long es-
poused. As Marcus Raskin has put it, the task of a philosophy of
reconstruction of American "democracy" requires us "to break the
bounds of absurdity an absurdity created by institutions, expressed
in official ideologies and reflected in much of man's inner life. The
reconstructive aspect of a philosophy that overcomes absurdity con-
cerns itself with the shared associative authority and a politics be-
yond violence and " magic. "^^ Certainly these themes are Existential-
ist in mood and criticism. But what specifically have been oflJ'ered
within this tradition as concrete reforms? We can only suggest and
sketchily outline some of the more provocative attempts of contempo-
rary American Existentialists to apply these themes to democratic
institutional forms.

MARCUS RASKIN'S REFORMS OF THE PYRAMIDAL STATE

Marcus Raskin, of the Institute for Policy Studies and possible
"think tank" chairman for a "new Establishment," has provided an
Existentialist analysis of the American pyramidal State and of our
colonized reality. His thesis, found in Being and Doing, is that the
American socio-political order is dominated by a "colonized reality,"
where a new citizenship has emerged which shapes the individual to
accept exploitation. Consciousness and the colonized State become
one. The United States, according to Raskin's theoretical analysis, is
in the thrall of this colonialism, the American Revolution notwith-

78

standing. Specifically there are four internal colonies that frequently
overlap. There is the Violence Colony or the nation-state itself, which
uses its citizens as hostages in wars in which hardly anyone believes.
Commerce and industry compose the Plantation Colony, in which
jobs are parceled out by huge corporations beyond the reach of demo-
cratic control and where the workers are locked into a rhythm of
working at meaningless jobs. Raskin sees our schools as a Channeling
Colony in which youngsters are graded and conditioned for the organ-
ization life. What is learned in schools is the specialization which
buttresses the pyramidal authority structure. Finally, there is the
Dream Colony, which provides the masses with an opiate of fantasies
confected by the mass media for the purpose of cultivating the popu-
lar taste for the Plantation and Violence Colonies}^

These colonies constitute a pyramidal structure which justifies
the authority of the colonies, and their authority provides a basis for
insuring that the pyramidal structure does not become dismantled.
Each colony arises as a result of the expression of the bureaucratized
society, and each is a result of a highly rationalized process by which
society can create people who are merely agents for its support.

The purpose of relating Raskin's analysis is to provide us with a
theoretical construct which will help reformists to "reconstruct" the
vertical oppression of this pyramidal system and indicate how the ego
must undergo a conversion from its submission to the depersonalizing
"beside-himself" which becomes "the outer layer by which the indi-
vidual is characterized by our roles in the pyramidal state."" In ef-
fect, "our senses are dulled by a language/thought process which
stems from the social structures that create our problems."^*

The reconstruction of our pyramidal State can only occur when
men feel free. They must learn to accept their instinctive feeling for
freedom or they cannot act independently of their pyramidal role.
Raskin's concept of the "colony" is not only to be used as an explana-
tory theoretical construct useful in examining exploitation and poten-
tial reconstruction, but it also helps us to identify the kind of power
that is behind various types of superficially voluntary political action.

Since any comprehensive analysis of Raskin's Existentialist re-
forms is clearly beyond the scope of this paper, I would like to suggest
some of the reforms that can aid in political reconstruction. In addi-
tion to an absolute concept of First Amendment liberties, Raskin
claims that consciousness-seeking projects (like the People's Park
project in Berkeley), communities that operate by contract (the
"communal" movement), and social units that are not coordinated
by central policies can aid man in rejecting the "hierarchic other,"
can help us to resist being "characterized" and resist playing the

79

"role" that the pyramidal State either seduces, coerces, or implores
us to play.

Raskin's reforms also find a role for certain modes of political
power. The general thrust of his political recommendations include
the decentralization of authority and the democratization of political
power. Among the reforms he recommends "neighborhood sover-
eignty" and worker assemblies within unions to indicate the import-
ance of "being and doing," of thinking independently and acting in
Raskin's Existentialist political posture. Raskin's treatise makes a
major Existentialist contribution to dismantling the unauthentic col-
onies of pyramidal paternalism.

THE EXISTENTIALIST EXECUTIVE: HONOR AND
RESPONSIBILITY IN THE BUREAUCRATIC LIFE

The Existentialist ideal for modern organizations requires the
kind of leadership which assumes the responsibility of changing or-
ganizations through action and which provides for the welfare of
society by being cognizant of the purposes and behavior of others.
"Man is responsible for what he is, and determines what he is by his
actions."^* As the landmark Nuremberg Tribunal indicated:

The official position of Defendants, whether as heads of State,
or responsible officials in Government departments, shall not be
considered as freeing them from responsibility, of mitigating punish-
ment. . . . The fact that the Defendant acted pursuant to order of
his Government or of a superior shall not free him from
responsibility. . . .^''

Certainly this is the very point that the Existentialist posture makes
about the relationship between doing and being.

In addition to the problem of the degradation of irresponsible
bureaucrats, the Existentialists "decry the bureaucratization of life
and the loss by individuals of the ability to see others as persons."''
They do not want to see men treated as the "agglomeration of func-
tions" or reduced to "apparatus,"

As has been indicated, one theme which is dominant throughout
Existentialist literature is choice. Failure to act is choice as well as
deciding to act. By choosing, we become what we are. As Anders
Richter has put it, "It is no good for Eichmann to say that he was
not responsible, for if he is passive it is because he has chosen passiv-
ity. The confrontation with choice is a never-ending existential pro-
cess. Choice and consciousness are one and the same thing. "'^

If we are to resist viewing man as the "agglomeration of func-
tions," the responsible bureaucrat must be openminded. He must be

80

ready to alter his choices as he receives new information from his
many sources. Making choices based on changing information gives
the executive a sense of personal commitment and may produce
higher or more efficient output. A behavior of choice requires the
executive to take risks. This is, of course, made difficult by the prob-
lem of job security. Job security alone may create passivity, and
passivity is a choice. By frustrating policy by passivity an executive
still makes policy. His problem of risk-taking and job security re-
mains problematic.

Authenticity is another persistent theme of Existentialist political
thinkers. The organization and management analysts, Beatrice and
Sydney Rome, have offered a description of the authentic executive
and organization:

A hierarchical organization, in short, like an individual person, is
"authentic" to the extent that, throughout its leadership, it accepts
its finitude, uncertainty, and contingency; realizes its capacity for
responsibility and choice; acknowledges guilt and errors; fulfills its
creative management potential for flexible planning, growth and
. . . policy formation; and responsibly participates in the wider
community. ^^

The Existentialist executive must also be sensitive to what Jean
Paul Sartre has stated "in wanting freedom we discover that it de-
pends entirely on the freedom of others, and that the freedom of
others depends on ours. . . ."^^ The Existentialist recommendation,
then, is to be sensitive to the conditions of others in making decisions,
to be aware of our common plague. The Existentialist would then be
most concerned about the "terrible isolation" of the presidency, and
would recommend that at least some of his advisors should be gener-
alists who are capable of "widening the agenda of attention to encom-
pass a new basis for the solution" of pressing problems facing the
populace.'^

Since it remains difficult to curtail government power in our so-
ciety, it becomes necessary for the Existentialist to try to tame the
"bureaucratic beast" and to foster authentic interpersonal relation-
ships by making the bureaucracy politically responsible, efficient,
and sensitive to the needs of persons. Although institutional checks
are basic to responsible and authentic government, a fundamental
question remains for any fully developed Existentialist liberal
democratic political outlook: how can the spirit of Existentialist re-
construction be injected into a population that is still the product of
pyramidal paternalism?

EXISTENTIALISM AND POLITICAL EDUCATION

Plato in his ideal State, discussed in The Republic, made it quite

81

clear that education was the basic channel by which individuals
would be socialized into the State and a means by which we could
determine their "just" role in society. To the Existentialist, on the
other hand, education for the individual must help the person unravel
the mystery of existence in the face of his cognitive comprehension
of the fact that it cannot be unraveled. It is in this inquisitive expedi-
tion that the person marks out the particular zone which he creates
for himself and makes the person human, the zone where values are
created in the act of an individual living a life. To encourage the
youth of this nation to invade this zone and stake out their own social
and political plots this is an Existentialist education. As Professor
Van Cleve Morris has put it, the role of the teacher is to arrange the
learning situation in such a way as to make clear for the student the
importance of the following three propositions:

(1) I am a choosing agent, unable to avoid choosing my way
through life.

(2) I am a free agent, absolutely free to set the goals of my own life.

(3) I am a responsible agent, personally accountable for my free
choices as they are revealed in how I live my life.^

The basic method of the teacher must be one of asking questions
to which no one knows the perfect answer. This requires both imagi-
nation and insight. But only the dialogue of questioning will yield an
awakened student who is aware of choice, freedom, and responsibil-
ity. Teaching in the Existentialist mode begins and ends in paradox.
Freedom in education creates the possibility of communion between
teacher and student. This means reducing the hierarchy of authority
in the school, no external standards of achievement or success visited
upon the young. The students must be aware they are establishing
their own standards, in terms of which they choose to learn. When
they select their mode of evaluation, they then must be made respon-
sible for that selection. Finally, the teacher has encouraged learning
when the student has come to hold something to be true only when
the student has come to this truth without imitating the teacher. The
student must be brought to his own ideas. As Ralph Harper has put
it, the Existentialist teacher "aims to produce, not replicas, but men
and women who stand apart from him even more distinctly than
when he first met them"'^

What might an Existentialist curriculum look like in fostering
authentic political man?^*

(1) Literature and the Humanities The Existentialist educator
would seek to intensify the normative aspect of all subject matter.
This is where personal judgment can be particularly encouraged. Lit-
erature is not just syntax, it is the attempt of an author to arouse

82

feeling to an intense level of awareness. Let the student have the
opportunity to empathize with the author.

(2) The Arts The student must be encouraged to feel his own expe-
rience; then later he might become more familiar with technique. The
"copying" phase of art instruction should be rejected.

(3) The Social Sciences History and the social sciences are not to
be viewed as something to be used. Rather the past and social analy-
sis is something we create. We create the past and set up methods to
understand that creation. What man creates, he can also re-create.
Any major contemporary topic could be discussed in this way. An
example would be the question of our law enforcement system. Ques-
tions such as the need for jails, the causes of crime, which disputes
get solved in courts, the protections needed for a citizen in the courts,
the ways a police force can operate, the possibility of some disputes
being resolved at the neighborhood level, etc., can all serve to indi-
cate the problematic quality of social and political questions and the
realization that the present situation is a result of what humanity has
created and chosen, and consequently can be re-created and another
choice be made.^*

This kind of education by the use of Absurd reasoning can create
a new political man, an authentic-responsible man that stresses
Camus' aims of self-identification, acceptance of others as they are,
proficiency in the technique of moderation, dialogue between isolated
persons, and the development of values based on the human variables
present in each immediate context.^"

AUTHENTICITY AND LIBERAL DEMOCRACY:
INDIVIDUALISM AND PROBLEMS OF CORRUPTION IN

POLITICS

Authenticity is the ultimate yardstick for evaluating an individ-
ual life. Unauthenticity, to lose oneself, is the supreme evil. "There
are those who choose in awareness of their responsibility, freedom and
risk, and there are the others who say what [external] norms de-
mand." A political system must be organized in such a manner that
the authentic individual can create his "dialogue" with his fellow
men vis-a-vis their common problems. As we have indicated, Camus'
Existentialism recommends liberal democracy as that form of organi-
zation which creates its ideal of individualism, restraint, moderation,
and dialogue. Camus readily admitted that there is no simple key to
history, no objective ethic which will satisfy all men and foster free-
dom. Therefore we will be constantly struggling to achieve a true
communication with other existences. Tolerance and humility be-

83

come necessary and prudential norms when seen in this light.

The most profound concept of the Existentialist justification of
liberal democratic values is individualism. Such a concept of the free
and responsible person will continue to prove the most secure founda-
tion of liberal democratic life. Without the "authentic individual,"
the liberal democratic posture will be mere rhetoric at best and politi-
cal manipulation at worst.

The basic principle of liberalism has always been the worth of the
individual; it has been the politics of personal dignity. There have
been two broad strands of theory within Liberalism as to what consti-
tutes "the idea that the highest reahty and value is the person. "^^ One
approach finds the person as basically hostile to society and the
world. The most important role of political organization comes to be
the protection of the person from hostile surroundings; the world
must be made to accept persons. The second approach is founded on
a more optimistic perspective. Its hope is to transform the world to
make it more compatible to the person the personalization of the
environment.

Liberalism in its stress on the privacy of the individual and the
need for constitutional limitations on political power has tradition-
ally viewed the political world as a jungle that has to be tamed and
restrained; the "world" itself cannot be changed in any fundamental
way. The liberal atomistic conception of the State has consequently
contributed in some areas to social fragmentation and depersonalized
environment by fostering the ruthless independence of economic
groups and a bureaucratic apparatus which views individuals as iso-
lated atoms rather than persons."

The dominance of liberal atomism in the American polity with its
attempt to provide a justification for the limitation of political power,
group competition, and the civil liberties of the populace has been
criticized by Sheldon Wolin for its "sublimation of the political." Its
supporters, "the pluralists," argue that by fragmenting political
power and then treating the fragments, individuals and their inter-
ests, we have the essence of politics. "Politics," for the "pluralist
liberals," then becomes the reconciliation of the conflict of interest.
Any attempt to develop a sense of community or public interest is
sublimated or eclipsed by the concept of "politics" as that realm of
action when atomized and discrete individual and group interests
create demands which are to be dealt with by clearly defined pro-
cesses and transformed into public policies. These interests are not
viewed as "rational" in the sense of reflecting real social needs.
Rather they are viewed as mere psychological facts as demands.

84

desires, and preferences. They are idiosyncratic desires that play
their role in the political process. Politics is nothing more than the
competitive, atomized interaction of these desires or interests.

Although the advocates of the politics of interest state their con-
ception of politics in terms of groups, the basic "political space" is
usually reducible to discrete individuals pursuing their own personal
desires or interests. The notions of community and public interest are
sublimated if not denied; there can be no genuine "pubUc" separated
from the aggregate of individuals who form a majority or dominant
coalition. There exists no public interest which cannot be reduced to
individual and group interests as they compete and are processed by
the political system."

The politics of interest in America, or what Theodore J. Lowi has
called the concept of "politics"-interest-groups liberalism, reflects a
dominant normative paradigm which isolates certain phenomena and
calls this the totality of "politics." This conception of politics claims
that power can be checked by atomization and competition. Corrup-
tion can be checked by a plurality of groups presenting contrasting
aspects of political information and a political process which repre-
sents plural constituencies and coalitions.

Corruption, in interest-group liberal terms, is an act of deviant
behavior associated with a particular motivation, namely that of pri-
vate gain at public expense (the dominant group coalition). The pri-
vate gain does not have to be a monetary one. It could include rapid
promotion, family gain, or the status of a particular group. Implicit
in this concept of corruption is the view that there is gain for corrup-
ter and corrupted, and a disadvantageous position for the majority
coalition of groups. The conventional interest- group liberal shares
Lord Acton's explanation for corruption in his famous dictum that all
power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. This
deep suspicion of unchecked power and the prospect for corruption
has deep roots in the liberal atomists' (or interest- group liberals')
view that unbridled power will not be used in the interest of the
majority coalition at any given time. "Corruption" from this perspec-
tive is the political situation in which individuals are given un-
checked power and subsequently act with expediency and for per-
sonal gain.

For the "interest-group liberal," then, corruption as part of poli-
tics is merely viewed as the buying and selling of public office. Any
notion of corruption as being endemic to interest-group politics,
given its neglect of crime, pollution, urban decay and the special
interest politics of "milk pricing," "grain deals" and capitulation to
the "monopolistic" desires of I.T.T., is alien to their political world

85

view. Robert Paul Wolff has stated this point well:

To deal with such problems, there must be some way of constituting
the whole society, a genuine group with a group purpose and a
conception of the common good. Pluralism rules this out in theory
by portraying society as an aggregate of human communities rather
than as itself a human community; and it equally rules out a con-
cern for the general good in practice by encouraging a politics of
interest group pressures in which there is no mechanism for the
discovery and expression of the common good.''*

Politics, then, is a mechanical process for balancing power; it is an
artificial contrivance rather than an activity in the pursuit of public
virtue and over-arching public need. Corruption in these terms is
limited to a discussion of overt acts of the selling and purchase of
political office. Social injustice, "special interest" influence on
decision-makers, and campaign contributions used to extract future
benefits have therefore not been conceived as corruption in the
interest-group liberal perspective.

"Interest-group liberal" advocates have devoted much attention
to political power; to its sources, nature and limits; to its corruptions
(in the limited sense of the term we have discussed), uses, and eff'ects.
The "interest-group liberals," though, have neglected the converse of
the focus, namely powerlessness. The normative focus of the interest-
group liberals has been primarily concerned with the limitation of
power of the State, particularly in the area where threats to personal
liberty were perceived. The foremost targets of normative indignation
were (and are) the abuses and excesses of power. The essence of
normative reality in politics is to be concerned with power, not
powerlessness. The intellectual and political price for this identifica-
tion of power with the totality of normative discourse has been to view
the unfortunate in this society, the poor and the racial minorities, as
victimized by the power-holders of the political system or its elites.
This view of the victimized stresses piecemeal amelioration of their
plight by a governmental bureaucracy which will "protect" them.
Viewing the unfortunate from the perspective of powerlessness and
the unequal distribution of power in the political system represents
a radical transformation in the American political paradigms of both
political norm and political knowledge. By expanding political real-
ity, the Existentialist perspective reveals new dimensions of a real
politics of dialogue which might be useful to the powerless in acting
out their demands and making them manifest to a larger public. The
concept of powerlessness opens up a broader analytical universe
which not only includes the decision-making process with its stress
on power, but additionally incorporates the concept of "non-decision-

86

making."^*

The "decision-making" process in American politics focuses upon
"safe" issues which concern those with power. "Non-decision-mak-
ing" sheds Ught upon the poHtical system's ignorance and rejection
of those groups whose needs have not been articulated by the use of
political power, as well as exposing the blinders to inveterate social
problems that are not in the specific interest of the holders of political
power. Corruption as a political phenomenon is a political plague
which transcends the interest- group liberal perspective of the use of
public power for personal profit, preferment, or prestige. Corruption,
from the Existentialist perspective, also includes that public situa-
tion which fails to recognize the full dimensions of socio-political
injustice and the basic social problems of a community.

Existentialism has retained some of the features of the above
themes of liberalism, namely the need for personal freedom and con-
stitutional restraints on political power. However, Camus' Existen-
tialist position also calls for the reformulation of the liberal outlook.
Contemporary industrial and bureaucratic conditions make it mani-
fest that the protection of the individual against manipulation is not
enough. The isolated and atomized individual's freedom, the concept
of "negative freedom," is also not adequate. The Hberal concept of
individual freedom and dignity must additionally incorporate a view
of the social environment that is fully personal, responsible, and dial-
ogic, and thereby sustains the individual's desire to be "authentic."
The "positive freedom" concept of the Existentialist involves the use
of political power in new ways to reduce organizational manipulation
and enhance individual political participation and efficacy by creat-
ing the kind of educational mode and political experiments (such as
neighborhood government or citizen participation committees) which
will foster authentic personal existence and reduce corruption in the
fullest sense.

Perhaps a growing awareness of our political and social "plagues"
will create a willingness to use the dialogical method and to recon-
struct our polity employing the perspective of Albert Camus' Existen-
tialism. Camus enjoins us to choose, in open recognition of the Ab-
surdity of our existence, and to be aware that good always presents
itself as a provisional disposition of human energies for the creation
of a new and better though not perfect humanity. The awareness
of the Absurd is a necessary control on man's aspiration to meaning
in a universe that lacks meaning; it is a recognition of the notion that
because man is alone and capable of becoming whatever he wills, he
is capable of tremendous evil as well as goodness. The true rebel

87

shows a truly generous attitude to a living present. In so doing, the
rebel provides "the only original rule of life today: to learn to live and
to die, and in order to be a man, to refuse to be a god."^^

FOOTNOTES

' Donald Atwell Zoll, The Twentieth Century Mind: Essays on Contempo-
rary Thought (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1967), p. 119.

^ Ernst Breisach, Introduction to Modern Existentialism (New York: Grove
Press, 1962), pp. 4-7.

^ Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life, trans, by J. E. Crawford
Flitch (New York: Dover Press, 1954), p. 263.

* Henry Kariel, In Search of Authority (New York: Free Press, 1964), pp. 167-
168.

For an exposition of liberal democratic principles that have been considered
seminal, see the following: Austin Ranney and Wilmoore Kendall,
Democracy and the Party System (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World,
Inc., 1956), pp. 18-39; H. Mark Roelofs, The Language of Politics (Home-
wood, Illinois: The Dorsey Press, 1967), chapter 5.

Cited in Thomas Hanna, The Thought and Art of Albert Camus (Chicago:
Henry Regnery Co., Gateway edition, 1958), p. xiii.

' Ibid., pp. 10-11.

* Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, trans, by J. O'Brien (New York:
Vintage Books, Random House, 1959), p. 21.

' Maurice Friedman, Problematic Rebel (New York: Random House, 1963),
p. 437.

'" Fred H. Willhoite, Beyond Nihilism: Albert Camus's Contributions to Pol-
itical Thought (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1968), p. 75.

" Albert Camus, The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt, trans, by Anthony
Borver (New York: Vintage Books, Random House, 1956), p. 22.

" Ibid., p. 283.

'=> Ibid.

'^ Albert Camus, "Neither Victims Nor Executioners," trans, by Dwight
MacDonald, in Paul Goodman, ed.. Seeds of Liberation (New York: George
Braziller, 1964), p. 27.

'^ Willhoite, Beyond Nihilism, p. 175.

" /6id., p. 175.

" Albert Camus, Notebooks 1942-1951, trans, by J. O'Brien (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1961), p. 161.

" Albert Camus, Resistance, Rebellion and Death, trans, by J. O'Brien (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1961), p. 161.

88

" Camus, Notebooks 1942-1951, p. 105.

2" Willhoite, Beyond Nihilism, p. 176.

2' Ibid., p. 178.

22 Camus, The /?efee/, p. 209.

2^ Michael P. Smith, "AUenation and Bureaucracy: The Role of Participa-
tory Administration," The Public Administration Review, XXI (Nov. -Dec,
1971), p. 659.

^* John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (Indianapolis: Library of Liberal Arts, 1956),
p. 71.

2^ Marcus Raskin, Being and Doing (New York: Beacon Press paperback,
1973), pp. xi, xii.

2' Ibid. , chapters 2-5.

" Ibid., p. 6.

2 Ibid. p. 7.

2" Anders Richter, "The Existentialist Executive," The Public Administra-
tion Review, XXX (1970), p. 416.

^ Ibid., p. 417.

^' Lewis C. Mainzer, Political Bureaucracy (Glenview: Scott, Foresman,
1973), p. 2.

^2 Richter, "The Existentialist Executive," p. 417.

^^ Beatrice and Sydney Rome, "Humanistic Research on Large Social Organ-
izations," in James T. Bugental (ed.). Challenges of Humanistic Psychology
(New York: McGraw Hill and Co., 1967), p. 185.

'* Richter, "The Existentialist Executive," p. 421.

'' Ibid.

^" Van Cleve Morris, Existentialism in Education (New York: Harper and
Row, 1966), p. 135.

" Ralph Harper, "Significance of Existence and Recognition for Education,"
chapter VII in N. B. Henry,(ed.) Modern Philosophies and Education, Fifty-
Fourth Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education (Chi-
cago: Published by the Society, 1955), p. 245.

^* Morris, Existentialism in Education, pp. 137-147.

^' Raskin, Being and Doing, p. 351.

" David E. Denton, "Albert Camus: Philosopher of Moral Concern,"

Educational Theory, XV (April, 1964), pp. 99-103.

^' Breisach, Introduction to Modern Existentialism, p. 22.

^2 Glen Tinder, The Crisis of Political Imagination (New York: Scribners,
1964), p. 120.

Ibid., pp. 120-125.

" Clark E. Cochran, "The Politics of Interest: Metaphysics and the Limita-

89

tions of the Science of Politics," paper delivered at the American Political
Science Association, 1971, pp. 1-8.

^^ Robert Paul Wolff, The Poverty of Liberalism (Boston: Beacon Press,
1968), p. 159.

" Peter Bachrach and Morton S. Baratz, Power and Poverty: Theory and
Practice (New York: Basic Books, 1970), pp. 39-51.

" Camus, The Rebel, p. 237.

90