Foreword by Russell Moore

Fifteen years ago, I would have looked at you askance if you had told me that I would one day long for a resurgence of hypocrisy in the United States of America. And yet, here we are. Several weeks ago, I listened to a friend—a former elected official—venting about the dark times he sees in American life.

There’s just so much hucksterism and hypocrisy, he said.

I responded, Hucksterism, yes, but hypocrisy? Hypocrisy would be an almost welcome improvement.

What I meant, of course, is not that hypocrisy is good, or even neutral. I’m a Christian, and Jesus and his apostles were quite clear on the wrongness of masking evil with a pretense of good. Hypocrisy, though, is easier to accept in political leaders because it means that they at least know their followers expect them to pursue character and justice. That’s quite different from our situation in which the country’s expectations are so low that some people believe character is far too much to ask of politicians and others see character itself as a negative—a sign of weakness.

How long has it been since an American political leader—much less a president—has fallen in such a way that people responded, I can’t believe he would do that; he seemed to be such a person of virtue. Even Richard Nixon—derided for decades by his enemies as Tricky Dick—left Americans reeling when they heard his voice on the smoking gun tapes. One can see the aftermath of the trauma of the Nixon downfall in the country’s popular music. In his song asking Are the Good Times Really Over, Merle Haggard—who’d been celebrated in the Nixon White House as a voice for the Okies from Muskogee and the Silent Majority of Americans repelled by the excesses of the 1960s drug culture and the antiwar movement—pined for better days. The age he missed, he sang, was back before Nixon lied to us all on TV. Haggard’s lament was not, though, the only response. The southern rock band Lynyrd Skynyrd sang, Now Watergate does not bother me; does your conscience bother you? Tell the truth. The more cynical Skynyrd get real mentality is far closer to the state of American public discourse today than the crushed idealism of Haggard.

At just such a time comes Moral Vision, the expanded version of Marvin Olasky’s The American Leadership Tradition. Olasky is uniquely qualified to speak to the question of character, virtue, and presidential leadership. He sees patterns of behavior and shifts in culture that few have the wisdom to recognize. He is a formidable expert in politics and the presidency but has also spent many years leading on issues from welfare policy and urban renewal to abortion, prison reform, and beyond. Even those who are not believers will benefit greatly from Olasky’s definitions of character, leadership, and virtue as they emerge from the Christian viewpoint. One can almost imagine Olasky conversing—and holding his own—with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison around a dinner table, discussing whether a free American republic can survive without a sense of transcendent moral purpose.

This book is the insight we need on this critical question. Olasky comes to every figure in Moral Vision not with a partisan mind but genuinely seeking for truth. He is quick to discuss the flaws of leaders whom he would probably support politically and culturally, and he is not hesitant to find commendable virtues in those for whom he would probably never vote if they were on the ballot today. His Augustinian understanding of both universal fallenness and universal createdness informs and undergirds these insights.

Quite often while reading this book I heard myself saying aloud, I never knew that! even about figures I’ve studied for years. The book will do more than inform you, though. It is a guide to asking the sorts of questions needed to choose and hold accountable our presidents and equally for each of us to see the close connection of character and vocation in our own lives, whatever might be our responsibilities in our workplace and neighborhood and home. If we learn the lessons of this book, we will be able to make sense of why the Founders worried about whether institutions could hold if a public lost its sense of right and wrong, of honor and shame. We just might also rekindle our expectations of leadership to the point that shamelessness is no longer a superpower. If we listen to Marvin Olasky, we just might be able to be disappointed in our leaders again, and to shape a generation of children—some of whom will sit in the chair of Washington and Lincoln—who can see that integrity is one of those things their country asks of them.

—Russell Moore

Foreword to the 1999 Edition

If you have picked up this book not an already dedicated Olaskyite, and thus prepared to read every page, if you are thumbing through these pages to see if you should invest yourself in the text, let me settle the question straight off.

Of the tens of thousands of books published each year, all but a few are written to do no more than entertain. The vast majority are soon forgotten, though some do become fad sensations like The One Minute Manager (the title says it all), or the various 6, 8, 10, or 12 steps to eternal bliss. But most serve their greatest purpose perhaps helping vacationers to while away their time at the beach.

But now and again, a book comes along that sets forth a great idea and that in turn changes the way people think about fundamental questions. Such books can shape societies and steer the current of history. This was surely the case when Jonathan Edwards’s Narrative of Surprising Conversions fueled a massive revival on both sides of the Atlantic in the colonial era, or when Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations changed the way the modern world thought about economics. Or one could look to the darker side and suggest Marx’s Manifesto. Some books change the course of great debates.

It is perhaps not too great a stretch to suggest that a generation or two hence, historians will look back at this era and put Marvin Olasky among the pantheon of seminal thinkers who have changed the way people and societies think. For it was Marvin Olasky’s masterful work The Tragedy of American Compassion that profoundly influenced the great welfare debate of the eighties and nineties. Olasky the historian put the issue in such clear historical focus that the claims of modern politicians were exposed for what they are, flawed utopianism. No one was cited more frequently than Olasky in the debates that raged in the Capitol, resulting in even liberals vowing to end welfare as we know it. And that’s just what the political establishment did. It was a historic turning point, the first time the push for big government truly stalled, and that push has happily been in retreat ever since. The momentum was reversed. That is no small accomplishment. Olasky deserves much of the credit for it, and anyone who can do that is someone worth listening to.

And you should listen now because Olasky has tackled a subject in this book of immense importance in the libertarian nineties, a decade that has redefined tolerance to mean the suppression of all moral discourse and the acceptance of any private behavior without regard to its public consequences. What people do in private is no one’s business but theirs, so goes the popular refrain. We’re told that private morality—or immorality—has no effect on public policy; and the consistent high ratings of President Clinton during the heat of charges of sexual misconduct in office suggest that most Americans share this view.

The temptation is great to buckle under to this hue and cry. After all, the nation is at peace, the economy continues to beam, and the world has gained a new respect for America. So what if what our leaders do in private disgusts or dismays us? What business is it of ours? Isn’t it overall job performance that counts, as President Clinton never tires of reminding us?

Now Marvin Olasky challenges that notion as he challenged the welfare myth, with a serious work of historical scholarship. He shows, among other things, the many links between private morality and public policy. His research should persuade even the most self-indulgent and permissive among us that it does matter for the common weal and even for the national security whether or not high public officials lie as a matter of course or convenience; whether they are faithful to their wives or prone to sexual adventurism; whether their god is power, money, or self rather than the God of the Bible and our American forebears. Here is indisputable evidence of the role of private morality in civic leadership. Olasky’s book should lay to rest once and for all the view that argues the separation of the two.

This will not be a welcome book for many, for it lays to rest the claim that one’s moral conduct is a strictly private matter. As a people, Americans are connected by the same moral threads; and when influential and outspoken members of society decide to begin unraveling the web in order to gain a little more freedom for themselves to swing, they jeopardize the safety and prosperity of us all, as the author repeatedly shows. The proponents of modern moral nihilism will surely take this book seriously, for they know that when these issues are measured up against the clear lessons of history, their cause is doomed.

And those who believe in unchanging standards of moral conduct, standards that must be applied by all alike, and who see in those standards a reflection of the God of Scripture and the Judeo-Christian tradition, should use Olasky’s book as an apologetic for the case for a more principled leadership for America—in every arena of society—and for the world.

In the pages that follow, you will thrill over the inspiring models of moral leadership in our nation’s history; and even more important, you will be equipped to offer answers to Americans groping in the moral fog of the nineties.

One can only pray that Olasky’s work as a historian, which helped reverse the momentum of the march of big government, will be similarly used to halt the slide into moral despair.

—Charles Colson

Introduction

Sam Cooke recorded in 1959 the great song that begins, Don’t know much about history. Sixty-five years later, most Americans know less. History as taught by the political left often emphasizes unjust social and economic structures. History as taught by the political right sometimes seems like public relations for America. Neither gives us tools for assessing which current aspirants for high office may be able to bind up the nation’s wounds.

This book is for anyone tired of today’s textbook tendencies to submerge the role of individuals as big economic and demographic waves roll in. History is more than statistics, economics, and group identities. Human beings are more than paper boats riding the rainfall into gutters. Which leaders are in which spots at which times makes a huge difference.

In 2008 I contributed slightly to E Pluribus Unum, a report about history teaching and learning. That title indicates one theme of that project: How can we still have one America? But the study also showed the dominance of boring textbooks that lack narrative drive. Maybe that’s why a survey at that time showed 99 percent of graduating seniors at top-ranked colleges and universities able to identify Beavis and Butthead and 98 percent Snoop Doggy Dogg, but only one-third familiar with key events in the life of George Washington.

Here’s one current example of what’s wrong in lots of history teaching. Grants from the federal Department of Education make possible numerous websites with advice to history teachers. Here are the tips on one of them about how to make the Civil War in Tennessee come alive: Teach about the lack of plantation agriculture in eastern Tennessee…. Students should recognize that railroads were important for transporting men and equipment…. Students should recognize that high ground is an excellent defensive position. And so on. What’s missing? People—and in particular, the role of leaders.

In this book I try to avoid demonizing or angelizing, but I do recognize what the top five in C-SPAN’s 2021 survey on crisis leadership—Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Franklin Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, Harry Truman—had in common. Some had an elite education and some did not, but all five during their presidential years had an ethic of character and self-control.

In 1975 novelist Larry McMurtry wrote, One seldom, nowadays, hears anyone described as ‘a person of character.’ The concept goes with an ideal of maturity, discipline, and integration. That lack is even more evident now—yet the character of leaders has made a huge difference in American history. Had George Washington not gained great respect, the American experiment probably would have failed. Had Abraham Lincoln not been resolute, southern states would still have rebelled and the North would probably have said good riddance.

In the twentieth century, had either Theodore or Franklin Roosevelt been a hapless leader, socialism in America would probably have swelled. If Henry Wallace had remained as vice president in 1945 and become president, instead of Harry Truman, we might have had not a Cold War but a Stalinist peace. Had Bill Clinton not become involved with Monica Lewinsky, we might have avoided our current polarization, as chapter 28 suggests.

So this book serves several purposes. It’s an introduction to American history, with tales of thirteen presidents, six other leaders, and one catastrophe. It will also help voters sort through candidates in 2024 and beyond by measuring them against previous leaders, none of whom was faultless.

Now we supposedly learn about candidates through a series of tests called debates that are exchanges of soundbites. We do not learn whether an aspirant to the presidency has the ability to ask good questions or only a suave ability to answer them. It’s sometimes hard to discern whether the candidate is selfless rather than selfish and a truth-teller rather than a fabulist. This book looks particularly at moral vision that often grows out of religious beliefs and influences political goals, racial prejudices, marriage practices, uses of power, and senses of service.

My choice of leaders to profile is partly reactive and partly subjective. The reaction is to Richard Hofstadter (1916–1970), the historian whose book, The American Political Tradition, highly influenced the American Studies major I plunged into as an undergraduate at Yale from 1968 to 1971. In the late 1990s I wanted to study the same presidents he had written about: I added John F. Kennedy and Bill Clinton, and have now added Harry Truman, Donald Trump, and Joe Biden.

For non-presidents, Hofstadter couldn’t resist Henry Clay, whom many people from 1824 to 1848 thought would be president, and neither could I. I’ve added, just because they interest me, business leader John D. Rockefeller, leading abortionist Madame Restell, fighters for Black advancement Booker T. Washington and Ida B. Wells, and a fellow I saw up close, Newt Gingrich. One other chapter looks at how several presidents contributed to a tragic event, the Trail of Tears.

Before you head to the meat of this book, here’s one last note. I’m content with the list of Other books by Marvin Olasky at the beginning of this one, with a single exception: The American Leadership Tradition. That’s the first edition (1999) of the thoroughly redone book you hold in your hands. The reason for my concern illuminates both the thrill and the chill of history-writing.

I wrote most of The American Leadership Tradition in 1998 amid the ruckus over the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal. Washington experience in 1995 and 1996 had left me curious about the effect private activities of leaders have on their public lives. In 1998, the official White House line was that Clinton’s private immorality had no effect on his public role, since he could compartmentalize.

That seemed unlikely to me, and eventually White House insiders said the same. Acting Solicitor General Walter Dellinger, who had long discussions with Clinton: You think this stuff isn’t distracting? Clinton chief of staff Erskine Bowles: Monica changed everything. Representative Henry Hyde, who headed the House impeachment team: Clinton could have been one of our great presidents. I think he had the brains and the energy and the ambition, but he lacked… the character. And that’s the sad part. What might have been.

Many journalists at the time agreed with Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen that a president conventionally immoral in his personal life can still be a wonderful person in his public life. Can be, sure, because life is complicated. But how likely is that? Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote in The Scarlet Letter, No one man can, for any considerable time, wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which is the true one. In 1998 many journalists oversimplified when they bought the no effect line. I pushed back on that and oversimplified the other way.

Oh, most reviews of The American Leadership Tradition emphasized good aspects of the book, along the lines of Chuck Colson’s gracious foreword. But one review, by David Brooks in The New York Times, focused on the bad. Brooks wrote that I believe good husbands usually make good Presidents, and bad husbands usually make bad Presidents…. Olasky’s historical judgments are so crude and pinched…. whatever insights Olasky might have wrung out of his approach are obliterated by his censoriousness… nuance and thoughtful analysis are absent from Olasky’s account.

Ouch! I hated that review. Problem is, Brooks was mainly right. I was censorious, the book did lack nuance, and my reread of it two years ago left me groaning over some over-the-top lines. Plus, teaching at The University of Texas at Austin and editing a news magazine over a 38-year period pushed me to think through coverage of the #MeToo and George Floyd movements toward the end of that time, and to learn from both.

George Washington pledged in his 1789 inaugural address that the foundation for national policy will be laid in the sure and immutable principles of private morality. I’ve tried to look at how we have followed through on that—or have not.

Part One

EARLY AMERICA

CHAPTER 1

George Washington

At Valley Forge during the harsh winter of 1777–1778 few soldiers had coats, half were without blankets, more than a third were without shoes, and some lacked other essentials for health amid winter. One in every six soldiers who wintered at Valley Forge died there.

The winter of 1779–1780 in Morristown, New Jersey, was also brutal. At one point hungry men surrounded by snow had rations only one-eighth of the normal amount. Rarely during the war were Washington’s men paid on time or in full, but when he furloughed militia soldiers to go home to harvest crops, enough came back to hold the British at bay year after year.

Washington, it turned out, was the ideal leader to unite an army of volunteers. He showed courage, perseverance, and an integrity that made him so revered by his soldiers that some who wanted to leave stayed on to avoid disappointing him. When others were depressed, Washington buoyed them with his faith that God would make the Revolution ultimately succeed.

As a child I also approached George Washington reverently. When I was seven and my family drove from Massachusetts to Florida, I pleaded for a stop at the Washington Monument. When we moved back north the last four digits of our phone number became 1732, which I instantly remembered because that was George Washington’s birth year. My wife and I took our children to Mount Vernon, seeing both the main house and the slave quarters.

So, during the Clinton scandals of 1998, I was not amused when a Geraldo Rivera talk show guest argued for the everyone does it position by claiming George Washington was the father of his country’s immorality. Washington, she joked, probably left splinters from his false teeth in someone’s thigh, but no one was looking to report such matters then.

The joke, although not particularly funny, does get us away from thinking of Washington as a monument, or frozen-faced in a painting. Volunteer soldiers who are starving don’t stick around out of loyalty to a statue. This chapter and the next look at Washington’s America and why his moral vision was important.

SETTING THE SCENE

Twentieth century movies about eighteenth century America often showed neat homes and well-manicured lawns. In reality, America was poor. Ornithologist Alexander Wilson, who traveled the country watching birds but also people, noted that New England displayed wretched orchards; scarcely one grain-field in twenty miles; the taverns along the road dirty, and filled with loungers bawling about lawsuits and politics.

Wilson, an equal-opportunity critic, described North Carolina as a place where the taverns are the most desolate and beggarly imaginable; bare, bleak, and dirty walls, one or two old broken chairs and a bench form all the furniture…. The house itself is raised upon props four or five feet, and the space below is left open for the hogs, with whose charming vocal performance the wearied traveler is serenaded the whole night long.

Wilson liked birds more than people, but a French observer fond of the United States, the Duc de Liancourt, learned Americans were scrupulous in some ways but not others: The people of the country are as astonished that one should object to sleeping two or three in the same bed and in dirty sheets, or to drink from the same dirty glass after half a score of others, as to see one neglect to wash one’s hands and face of a morning.

A typical household in Virginia featured a family in a two-room house with parents and children sleeping on blankets on a dirt floor. Bugs and light seeped through cracks in the chinking that held together unpainted planks that made up the walls. Typical meals were cornmeal mush washed down by milk or water from a common cup, tankard, or bowl. Foreign travelers were also surprised to see both frequent churchgoing and frequent rough-and-tumble fighting. Gouging, kicking, and even biting ears or other body parts were acceptable behavior in fights on which spectators laid large wagers.

Washington became the leader of half-civilized people. He tried to raise their standards of civility, partly because he grew up amid relative wealth with a father and older half-brother intent on improving him. Like other homeschooled children he copied into an exercise book 110 rules of conduct including Cleanse not your teeth with the tablecloth, napkin, fork, or knife. Good advice then and now: If you See any filth or thick Spittle put your foot Dexterously upon it if it be upon the Cloths of your Companions, Put it off privately, and if it be upon your own Cloths return Thanks to him who puts it off.

LIVING HONORABLY

Schoolchildren in the nineteenth century learned similar maxims. I cannot tell a lie legends about six-year-old George dipped children in honesty: He confessed to chopping down the cherry tree! Few neighbors of the teenaged Washington saw him as a candidate for future storybooks. Friends called him the stallion of the Potomac and urged sexual discretion. His mentor, Lord George William Fairfax, warned the young ladies of Virginia, George Washington is beginning to feel the sap rising, being in the spring of life, and is getting ready to be the prey of your sex, wherefore may the Lord help him.

Washington over the next decade sought self-control. He wrote a suggestive sonnet to one young woman, Frances Alexander, that read in part, Why should my poor restless heart / Stand to oppose thy might and power / At last surrender to cupid’s feathered dart.

But when she did not surrender, he desisted. Washington’s discipline impressed Fairfax: He is very grave for one of his age, and reserved in his intercourse, not a great talker at any time. His mind appears to me to act slowly, but, on the whole, to reach just conclusions, and he has an ardent wish to see the right of questions.

That was the way many of his intellectual contemporaries perceived Washington: not a speed thinker but slow to make mistakes. Good leaders don’t necessarily need the highest IQ but they do need a high EQ, emotional quotient, and a tremendous DQ, determination quotient. In a semi-civilized land Washington also impressed others as a gentleman with ladies. Only later did George Washington slept here signs become customary along the eastern seaboard—but he didn’t have enough status to warrant engagements.

In love and war Washington had more success as a reactor than an actor. At age twenty Washington proposed marriage to a Virginia beauty, Betsy Fauntleroy. She rejected him. Later he courted Mary Eliza Philipse, whom he called deep-bosomed. She rejected him. Letters reveal his love for another good-looking Virginian, Sally Cary Fairfax—but she was already married into the family of Washington’s patron, Lord Fairfax.

Was the turning point in Washington’s life 1775, when he led America’s army? I’d make a case for twenty years earlier, when he became a war hero reacting to an ambush, and then backed away from potential scandal.

In 1755 Washington assisted British General Edward Braddock as they and 1,500 soldiers headed west in an opening conflict of the French and Indian War. When natives attacked, soldiers trained to march in formation and fire when ordered fell into panic. Braddock died. Every other mounted British regular officer also was shot.

Washington, age twenty-three, rallied some of the stunned survivors. He was caustic about others: The dastardly behavior of those they call regulars exposed all others that were inclined to do their duty to almost certain death… they broke and ran as sheep pursued by dogs. Washington’s commitment to doing his duty under fire, along with his extraordinary survival—two horses shot under him, four bullet holes in his clothing—made him a Virginia celebrity.

With Washington a war hero, his social standing went up, but the woman he liked best, Sally Fairfax, was married. Washington in 1757 came down with dysentery and probably malaria as well. He returned to Mount Vernon where Fairfax—with her husband temporarily in London—brought him medicine, wines, and jellies.

Healthy again, he rode on March 16, 1758, to the home of Martha Custis, widowed the previous year. Nine days later six-foot two-inch Washington, muscular with size thirteen shoes, proposed to wealthy Martha, four-foot eleven-inch and plumpish. But that’s not the end of the story. On September 25, 1758, while engaged to Martha and with his troops, he wrote Sally, the object of my love, a depressed letter.

Washington complained about the miserably managed military expedition he was on. Then he told Fairfax how much he would love to take on the role of Juba, with Sally as his lover Marcia, in the most famous English play of the eighteenth century, Joseph Addison’s Cato. Washington wrote that Fairfax had drawn him, or rather I have drawn myself, into a relationship going nowhere, given that she was already married.

If Washington’s story were fiction, some nineteenth-century British novelist would have had Mr. Fairfax die in a shipwreck. Reality was a sadder story of love’s labour lost. Washington ended the errant courtship that could have killed his reputation. Never again is there a record of him coming close to acting dishonorably.

George and Martha Washington never had children born to both. Historians speculate about health reasons: George may have had sterility caused by tuberculosis, Martha may have had the same caused by German measles. At a time when men yearned to be fruitful and multiply, some who did not have offspring blamed wives and traded them in for younger women they thought could do better. Washington did not.

Besides, Martha brought with her compensations, beginning with children from her previous marriage: a four-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter. Martha’s warm femininity complemented George’s rough spots. Soon Washington’s orders for goods from London included items such as six little books for children beginning to read and one fashionably dressed baby [doll].

Martha also brought with her 17,000 acres and something also valuable: the ability to make travelers feel welcome. From 1768 to 1775 the Washingtons at Mount Vernon entertained about two thousand guests. During the Revolutionary War, Martha Washington frequently joined her husband and became not only a hostess for officers but also a mother to lonely soldiers.

Washington did not follow the British practice of taking mistresses when his middle-aged wife sagged and widened. Even during the Revolution, with what today we would call groupies readily available to a commanding presence, Washington wore around his neck a miniature portrait of his wife. He wrote to her, I retain an unalterable affection for you which neither time nor distance can change.

WASHINGTON AND SLAVERY

Distance, yes. Travel by land was hard. Four miles per hour was the average speed for a stagecoach between Virginia and Pennsylvania, if it did not break down. Riders bounced over roads alternately furrowed and muddy. They sweated profusely in midsummer heat and offered teeth-chattering serenades during freezing winter weather. Others rode very ungently down streams that could quickly bring whitewater rapids.

Washington took his first long trip north in 1774, where he and other delegates to the First Continental Congress met in Philadelphia. His second trip, in 1775, became one-way travel on June 15, 1775, when the Congress unanimously selected him to be Commander in Chief of the American army besieging Boston. He was tall, like King Saul of the Bible. He was from Virginia in what had begun as a Massachusetts war. He had proven his military courage and his personal trustworthiness.

Washington headed further north, leaving behind Martha, his plantation overseers, their dogs (names included Drunkard, Sweetlips, and Truelove), and their slaves. He had been a typical plantation owner, maybe less brutal than average, but slavery in itself is brutal. Then, in February 1776 he spent an extraordinary half-hour with Phillis Wheatley at his headquarters in Cambridge, just across the Charles River from Boston.

Wheatley, age twenty-two in 1775, had been kidnapped from her African village in 1761. She survived the cross-Atlantic passage and entered the household of John Wheatley, whose wife and daughter were astounded to find her brilliant. They excused her from many household chores so she could learn not only English but Latin and Greek, and by age twelve she could read and understand difficult passages from the Bible and classical literature.

Massachusetts leaders came to the Wheatley home to hear Phillis recite her poetry or read in Latin. In a racist time she was proof that Blacks were not sub-human. Some Boston residents were suspicious: Maybe it was John Wheatley who in 1770 wrote the elegy for famed British preacher George Whitefield that came out under Phillis’s name. It described Whitefield telling slaves that Jesus loved them: Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you/ Impartial Saviour is his title due:/ Wash’d in the fountain of redeeming blood/You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God.

In 1772 eighteen of the most respectable characters in Boston, including slaveowners, ministers, and colonial governor Thomas Hutchison, assembled to grill Phillis and ascertain if she was capable of writing poems, at a time when almost all African Americans were illiterate. She impressed them. They signed a letter acknowledging Phillis Wheatley as the author.

In 1775 she wrote a poem that treated Washington as super-human—but that was the exalted style at the time. Some of the language: Thee, first in place and honours…. Fam’d for thy valour, for thy virtues more…. Proceed, great chief, with virtue on thy side, / Thy ev’ry action let the goddess guide. / A crown, a mansion, and a throne that shine, / With gold unfading, Washington! be thine.

Phillis, who had moved with the Wheatleys to Rhode Island, sent Washington that poem in late October. In February, Washington sent a message to his friend and military secretary, Joseph Reed, and enclosed the poem, explaining that he had read it two months before: With a view of doing justice to her great poetical Genius, I had a great Mind to publish the Poem, but not knowing whether it might not be considered rather as a mark of my own vanity than as a Compliment to her I laid it aside.

Reed published the poem in the April 1776 issue of Pennsylvania Magazine, noting that the author was the famous Phillis Wheatley, the African Poetess. Meanwhile, Washington had sent Wheatley an extraordinary letter, coming as it was from a slaveowner to a slave: Your favour of the 26th of October did not reach my hands ’till the middle of December. Time enough, you will say, to have given an answer ere this. Granted. But a variety of important occurrences, continually interposing to distract the mind and withdraw the attention, I hope will apologize for the delay, and plead my excuse for the seeming, but not real, neglect.

Apologize to a Black woman? Washington did, and went on: I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me, in the elegant Lines you enclosed; and however undeserving I may be of such encomium and panegyrick, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your great poetical Talents…. If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near Head Quarters, I shall be happy to see a person so favourd by the Muses, and to whom nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations. I am, with great Respect, Your obedt humble servant, G. Washington.

Washington, directing the siege of British troops in Boston, was treating Phillis Wheatley as an equal, and perhaps even more so: Today we would call it a fanboy note. He signed off as a servant this letter to a slave. Then came the next amazing step forward: Wheatley visited Washington at his headquarters. She passed half an hour with him and his officers, who treated her as the lady she was.

We don’t know what they talked about, but I hope she read him lines from what became her most republished poem, On Being Brought from Africa to America. She wrote about learning "that there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too: / Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. / Some view our sable race with scornful eye, / ‘Their colour is a diabolic die.’ Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain, / May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train."

We also don’t know what effect that meeting or other experiences had on Washington, but during the Revolution Washington suggested that slaves fighting on the American side receive their freedom. In 1778 and 1779 he thought through his own situation and almost decided to abandon the plantation economy and try to operate Mount Vernon with paid labor.

Thereafter, Washington regularly thought about and investigated making the switch from slaveowner to employer. In 1786 he said he was filled with regret about the institution of slavery and his role in it. He said no man living wishes more sincerely than I do to see the abolition of it. Washington kept wondering how to extricate himself personally. Morally, he objected to selling slaves, yet he was unwilling to take the huge economic loss involved in freeing them.

It’s not hard to suspect ulterior motives. Maybe he proposed freeing slaves who joined the Revolution as a countermeasure to British Lord Dunmore’s declaration that all Negroes… able and willing to bear arms in Britain’s army would gain their freedom. Maybe he wanted to abolish slavery because he saw financial advantages in doing so. But he also saw Phillis Wheatley and other Blacks as human beings, not cows or pigs.

Washington’s internal tension influenced his views on America’s future: Concluding that the slave system was both inefficient and wrong, he split from agrarians like Thomas Jefferson and looked favorably on the growth of manufacturing and cities. Washington’s admiration for a business economy grew alongside his moral uneasiness about the basis of the South’s plantation economy.

In 1793, Washington wrote to a British agricultural reformer that he would like to free his slaves and rent out most of Mount Vernon to skilled English tenant farmers, who would then hire the ex-slaves—but he decided that was unrealistic. Abolitionists knew that regarding slavery it’s not just the thought that counts. Washington at least differed from contemporaries like Jefferson by seeing people of African ancestry equal in humanity to those of European stock.

WASHINGTON AT WAR

Martha Washington, hospitable to visitors, was also hospitable to God teaching her. After breakfast, every day of her adult life, according to a grandson, Martha went to her bedroom to read from the Bible and pray for an hour. She was orderly. Her husband was not. But his talk and written reports often emphasized Providence—the belief that God is powerfully active in the world, and that everything from the destiny of nations to the flight of sparrows, or bullets, is under God’s sovereign control.

A strong belief in Providence gave Washington a sense of security that calmed contentious legislators and soldiers. His willingness to think long term was particularly evident during the Revolutionary War, when defeats were frequent and victory rare. In 1776, Washington stated, No man has a more perfect reliance on the all-wise and powerful dispensations of the Supreme Being than I have.

Encouraging his friends, Washington declared in 1777, A superintending Providence is ordering everything for the best…. in due time all will end well. At military low tide in 1778 Washington wrote, Providence has heretofore taken us up when all other means and hope seemed to be departing from us; in this I will confide. In 1779, as the war wore on, he encouraged himself: "I look upon every dispensation of Providence as designed to answer some valuable purpose, and I hope