©2001 W. Lane Rogers

Joanne B. Freeman, Joanne B. Affairs of Honor: National Politics in the New Republic. Photos, illustrations, endnotes, bibliography, index, 376 pp, paper $16.95. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001.



All too often American history is written in sweeping pen strokes made blotchy by puddles of generalization. Inspirational themes are snatched from documents laced by high sounding rhetoric that may or may not have engaged truth. Liberty, freedom, equality are catch words carefully threaded through reverential narratives that place the Founding Fathers in virtuous, god-like repose. It is history that feels good and succeeds well at an emotional level. It does not, however, untangle knots woven by reality. Neither does Freeman’s well-crafted book. In fact, her unconventional thesis—that a quasi-political, extralegal code of honor helped shape the nation’s history—tightens the tangle.

Freeman strips her characters bare of overblown clichés and asks the reader to examine them under a naked light of rediscovery. What we see are not ordinary men (women are absent here) thrust into extraordinary circumstances, but a palpable upper crust of neo-aristocrats clinging to or fighting for positions in a social hierarchy based largely on the notion of personal honor.

This complex code of honor, or “culture of honor,” as the author tags it, demands that the nation’s birthing be analyzed in quite a different way, thus tightening the knot around tradition-bound interpretation. The code of honor, asserts Freeman, “…was a remedy for the barely controlled chaos of national public life (p. xvii).

Viewed through this unorthodox lens, the examination of events embodied in nation building; the rhetoric of its builders; even the reading of historic documents, assumes a new and different dimension. Nuances thought trivial or unimportant are given meaning and weight, and long-held assumptions are challenged.

A common misconception is that the United States was built according to a carefully constructed blueprint. In fact, it evolved in bursts and fits of spontaneity. There was no grand plan, per se, but myriad pieces that had to be measured and cut to fit within an emerging framework. Against a backdrop of unstructured parties and political instability, republicanism and democracy were largely abstract concepts seeking clarity of definition.

“Disagree as men might on the purpose, structure, or tenor of national governance,” writes Freeman, “argue as they did about the meaning of concepts like federalism and republicanism—clash as they must about the future of the nation—they expected their opponents to behave like gentlemen” (p. xvii).

Brilliant as many were, the Founding Fathers were quintessentially human. They could be warm and generous, cold and unforgiving. They were not imprinted with sameness, and each harbored fixed notions and self-interests. They were possessed of healthy egos and were rarely reticent in expressing their self-worth. What they shared almost universally, however, was a willingness to sacrifice—in some instances, their lives. They had no willingness, however, to sacrifice their honor.

Partisan politics as we define it today had yet to evolve. Consequently, political attacks were, often as not, interpreted as personal attacks against one’s honor. Fortunately, for the longevity of more than a few politicians, duels fought in ink were considered “affairs of honor”—e.g., the defending of oneself—and were given weight equal to duels fought with ball, powder and pistol.

“The Art of the Paper War,” as Freeman titles a chapter, encompassed four essential weapons: Public-minded personal letters; pamphlets; broadsides; and essays written for newspapers.

The public-minded personal letter was often written as private correspondence, but with the expectation that it would be passed among a circle of elite friends. It was considered a sworn statement on which the writer staked his honor. Often the content made charges against another man, which then demanded admission or refutation.

Thomas Jefferson, for example, wrote such a letter in 1803, responding to charges that he had “trifled” with John Walker’s wife. “Instigated by Walker’s demand for ‘satisfaction’ and negotiated by seconds,” writes Freeman, “this was a formal affair of honor.” Walker, in an effort to redeem his wife’s reputation, demanded and received of Jefferson a confession of dalliance. Jefferson’s admission satisfied Walker’s challenge. (p. 115).

Pamphlets were a more sophisticated means of refuting charges, circulating points of view, or justifying one’s actions. Often as not they were addressed “to the people,” but, in fact, were intended for an elite audience. Usually printed in batches of hundreds, their content was often reprinted in newspapers as a means of fueling public opinion. Gossipy in tone, pamphlets “…justified and channeled aggression by framing it as something else.” (p. 119).

Broadsides usually were authored anonymously and were intended for the masses. Tacked indiscriminately to trees and buildings and fences, they were spirited and uninhibited, and often sensational in content. According to Freeman, “[A] signed personal attack printed on a broadside [was a] way to obtain satisfaction from an offender who was too low or cowardly to duel….declaring him a liar, rascal, scoundrel, and coward—ritualistic honor insult all.” (p. 121).

Newspapers, of which there were thousands, blended gossip, propaganda, and news, and reached an impressive number of people. Countless affairs of honor resulted from insults slung, accusations made, and outright slander. A newspaper’s wide reach was “both its power and its threat,” and writers could suffer dire consequences. (p. 125).

The least common but best known affair of honor was the duel. They were intricately structured, highly ritualized events in which months of preparation were often expended. For every man shot in a duel, countless others walked away unscathed having acquitted his honor before shots were fired. Alexander Hamilton, who fought the nation’s best known, if not most notorious, duel with Aaron Burr, was not so lucky—and Freeman devotes a chapter to the episode.

The culture of honor was more than a fancy notion tossed about by men of high station; it was a code of ethics by which men lived—and died. And as Freeman cogently demonstrates, it was an agent of cohesion during a time of trail and error and uncertainty.

Originally conceived as a doctoral dissertation, Freeman has written a smoothly flowing narrative backed by solid documentation and persuasive arguments that will alter the way many of us perceive this era of American history. This reviewer is, however, given pause by her dogged determination to weigh every action taken, every deed contemplated, every word spoken or written by the Founding Fathers against a stringent code of honor. Certainly, as the author makes evident, there are enumerable instances in which her model is more than credible. Nevertheless, I think the all-encompassing breadth of her umbrella is
excessive. These, after all, were independent, thinking men who, on more than one occasion, stepped out of their mold and produced surprises. And I would ask Freeman two questions: Where were the women? And—borrowing a line from “Camelot”—what were the “simple folks” doing?

I will add, however, that surprises rendered by the depth of Freeman’s research make Affairs of Honor a book that ought to be read.

©2001 W. Lane Rogers
All Rights Reserved

This one definitely piques my curiosity. It reminds me of my first college history classes. As history was my minor, I was fascinated to learn such things as George Washington's speech patterns containing more "expletives deleted" than the Nixon tapes. Perhaps these facts were kept secret to the general public, and only known, even in academic circles, to serious students of history.

When I returned to the campus in my mid-thirties, I shared driving with a close friend, a former business major who went back to school to get teacher certification so that she could work at a job that had similar hours as her children. She was shocked to get an "F" on a paper that required her to examine a poem called "What Did You Learn in School Today," which listed such well-known legends as George Washington never telling a lie. She had not recognized the parody, and took the poet seriously. When I gave her a brief description of the reality of our Founding Fathers, she became so upset that I wondered if I shoud take the wheel for the rest of the drive home.

Ann

That's the kind of history I love, that which makes people human, shows the disagreements, arguments, warts etc. Visits to historic places surprisingly bring some real human tidbits of previously unheard of knowledge, which I love.

I was fascinated as we sat for over an hour and a half at Williamsburg listening along with school kids and other tourists to the actor that plays Jefferson there. To see a real person portraying a founding father in a way that emphasizes warts and indecision and just plain not knowing made me love him more.

I love genealogy and have a book called Jefferson's children, where DNA has proved he had children with his slave, who also was half sister of his deceased wife. I wondered what the guide at Monticello would say and asked the question. He said, "Although DNA has been proven, the final decision is still out." I don't think so. I love the story of Thomas and Sally.

I also have a book about the quirks of the Presidents, some were quirkier than others, but they all had them.

Carol