“Showers from the previous day blew out, and the skies in eastern Massachusetts cleared during that busy night. First light was visible at 4 a.m. Thirty minutes later, as the [British] regulars approached Lexington, streaks of orange and purple in the eastern sky heralded the dawn of what was to be a historic day. An advance party – six companies of 238 red-clad regulars – reached Lexington Common at 4:30 a.m. They discovered a single company of local militia... drawn up on the Common. It was hardly a spit-and-polish unit. These Americans were citizen-soldiers…who appeared to the regulars to be a ragtag collection of troublemakers. As the regulars deployed before the Common, amid the rattle of drum and fife, and the clatter of horses, Major John Pitcairn…briskly rode forward to face his counterpart, Captain John Parker…Pitcairn did not exchange pleasantries. Brusquely, and with tangible contempt, he commanded: ‘Lay down your arms, you damned rebels…!’ Parker ordered his men to step aside, although he did not command them to surrender their weapons. Not one man laid down his arms. In this anxious moment in the half light of daybreak, someone fired a shot…”
- John Ferling, A Leap in the Dark: The Struggle to Create the American Republic
National creation myths serve an important purpose in simplifying complex events in such a way that they can be easily understood and used as a basis of a shared civic understanding. Every country has one, and the United States is no exception.
The American Revolution is a tight Gordian knot of competing, often contradictory ideas and actions that has been sliced with a blade labeled “freedom” or “liberty,” and celebrated every July with hot dogs, fireworks, and great deals on new cars. To a certain extent, this is fine, because most people don’t need an in-depth knowledge of the Founding Era to get through their daily lives. The trouble, however, comes when we try to order present society based on a falsely-assumed past.
To that end, it’s worth noting that almost 250 years after the Declaration of Independence, there is still debate about the causes, motivations, and meanings of the American Revolution that brought it into being. Was it a philosophical revolt based on enlightenment principles? Or was it an economic uprising meant to protect the merchant class? Did the revolutionaries intend to destroy a strong central government, or merely replace it with one a little bit closer to home? Was the goal a tightly unified nation, or a loose and mutually beneficial confederation with a hollow core? Was the spirit of the Revolution populist in nature, as Thomas Jefferson believed, shaking the world with the voice of the people? Or was it conservative at heart, overthrowing one strict hierarchy only to replace it with another?
The answer, as John Ferling implies in his magisterial A Leap in the Dark, is that there is no answer. Everyone involved – especially those Founders to whom we look for “original intent” – carried their own conceptions, and even as the ink dried on the Constitution, they were arguing about it.
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A Leap in the Dark is extremely impressive in its scope. In just under 500 pages of text, Ferling manages to cover the years from 1750 to 1801 in an integrated fashion, demonstrating the ways events flowed from one to another.
The proceedings begin with the French and Indian War, part of a larger conflict (the Seven Years’ War) that pitted the Empires of Great Britain and France against each other. Though Ferling does not get deep into the details of this war, he uses it to show a nascent unification movement among the thirteen colonies. Squabbling, self-interested, and self-absorbed, early French successes forced them to consider working together.
With France defeated, Ferling moves into the momentous interwar period, which – in its simplest terms – boiled down to a dispute over taxes. Not unreasonably, Great Britain sought to have the colonies pay for its own defense. The way it went about doing this, however, was peremptory and arrogant, brooking no debate. Slow communications hampered attempts at negotiation, and the arrival of British troops said more than any words. Great Britain also undercut itself by employing greedy officials who relentlessly profited from the colonists, even as a postwar economy slowed.
All this led to Lexington, Concord, and national independence, if not personal liberty. Though space constraints keep Ferling from giving a full military history (which can be found in his Almost A Miracle), he marvelously outlines the struggle, explaining how battlefield failures and successes impacted the Continental Congress, and shaped the division of powers of the future United States. I somewhat expected Ferling to skip the fighting entirely, in order to give a laser-focus on the politics, but he smoothly integrates the two disciplines.
Even after the guns fall silent, A Leap in the Dark keeps going, covering the presidential terms of George Washington and John Adams, and ending with the 1800 election of Thomas Jefferson, a bitter contest pitting central-government Federalists against states’ rights Republicans. Having read separately about the French and Indian War, the American Revolution, and the writing of the Constitution, I found a great deal of value in having all these subjects encompassed in one ambitious book. The dominoes of history rarely fall in neat rows, by simple cause and effect. Still, by taking a broad overview of a lengthy time-span, you see the mechanics at work, the way that ideas and mindsets and people evolve in the face of a stirring speech, a well-written pamphlet, a heroic stand, a bloody battle.
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Ferling structures this mass of material chronologically, with each of the 14 chapters date-stamped. His approach is a hybrid one, combining analysis, narrative, and biography. Part of the joy in reading this comes from Ferling’s ability to provide smart commentary about the competing politics, but also to set a scene with novelistic detail, whether that is Washington’s farewell speech or the skirmish on the Lexington Common. His prose is crisp, sometimes evocative, and even though he has a weakness for obscure words – here, you get both “lubricious” and “lucubration” – the sentences flow smoothly.
Much of the tale is told through the participants, some famous, others less well known. Ferling gives these characters vibrant background sketches, so that in the space of a couple pages – or even a couple paragraphs – they come to life.
Though accessible, A Leap in the Dark is not dumbed-down. Ferling is a well-respected historian and professor, and has written numerous volumes about the birth of the republic. He is keen-eyed, sometimes skeptical, and often sharp, yet he does not bring any obvious modern biases to his interpretation. Ferling is capable of holding opposing thoughts, meaning that he can be critical of both Federalist Alexander Hamilton, who he sees as elitist and anti-democratic, and Thomas Jefferson, who he terms pre-democratic, more philosophical than practical, and prone to avoiding work by hiding at Monticello.
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The theme that runs through A Leap in the Dark – a theme that seems more relevant than ever – is the debate between union and disunion. The choice to go it alone, or go forward together.
Starting before the French and Indian War – with the Albany Plan of Union – the colonies struggled with whether to help each other, or simply help themselves. The Articles of Confederation represented a compromise, binding them in some ways, but leaving most of the power in local hands. The failure of the Articles led to the Constitution, another act of compromise – or rather, series of compromises – that was written in vague language, subject to wildly divergent interpretations, and which was made devilishly hard to amend. The balance between federal and state authority has always been inconstant, tilting one way, then the other. At best, it was imperfect. At worst, it collapsed into civil war.
Right now, it feels like things are ready to fracture.
Open up a map today, and you can see all the fault lines. We are becoming a nation of littler nations. The borders of each state are the seams where it can all fall apart.
It is something of a consolation to know that this tension has been here from the very first minute of the nation’s existence, and has always been a concern. On the other hand, the realization that this tension has been here from the very first minute of the nation’s existence is deeply troubling, a symptom of something that is perhaps irreconcilable.
It leads one to wonder: How long can it go on? How long can it last?