by Glenn Beck
Perhaps there is no better example of Washington having the self-discipline to conquer his own weakness than the fact that he grew from a hot-tempered young man into a powerful leader who had the humility to be open and honest before his men.
There is a lesson in that for all of us.
Everything that we do in life—every battle that we fight and every mountain that we climb, no matter how many times that we may fall—may be for no other purpose than to prepare us for that moment when we are called upon to make a difference in this world.
In fact, every decision that we make, even those that seem small and perhaps irrelevant—perhaps especially those that seem small and irrelevant—may be moving us toward that moment when we can change a life for the better.
We may only get one chance to make a difference. But there is no doubt that such a moment in each of our lives is going to come.
The only question that really matters is, Will we be ready for it?
THE BURDEN—AND THE GLORY—OF RESPONSIBILITY
Prior to taking command of the army in 1775, Washington expressed his great reluctance and deep humility regarding his ability to lead his men through the storms that lay ahead. He expressed these reservations on more than one occasion. But, unlike so many of today’s leaders, once he had accepted a challenge, he rose above it. He conquered it. He did whatever it took to see that his nation and his people prevailed. He didn’t bemoan the difficult circumstances he had inherited. He didn’t blame his army’s early failures on his subordinates (though there were many times that he could have). He didn’t blame his battlefield failures on the tides of misfortune, constantly pointing out all the elements that were beyond his control. And he didn’t indulge his pride after his victories; never crowing over his conquests at Boston, Trenton, Yorktown.
What Washington did do was accept the responsibility he had been given, beg the grace of God upon himself and his army, and then work relentlessly to accomplish his goals. What he did do was to keep on working, regardless of the personal sacrifices required or the setbacks that he encountered. He kept the faith, no matter who stood against him; regardless of the gossip, the naysayers and, sometimes, regardless even of the betrayal of his friends.
It wasn’t easy. In every moment there was a hill to climb, in every day a sacrifice to make, in every trial a challenge that racked his soul. Had he known how very difficult it would prove to be, he might not have taken on the task. As he had confessed to a close aide, “Could I have foreseen … no consideration upon earth should have induced me to accept this command.”
But he did accept it. And he won.
What If He Had Been King?
The monarchies that held so much control around the world hated the idea that the American people might claim a list of rights. I mean, come on, kings were divinely appointed leaders! Their absolute rule might not be the will of the people, but it certainly was the will of God.
That being the case, the royal monarchs had to be thinking, How dare the Americans mess around with thousands of years of tradition! Surely they would fail. Without the royal intellect, without the benefit of the elites and all the lessons in good governance that they had learned, without the superiority of a hereditary royalty and nobility lording over the lowly, and, most important, without the will of God behind their form of government, how could they possibly succeed?
All of that aside, it may be interesting to ask the question: what if?
What if the enormously popular and powerful Washington had decided that, why yes, as a matter of a fact, I would like to be the king?
Had Washington taken to the throne, who would now be our king?
Assuming the royal “House of Washington” had been able to survive all the commotion of the next 230 years (revolutions, depressions, upheavals, and world wars), the crown would likely now sit upon the head of one Paul Emery Washington, who retired after forty years as a business supply manager in Valley Forge.
According to NBC News, the royal Paul (George’s third-great-grandnephew) seems to have taken the fact that he was robbed of his royal throne fairly well. Recently asked about the possibility of the monarchy that was denied him when his great-great-great-(whatever)-uncle refused the kingship, he answered simply, “I think George made the right decision.”
THE SILVER LINING
All of us face moments in our lives when we’re fighting for something we believe in but begin to realize that our position is far from perfect. Those who don’t face those kinds of assessments will never be great leaders because they can’t see any other way but theirs. If we are seeking truth then we must follow it, wherever it leads us—even if that is to a place we never thought we’d go.
For George Washington, the Newburgh Conspiracy brought to life some truths that he probably would’ve rather not had to deal with. Despite his efforts to assure his troops that Congress was filled with honorable men who were loyal to their nation and who would eventually see that justice to the army was done, the experience must have made him acutely aware of the potentially fatal weakness of a loosely aligned group of states. After all, they barely had the power to protect themselves from each other, let alone from foreign armies.
Though he accepted his reprimand, Colonel Nicola’s harsh words regarding the frailty of the confederation (and gentle suggestion that a monarchy be considered) must have had an effect on Washington. Not only did he see the hopeless reality of the situation, but he’d experienced it firsthand in, for example, Valley Forge. A national government that didn’t even have the power to procure supplies for an army was not nearly strong enough to defend a country.
And things didn’t get any better from there.
Washington’s Forgotten Second Message at Newburgh
Washington didn’t just confront his officers at Newburgh. He also confronted Congress.
In June 1783 (just a few weeks after his showdown with his officers), he took pen in hand to warn Congress that a strong union was necessary to preserve our liberties—and he also warned how “anarchy” could lead to “Tyranny” (sounds like Cloward-Piven!). He ended by saying:
It is only in our united Character as an Empire, that our Independence is acknowledged, that our power can be regarded, or our Credit supported among Foreign Nations. The Treaties of the European Powers with the United States of America, will have no validity on a dissolution of the Union. We shall be left nearly in a state of Nature, or we may find by our own unhappy experience, that there is a natural and necessary progression, from the extreme of anarchy to the extreme of Tyranny; and that arbitrary power is most easily established on the ruins of Liberty abused to licentiousness.
Under the Articles of Confederation, the states were never able to rise above a collection of half-starved and wilted governments that were directionless and seemingly incapable of providing even the most basic needs of their citizens. Within a few years of defeating the British, the states were in constant conflict with each other. Trade wars. Competing currencies. Bitter disputes over territories. Jealousy. Rivalries between northern and southern states and cultures. Power struggles between the large states and the small.
The states were on the edge of anarchy. And no one understood the danger more than George Washington. Having suffered through the extremely frustrating and dangerous experience that he had at Newburgh, he realized more than anyone that the Congress was too weak. They couldn’t govern the states effectively. The confederation was doomed to fail.
It was this realization that led Washington to eventually agree to lead the Constitutional Convention—which, of course, ultimately decided to scrap the Articles of Confederation in favor of a much stronger federal government.
But think about how this might have played if Washington had not been someone who was open to finding the truth no matter where it led him. If he’d been a zealot for the government, a defender of the Articles at all costs, then the Newburgh Conspiracy would never have prompted him to take the actions he did.
The lessons for us today are clear—question with boldness. I know I’m like a broken record, but if you think that your version of the truth is all that exists, then not only will you fail in pursuing your agenda, but you’ll also fail in motivating anyone else to join you. The search for truth is a lifelong quest without a destination. Don’t fall into the trap of believing so deeply in your own ideology that you cannot even see the flaws in it.
One of George Washington’s greatest traits was his understanding that man is not perfect. Imperfect men, he knew, can never create perfect government. Centuries have passed since then, but that fundamental idea has never changed, and it never will. Embrace our imperfection by constantly searching for the truth. You might just be surprised where it leads you.
13
To Please All Is Impossible
December 21, 1786
Mount Vernon, Virginia
It was four days before Christmas and Mount Vernon was ready. Large bunches of mistletoe were placed about and sprigs of holly were laid in front of each windowpane. But, despite the holiday cheer, George Washington was in a sour mood.
He sat at his desk wearing a plain blue coat, white cashmere waistcoat, black knee breeches, and black boots. His quill pen was dipped and ready, but the words were difficult to write. He was, of course, honored by the offer he’d been presented, but he simply could not agree to it. It just wasn’t possible.
After a long pause Washington finally began to write, addressing his letter to Virginia’s current governor, Edmund Randolph:
Sir:
I had not the honor of receiving your Excellency’s favor of the 6th, with its enclosures, till last night. Sensible as I am of the honor conferred on me by the General Assembly, in appointing me one of the Deputies to a Convention proposed to be held in the City of Philadelphia in May next, for the purpose of revising the Federal Constitution; and desirous as I am on all occasions, of testifying a ready obedience to the calls of my Country; yet, Sir, there exists at this moment, circumstances, which I am persuaded will render my acceptance of this fresh mark of confidence incompatible with other measures which I had previously adopted; and from which, seeing little prospect of disengaging myself, it would be disingenuous not to express a wish that some other character, on whom greater reliance can be had, may be substituted in my place; the probability of my non-attendance being too great to continue my appointment.
Washington put his pen down and read aloud what he’d just written. He could not believe they were his words. Was he really going to turn down an invitation to join the convention?
He knew, of course, the perilous position the country had found itself in. Just six weeks earlier he had written to James Madison that, without a change in course, all the blood and treasure they’d expended in the war would be for nothing. The country, he wrote, was “fast verging to anarchy and confusion!”
But, still, surely there were others from Virginia who could take his place. He had put Martha through so much over the years, it simply wasn’t fair to leave her again. And that wasn’t the only thing giving him pause; it was also his own health: he was experiencing painful rheumatism that was nearly debilitating.
And then there were the other personal and professional commitments he had made for the time during which the convention was scheduled. It was all just too much.
George Washington signed his name to the letter and put his pen away. It was time for others to lead.
April 5, 1787
Mount Vernon
The last three months had been torturous. Washington’s decision to not attend the upcoming convention had weighed on him daily. When he was able to forget about it for a moment, others were none to happy to remind him.
But it wasn’t just the gentle prodding of friends that had forced him to rethink his position; he also saw what was happening to his country. Shays’s Rebellion—in which the Massachusetts legislature had almost been overthrown—was a startling reminder of just how fast a spark of anarchy could ignite the entire country. The Articles of Confederation were far too weak and, Washington knew, it was only a matter of time before a crisis would eventually tear them apart.
“I won’t do it! I just won’t do it, Martha!”
“Yes, George,” Martha Washington answered very quietly and calmly, not even looking up from her knitting. The world rarely saw her husband’s great passions bursting forth, but he was comfortable enough with her that he allowed her to see the person he really was.
“Look at me! Just look at me! My arm in a sling from this blasted rheumatism! I’m in no shape to travel. And who would run this place? Lund? Why it would all finally go to rack-and-ruin!”
He was speaking of his cousin, Lund Washington, his estate’s overseer. Martha might have reminded her husband that she and Lund had operated Mount Vernon together for eight years during his wartime absence—and the building they now conversed in had not fallen down even once in that whole time. Nonetheless, she maintained a discreet silence on the subject and instead played to her husband’s strength. “You are certainly right about not having to go if you don’t want to—you have done enough.”
“Yes, exactly, Martha. That’s what I’ve been saying!”
And so their conversation, if one might call it that, ended, with Martha excusing herself, leaving George alone to continue his fuming.
Martha ducked into the servants’ quarters and found her husband’s manservant Billy Lee in the kitchen, carving slices of ham. In a low voice, the tiny woman ordered him: “William, start thinking about packing Master Washington’s trunks—for a long trip—and yours as well, of course.”
“Yes, Miz Washington. Where are we going to?”
“Philadelphia, William.”
Lee looked quizzically at Martha.
“Does General Washington know he’s going to Philadelphia, Miz Washington?”
“Not yet, William—but he will.”
Lee bowed and was about to leave when he turned back to face her. “Miz Washington, I believe everyone in the country—except the general—knows he’s going to Philadelphia. I started packing his trunks two weeks ago.”
May 13, 1787
Mrs. Whitby’s Inn
Chester, Pennsylvania
George Washington was enjoying a pleasant lunch with old acquaintances from his army days, including Henry Knox, when the clatter of horses interrupted their discussion about their past triumphs and the challenges posed by the Constitutional Convention, which Washington would soon join.
It was the Philadelphia Light Horse, resplendent in their brilliant white breeches and dark, plumed hats. In 1775, this unit had escorted Washington from Philadelphia to Boston to assume command of the new Continental Army. On this afternoon, however, these cavalrymen would escort his coach twenty miles north to Philadelphia. He had hoped to be just another delegate (he was, after all, not even chair of the Virginia delegation) and to share modest quarters at a Market Street boardinghouse with James Madison, but this splendid greeting was a clue that his wish was not going to be granted.
Despite threatening skies, the whole city turned out to cheer Washington’s arrival in Philadelphia, a thirteen-gun salute ensuring that even those in the surrounding areas would be aware of the celebration. Every steeple bell (and the city had so many that visitors thought it downright “papist”) clanged its praises. The banker, Robert Morris, “the Financier of the American Revolution,” eagerly descended upon Washington and demanded that he forgo the boardinghouse and instead reside with him at his magnificent newly built mansion.
It was a welcome worthy of a king on coronation day. And, if many citizens had their way, that’s exactly what George Washington would soon be.
June 27, 1787
State House
Philadelphia
Benjamin Franklin wanted the floor.
He was never one to say much, and he said even less than usual during this convention. He was eighty-one years old and had to be transported about the city in an ornate, Frenc
h-made, glass-enclosed sedan chair, carried upon the shoulders of four convicts from the Walnut Street Jail.
But today, because things were not going well at all at this Constitutional Convention, he spoke. And what the old freethinker said surprised everyone:
In this situation of this Assembly, groping as it were in the dark to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when presented to us, how has it happened, Sir, that we have not hitherto once thought of humbly applying to the Father of lights to illuminate our understandings?
In the beginning of the Contest with Great Britain, when we were sensible of danger we had daily prayer in this room for the divine protection. Our prayers, Sir, were heard, and they were graciously answered. All of us who were engaged in the struggle must have observed frequent instances of a Superintending providence in our favor. To that kind providence we owe this happy opportunity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity.
And have we now forgotten that powerful friend?
I have lived, Sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth—that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid?