The Role of Government

 

I got to thinking, the other day–I know that will come as a revelation to some of you–what if I could sit down with a notable historical figure from the past? Whom would I choose?

Given this week’s column focuses on the role of government, I concluded, whom better than the Father of our Country: George Washington.

Given Mr. Washington was unanimously elected to head the committee that drafted our Constitution in 1789 and was subsequently elected as our country’s first president two years later, February 1789, it seems fitting to begin with this man of quiet strength.

The interview will take place at Mount Vernon where Washington, believing he had done his duty after signing the peace treaty between Great Britain and the United States, had wanted to resume his quiet life as a gentleman farmer and family man and leave governing the new nation to others.

I find the celebrated figure seated at his writing desk, strewn with letters. His floor-to-ceiling bookcase, set along the east wall of the wood-grained paneled room, is literally wedged with volumes of books, pamphlets, newspapers and maps. The diverse titles reflect Washington’s wide-ranging interests and the changing roles that he played in his life. A self-taught man, Washington was the only president who did not attend college; something that, he was well aware, often came under public scrutiny.

The gracious white-haired figure with a determined chin, directs me to an unusual mechanized Windsor chair he says he purchased while in Philadelphia attending the Constitutional Convention in 1787. The chair consists of a treadle below the sitter’s feet that operates a fan suspended above the chair. I lower myself into the contraption, avoiding the overhanging wooden fan.

Adjusting my back to the wooden rungs of the chair, I address the historic figure who views life as a serious mission, a job to be tackled soberly, unremittingly. “Mr. Washington, or, excuse me, how would you like me to address you?”

“George is fine,” he responds unconcerned. “As you are probably aware, if you’ve read anything about me, I’m not given to titles and am uncomfortable being singled out. Let’s just say I’m conscious of my own deficiencies.”

I smile and counter, “I would consider that more of an attribute than a deficiency . . . George.”

“Know that I consider it a distinct privilege to rendezvous with history through one who has lived it. Unfortunately, in my opinion, we do not devote enough of our energies to revealing the truth of our lived experience. Contrarily, there exists a will to re-write history.”

“What has been your personal experience, Sir, with historical revisionism?”

George leans back in the armchair he occupied as president, and contemplates his response. “Pseudo historians and politicians thrive on reexamining and ultimately rewriting history—leading to some bizarre theories, I might add, on what happened during our collective past.”

“That’s precisely why appreciate this interview,” affirmed.

“You know, George, many who aspire to positions of authority do so because they have an insatiable appetite for power. Given you stepped into your role as president without precedent for how you should conduct the nation’s business, you were really at a disadvantage.”

I notice the former commander in-chief is struggling to get command of his ill-fitting dentures, a seemingly perpetual source of discomfort throughout his life.

Once back in place, he looks up and responds, pursing his lips a bit, as he speaks, so as to keep the false teeth in place.

“The United States was a small nation when I took office, consisting of 11 states and approximately 4 million people. I was mindful that my actions would likely determine how future presidents would be expected to govern. While my mottos in life have always been, ‘Deeds, not Words’; and, ‘For God and my Country,’ I believe–if you’ll kindly endure a moment of what may appear as self-aggrandizement– my willingness to surrender power may be my most important legacy.”

Gesturing my head in agreement, I suggest, “Humility and a clear understanding of what it means to be a servant of the public, need exist in a person before that can happen.”

I continue, “I recall reading that, at the end of the war in 1783, King George III asked what you would pursue next and was told of rumors that you’d return to your farm at Mount Vernon. This evidently impressed the king, prompting him to state, ‘If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.’”

Amused, the retired general, attempting to diffuse the focused attention, qualifies, “If you read history, as you’ve suggested, then you should also be aware the king suffered from intermittent bouts of acute mental illness.”

A silent, candid, thoughtful man, it was apparent he was uncomfortable speaking of himself.

Consider, here is a man who as president, in a time when there were no term limits and many would have supported the role of his presidency as a lifetime commitment –Including Alexander Hamilton and James Madison – chose to step down at the end of his second term. An important precedent that lasted until the middle of the 20th century.

“You never abused your power, Sir. You, instead, voluntarily chose to walk away.”

“Arbitrary power is most easily established on the ruins of liberty abused to licentiousness [immorality],” he reflects as a ray of afternoon sun, protruding through one of the two large windows in his study, catches his face.

He appears to welcome the warmth.

“As a man of faith, I am aware you understand the importance of religious liberty or freedom of conscience. Would you care to comment on this fundamental tenet of personal freedoms?”

“Most certainly,” he ardently responds. “Silence in me, on this particular issue, I would consider a crime.

“As President, I wrote a letter to a Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island, stating my position with regard to religious freedom, explaining:

“It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens.

“Further, I stated in my first inaugural address on April 30, 1789, ‘We ought to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right, which heaven itself has ordained.’”

“What would you say, Mr. Washington, to those who would claim a man’s liberty should be bridled due to the belief he may abuse it?”

His face flushes a bit and I assume my question is reminiscent of previous dealings with Britain’s monarch prior to the Revolution. “Simply, it will be found an unjust and unwise jealousy to deprive a man of his natural liberty upon the supposition he may abuse it.”

“In your opinion, Sir, what will ensure future generations to emulate what has always been held to be the inalienable rights of free men?”

“Hmm . . .” he mutters as he clasps his large hands behind his head, as though compressing his thoughts.

“The foundations of our national policy will be laid in the pure and immutable principles of private morality; and the pre-eminence of a free government, will be exemplified by all the attributes which can win the affections of its citizens, and command the respect of the world.

“Such is our situation, and such are our prospects: but notwithstanding the cup of blessing is thus reached out to us,” he extends his arms as if to underscore his words, “notwithstanding happiness is ours, if we have a disposition to seize the occasion and make it our own.”

He pauses to further frame his thoughts. “Yet, it appears to me there is an option still left to the United States of America, that it is in their choice, and depends upon their conduct, whether they will be respectable and prosperous, or contemptible and miserable as a nation. As I expressed in my letter of farewell to the Army, June 8, 1783 and later the thirteen colonies, ‘This is the time of our political probation, this is the moment when the eyes of the whole world are turned upon us, this is the moment to establish or ruin our national character forever, this is the favorable moment to give such a tone to our Federal Government, as will enable it to answer the ends of its institution, or this may be the ill-fated moment for relaxing the powers of the Union, annihilating the cement of the Confederation, and exposing us to become the sport of European politics.

“It is yet to be decided, whether the Revolution must ultimately be considered as a blessing or a curse; not to the present age alone, for with our fate will the destiny of unborn millions be involved.”

Washington’s longtime companion presidential chair creaks as the broad-shouldered historical figure slowly comes to his feet and steadies himself on the arm of the chair. I stand, as well, and express my heartfelt appreciation for his time; but more significantly the exhausting energies and years devoted to bringing about this great American experiment.

Our eyes lock and a close-lipped smile of acknowledgement graces his face as I absorb his last words to me.

“I chose to take my leave as a public character, on a most conspicuous stage, and to give my final blessing to this Country, in whose service I have spent the prime of my life, for whose sake I have consumed so many anxious days and watchful nights, and whose happiness being extremely dear to me, will always constitute no inconsiderable part of my own.”

Former Cook County Commissioner Garry Gamble is writing this ongoing column about the various ways government works, as well as other topics.