April 25, 2016
Absent any Boreades, Cokie Roberts has in Harpy like wrath
unleashed a vile storm of obloquy against Alexander Hamilton in the New York
Times, leaving behind the fetid aroma of her dissatisfaction at history’s table
and the place of women at it. Says she, Hamilton was a “philandering liar,” a
man of ambition who selfishly put honor before his loved ones pecuniary
interests, and worst of all: his standing in our national pantheon kept a
female from her “rightful” place on the ten dollar bill.
Her feminist fury is misleading
and undue; foolishly denigrating Hamilton only reveals the feminist lack of
probity. To mantle Hamilton a philanderer is to intentionally misrepresent a
grievous indiscretion as a habit of character and treats history’s authority
like a trollop. As to ambition, yes he was, and more. Catherine Drinker Bowen
wrote of him, “Perhaps no man in annals has been so variously characterized.”
“Talleyrand…selected Hamilton as the greatest of the ‘choice and master spirits
of the age.’ Lord Bryce was to declare that Hamilton, alone among the founding
fathers, had not been done full justice by Americans. Theodore Roosevelt went
further and placed Jefferson ‘infinitely below Hamilton.’” His enemies were not
so generous, “To John Adams, Hamilton was ‘the bastard brat of a Scotch pedlar
[sic].” “His manners,” wrote a Convention delegate, “are tinctured with
stiffness, and sometimes with a degree of vanity that is highly disagreeable.”
He was, “Impatient with the slow witted, humble with those he loved, fiery yet
capable of a cold arrogance.” And he possessed an energy that “caused
Jefferson, later his enemy, to say that this man ‘without numbers is an [sic]
host within himself.” It should not be a surprise then that Hamilton, presciently
seeing the need for a national government, started writing in September of 1780
and wrote for the following seven years to bring about a convention. The
“evidence points to Hamilton as the most potent single influence toward calling
the Convention of ’87….”
Bowen further tells us: “It was
typical of young Hamilton to marry advantageously…and then to fall so deeply in
love with his wife, his dark-eyed Betsy, that he feared himself incapacitated
for business. ‘My Angel!’ he wrote. ‘I told you truly that I love you too much.
I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavor to
bring myself back to reason and duty….’Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to
be thus monopolized by a little nut-brown maid.’ ”
To contaminate their good memory
with her poisoned prose is reprehensible. Roberts also observes that,
“Hamilton’s farewell letter to his wife said that if he told her in advance
what he was about to do, it would ‘unman’ him,” claiming he acted selfishly.
Her reading of the sentence is accurate; her conclusion is not, let us go
further. In the paragraph he affirms his love for all his family, makes clear
the place of honor in his decision, declares his regret of leaving her, and of
her anguish at the outcome; but the last sentence swept aside all the curtains
of his soul to allow an intimacy reserved for his beloved, where he lays bare
his apprehensions of what was to be a tragic encounter, “Nor could I dwell on
the topic [of leaving you in death] lest it should unman me.” Hamilton was
communicating on the deepest level where the souls of lovers meet, and
Elizabeth was there with him.
There are those moments when
Hamilton disappointed, as all men do. But when we put our books away for the
evening and reflect on the men and women who people our history, I do not
think it would be nearly so interesting without our swashbuckling Hamilton;
moreover, if one were to listen closely one might hear the voices of some eminently interesting associates: “James Wilson’s cold, cutting logic,
Gouverneur Morris’s easy ironic flow, Roger Sherman’s drawling Yankee common
sense; Madison’s quiet, extraordinary performance day after day.” The voices of
history can make good company.
Robert’s disparagement only points
out her poor understanding of honor. She dares to make of Elizabeth a puppet,
and of Hamilton a villain. If she were to harken to honor’s sighs
Elizabeth might instruct her. Fiscal concerns were not the source of
Elizabeth’s grief but Robert’s invention to besmirch her husband. It is
beyond the pale to slander these innocents because one is unhappy with the
placement of women on our currency. She reasons like a mean drunk to persuade the
unwary of her sober wisdom.
Furthermore, she and her feminist
company have set themselves up as preceptors of honor for women. How dare they?
They have made themselves odious to honorable women. Let us recur to a scene of
war, when the enemy pour themselves over the conquered dead to claim their
spoils. Even the semiconscious might appreciate the great reserves of courage
to be found in those that men gave their lives to protect. In this terrible way
the courage of men and women, and even children, is equally revealed. And in
this way feminists show themselves to be worthy of the contempt they so
liberally apply to history’s courageous women, and, yes, even children.
Moreover, in this way history reminds us of the deep love and respect mutually
reflected in some women and men for each other. They are not forgotten.
Robert’s is an inelegant voice who
would have us believe feminists are omniscience incarnate. Nevertheless, she
and her feminist cohort are more likely to sell ones little boys and girls to
Congress than to exert the effort to understand anything but their cravings and
itches.
Virtue shall never rest in their
souls; they are like cows that prefer the company of steers.
As to a woman’s “rightful” place on our currency, I confess
my ignorance of where this is located. But it seems our republic is working it
out. Congratulations to the honorable Harriet Tubman. Her memory will make good
company.
I HAVE THE HONOR TO BE,
LYNN SWARTOS
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