Harlow Giles Unger (1931–2025)

American history tends to emphasize the lives of a select group of Founding Fathers and largely ignore others. Benjamin Rush falls into the latter category, but as Unger documents, this neglect is unjustified.

Benjamin Rush was born on December 24, 1745, near Philadelphia. He completed medical training at the University of Edinburgh, and practiced for a while in London, where he became friends with Benjamin Franklin. When he returned to Philadelphia to work, his ties to Franklin helped him show more establish relationships with many leading thinkers in the American colonies.

Rush encouraged Thomas Paine to write the pamphlet, “Common Sense,” suggested the title to Paine, contributed ideas for its contents, and helped distribute it. Rush was one of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence, an act of treason at that time that could have gotten him executed.

In 1776 at age 31, Rush married 16-year-old Julia Stockton, with whom he eventually fathered 13 children, although four died shortly after birth. (One of his sons, Richard, born in 1780, later served in the cabinets of James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jackson, James K. Polk, and Zachary Taylor.) Since Rush was away a lot on either medical or political duties, much of what we know of his life comes from his voluminous correspondence with Julia.

During the Revolutionary War, Rush clashed with just about everyone in power over the need for better medical supplies and treatment of injured soldiers, but since George Washington couldn’t even get clothes or food for the troops, “luxuries” such as medical care inevitably fell by the wayside.

Rush was a devout Presbyterian, and his religious faith led him to join the abolitionist movement in Philadelphia, and to help raise money for the African Episcopal Church of Philadelphia.

Unger apprises us that Rush made a great deal of innovations in medicine in the early years of America, including a campaign to treat mental conditions as illnesses rather than crimes (Rush was later dubbed the “father of American psychiatry” by the American Psychiatric Association); a push for geriatric medicine; and encouragement of veterinary medicine, inter alia. He fought for better conditions in prisons, more sanitation in city streets, education for women, and free medical care for the poor. He was appointed to a professorship to the Philadelphia Medical School (which later merged with the University of Pennsylvania Medical School), and wrote the first American chemistry textbook (one of over 85 publications, not including letters and essays).

Rush met John Adams in 1774 and they became close friends, despite the fact that Rush was also close to Jefferson - Adams's ideological opposite, whom Rush met in 1775. Late in life, Rush convinced Jefferson and Adams to reconcile and to begin to correspond with one another again.

Unger spends a great deal of time in the book on Rush’s devotion to the practice of bloodletting for the treatment of just about anything, but especially yellow fever, which was particularly a problem in the hot Philadelphia summers. Rush drew an association between pools of stagnant water and the disease, but had no idea it was the mosquitoes drawn to the water that caused the malady; rather, he thought it was due to inhaling the bad air from the stagnant water. Nevertheless, by his advocacy for better city sanitation, he inadvertently helped eliminate some mosquito breeding grounds. But his obsessive push for bleeding as well as purging of the bowels through calomel (a mercury compound) garnered him vociferous opponents. This “depletion therapy” was based on his belief that all diseases were caused by friction between the blood and blockage of bile in the intestines. Rush was dogmatic, determined, and convinced he had been chosen by God to save people.

An article for the Lancaster Pennsylvania Medical Heritage Museum by Eli Schneck notes:

“His excessive bloodletting and heroic purges with calomel were so extreme that his patients died before they showed signs of mercury poisoning, leading him to believe that people were dying of the disease instead of prescription cure.”libel suit against Cobbett.

He thereby survived (however unjustifiably) the attacks on his credibility and continued to teach depletion theory as standard medical practice. Schneck writes:

“As a gifted lecturer and prolific writer, his theory of medicine spread across the United States and Western Europe. He influenced over 3,000 students at the College of Philadelphia Medical School over the course of his 40 years of teaching. His students and writings are responsible for the infamous heroic age of medicine where patients were bled and purged with a ferocity and horror never seen before in medicine.”

Thus, in 1799, when former President George Washington became ill with an acute respiratory illness, his death was hastened by the removal of over eighty ounces of blood (some 40% of the total blood composition) from his body.

Rush died on April 19, 1813, of “typhus,” which in those days was a rather generic term and could have been pneumonia.

Evaluation: Rush’s legacy is interesting and complex. Unger obviously admires Rush a great deal. But as Baylor Medical Professor Robert North opined:

“Benjamin Rush has been hailed as 'the American Sydenham' [Thomas Sydenham was an influential English physician in the 1600s], 'the Pennsylvania Hippocrates,' the 'father of modern psychiatry,' and the founder of American medicine. The American Medical Association erected a statue of him in Washington, DC, the only physician so honored. A medical school is named after him. He was a prolific and facile writer and a very influential teacher. Yet, the only enduring mark he has left on the history of American medicine is his embarrassing, obdurate, messianic insistence, in the face of all factual evidence to the contrary, on the curative powers of heroic depletion therapy. Rush's thinking was rooted in an unscientific revelation as to the unitary nature of disease, which he never questioned. He viewed nature as a treacherous adversary to be fought on the battleground of his patients' bodies.”

It is presumably because of his controversial medical career that his many contributions to the early political development of the country have been overlooked. Thanks to Unger, a prolific historian of the founding fathers, this omission may be remedied. show less

John Quincy Adams was the amazingly gifted son of John and Abigail Adams. From the time Quincy was very young his parents directed his education, insisting, for example, that, at age seven, he read Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War in the original Greek. When John Adams was appointed by Congress as a commissioner to France, he took Quincy – now ten years old - with him. By age thirteen, Quincy was attending a university in Europe and consorting with lawyers, professors, show more diplomats, and scholars. At age fourteen, he was invited as translator to accompany Francis Dana, the new Russian minister, to the court of Empress Catherine II. Dana spoke no French, but Quincy was proficient in it, among other languages. While the two waited in St. Petersburg to be granted access to Russian officials, Quincy spent his time reading history, economics, poetry, and taught himself to read and write German. Later he became something of an honorary son of Thomas Jefferson.

This was a boy who grew up in rarified company to become a brilliant, eloquent, forward-looking man who was, therefore, as America’s sixth President, unfortunately out of touch with the rest of the American nation. Quincy tried to promote civic improvement, but the Americans pushing out the frontiers of the young country were more interested in bettering their own lots. His pleas for expenditures to upgrade infrastructure and improve commerce and manufacturing fell on deaf ears. His advocacy of programs to promote “the advancement of literature, and the progress of the sciences” elicited contempt.

Quincy was particularly ridiculed by his dumb-and-proud-of-it political rival Andrew Jackson, who quite successfully wore his lack of education as a point of pride. (This is only one of many parallels in this book to the contemporary political scene.) As Unger writes:

"…the majority of Americans… developed a deep resentment for the Harvard scholar who suggested he knew better than they what they needed to know and what they needed to do. They wanted less government, not more. They would read and learn what they liked – or not.”

Andrew Jackson took every opportunity to stoke political dissatisfaction with Quincy. He was furious with him for – as he saw it – having stolen the election from him. The Presidential race in 1824 initially had no clear victor: the votes were split among Jackson, Quincy, Henry Clay of Virginia, and William Crawford of Georgia.

It happened that Quincy and Henry Clay were friends, and shared political ideals. The two met up, and they decided that Clay would toss his delegates’ votes in for Quincy. Upon winning, Quincy then announced that Clay would be Secretary of State. According to the author, there is no evidence it was a direct trade, and in fact, much evidence that it was rather a natural selection by Quincy, but Jackson and his party never forgave Quincy for "buying" the office that should have gone to Jackson. Moreover, they resolved to obstruct him in the Congress at every step of the way in his presidency. (…yet more echoes of contemporary events.) Unger writes:

"Calling themselves Democrats, the new party [of Jackson followers] set out from the first to cripple John Quincy’s administration and ensure his departure after one term. John Quincy tried to forestall the inevitable by offering Jackson a cabinet post as secretary of war, but Jackson all but laughed in his face and refused even to consider serving an administration he was determined to bring down.”

After Quincy’s inevitable defeat to Jackson in 1828, he was prepared to live a life of semi-retirement, but got elected to Congress. He dove into the work whole-heartedly, and soon became a staunch advocate of the abolitionist cause. This too, was an uphill battle ahead of its time. The 24th Congress(1835 – 1837) responded to Quincy’s efforts by instituting the infamous “Gag Rule” in 1836 that resolved:

"All petitions, memorials, propositions, or papers, relating in any way, or to any extent whatsoever, to the subject of slavery or the abolition of slavery shall, without being either printed or referred, be laid on the table, and that no further action whatever shall be had thereon.”

Quincy went on the road to defend himself and freedom of speech to the American people, a step he never took while President. He appealed to church leaders to aid him with the abolitionist cause, calling slavery “a sin before the sight of God.” They responded by inundating Congress with petitions:

"During the 1837-1838 session alone, the American Antislavery Society sent the House 130,200 petitions, with untold thousands of names, to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia; 32,000 petitions to abolish the Gag Rule; 21,200 to forbid slavery in U.S. territories; 22,160 against admitting any new slave states; and 23,160 to abolish the slave trade between states.”

In 1840, Quincy, aged 73, took time out to appear pro bono before the Supreme Court for the defense of the thirty-six Amistad Africans who had been abducted into slavery. The slaves broke their chains, killed the captain and three crewmen, and overpowered the rest of the crew, ordering them to sail for Africa. Unfortunately for the captives, the crew sailed for America instead. The Africans were imprisoned for piracy and murder, and their case was brought to court by abolitionists.

In the Supreme Court, Quincy’s argument delivered on the 24th of February and 1st of March, 1841 had spectators in tears. On March 9, 1841, the Court declared, with only one dissent, “There does not seem to us to be any ground for doubt that these Negroes ought to go free.”

John Quincy continued to serve in Congress, finally collapsing while at his desk and dying two days later on February 23, 1848.

Discussion: One cannot help but admire this brilliant and misunderstood man; this profound patriot, who preferred to face the slings and arrows of his detractors rather than take a position in violation of his principles solely because it would align him with a popular party or faction. [Would that Thomas Jefferson have displayed the same thick skin and intellectual honesty!] He did not demur from making his opinion of slavery known, and from trying to get legislation passed to ensure that “the first and holiest rights of humanity [will not] depend upon the color of the skin”:

"It perverts human reason … to maintain that slavery is sanctioned by the Christian religion, that slaves are happy and contented in their condition, that between master and slave there are ties of mutual attachment and affection, that the virtues of the master are refined and exalted by the degradation of the slave; while at the same time they vent execrations upon the slave trade, curse Britain for having given them slaves, burn at the stake Negroes convicted of crimes for the terror of the example, and writhe in agonies of fear at the very mention of human rights as applicable to men of color. …[T]he bargain between freedom and slavery contained in the Constitution of the United States is morally and politically vicious, inconsistent with the principles upon which alone our Revolution can be justified….”

Evaluation: John Quincy Adams is remarkably unfamiliar to modern Americans considering his brilliance, courage, and contributions to early American government and diplomacy. Unger does an excellent job, as usual, in making this biography readable and consistently interesting. This is the author's twentieth book and sixth biography of a major Founding Father and I have yet to be disappointed in any book I have read by him. He is not only a former Distinguished Visiting Fellow in American History at Mount Vernon, but also a journalist and broadcaster, which I think gives him a good feel for how to present history in an entertaining way. show less

I’m a first-time reader of Lafayette biographies, so I’ll acknowledge that Unger entertains by re-stating the obvious: Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier de la Fayette was a national, military, political and, indeed, a paternal hero to millions in America and France during the American and (several) French revolutions.
There is no doubt that, despite the fact that he was one of the richest French nobles of his time, he was publicly and privately dedicated to republican show more government and a social/economic order that was far more egalitarian than the monarchical and aristocratic structures that prevailed.
Was he a great man? Unger, like many of his biographers, says yes. Lafayette was a courageous battlefield leader, he was an enlightened manorial lord who enhanced the lives of his peasants, and he was both outspoken and fearless, repeatedly, in literally dangerous political situations for a couple decades in Revolutionary and Napoleonic France. Unger amply—even poetically—demonstrates these lifelong characteristics of the man Americans called “our Marquis.”
I also feel obliged to call attention to some countervailing factors that Unger fully describes but does not adequately interpret.
Lafayette put his money where his mouth was. He repeatedly used his great personal wealth to pay and outfit the troops he commanded, when government funds and supplies ran low. I suggest a case could be made that the Marquis, uniquely among American commanders, paid for his military success in the Revolutionary War. Throughout the war, the options and operations of colonial commanders were significantly hindered by short funds and short supplies. If Lafayette had not been able to pay, feed, clothe and arm his troops with his personal resources, could he have been as winning a general as he was? I suspect the answer is “No.”
Some biographers refer to Lafayette as the “victor” at Yorktown in 1781. Unger calls him a “hero” of Yorktown. Lafayette was not the only American general at Yorktown, and he wasn’t the only French general. Lafayette did use his small force to isolate Cornwallis in Yorktown, but he had to wait until Washington, Rochambeau and others arrived with sufficient forces before he participated in the final assaults.
In France he repeatedly declined to step up to the plate and take executive leadership, during the revolutionary and Napoleonic convulsions, when the French people and the contentious military/political factions would have handed the throne or the presidency of France to him on a velvet pillow. The Marquis repeatedly risked his life to defuse explosive situations by his personal, courageous intervention. However, Unger fastidiously details Lafayette’s repeated reluctance to take the final step and take control when, arguably, he could have stabilized dangerous situations, and forestalled or prevented catastrophic consequences, by doing so. Lafayette wasn’t responsible for the violence, but, time after time, he left a void that was unfortunately filled by lesser men.
Was Lafayette a great man? Yes. A successful general? Yes. Was he a really lucky guy? Yes. Did he and his reputation benefit immensely from great wealth and fortuitous circumstance? Yes. Did he live up to his potential in serving France and the French nation? Maybe not.
Just one other thing: Unger profligately demonstrates that Lafayette and Washington had a deeply affectionate man-to-man—explicitly, like father and son—relationship, by using far too many excerpts from their numerous letters. No biggie, but I had to stop reading them about halfway through the book….they bonded, I get it.
More on my blogs:
http://barleyliterate.blogspot.com/
http://historybottomlines.blogspot.com/ show less

Full disclosure here – according to the family genealogist, Benjamin Rush was an ancestor (great-great-great-great grandfather on my mother’s side). Without that apparent connection, it’s doubtful that I would ever have heard of him, let alone been interested in reading this biography. Turns out he was a man of apparently limitless energy, considerable accomplishment, and (if one reads between the lines) capable of being a tremendous pain in the ass.

Author Harlow Giles Unger may be show more forgiven for waxing panegyrical in describing Rush’s accomplishments. Rush signed the Declaration of Independence (along with 55 other delegates), was involved in drafting the Constitution, and even suggested “Common Sense” to writer Thomas Paine for Paine’s pamphlet arguing for independence from England. He hung out with the likes of Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, and George Washington, maintaining frequent correspondence with most of them throughout his lifetime. In addition, Rush was a staunch abolitionist who supported equal rights for women, public education, and prison reform, but opposed capitol punishment. He railed against the production and use of tobacco and alcohol and was involved in the establishment of the African Episcopal Church. In his “spare time”, he practiced and taught medicine, running free clinics for the poor in Philadelphia, produced medical textbooks which remained standard references for decades, and instigated the treatment of mental illness as a disease, essentially inventing the medical specialty now known as psychotherapy. And found time to sire 13 children.

He was also incredibly stubborn and overweeningly proud of his medical achievements, clinging tenaciously to the ancient practice of bleeding and purging for virtually every medical condition while at the same time enthusiastically promoting the use of vaccination against smallpox, lashing out in print and in the lecture hall in support of his beliefs.

In addition to painting a vivid picture of this complicated man, Unger provides occasional side trips through the general history of colonial and post-colonial America. Perhaps the most stunning of these involves the oft-repeated tale of the terrible suffering undergone by Washington’s troops at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777. Most Americans have heard the story of the men literally going barefoot in the snow; few realize that much of the privation came about because supplies and provisions intended for the army were diverted by members of a largely corrupt quartermasters’ corps and sold on the private market.

The book’s 249-page length keeps the story moving at a brisk pace, and the extensive appendices provide plenty of trails for the avid amateur historian to follow. Readers interested in the early history of the nation will find it a worthwhile read – even without a family connection. show less