Why Bad History Isn't Just Bad, It's Dangerous

Robert O'Connell does not set out to tell a particularly new story about George Washington's Revolutionary War experience. There is nothing inherently wrong with repackaging an old story; it is not that different from Philippa Gregory writing one hundred novels on English royalty or the creators of NCIS producing different series set in different cities. I admittedly have consumed Gregory's books and the NCIS franchise with great satisfaction. There is also nothing wrong with scholars producing syntheses that bring together decades of scholarship with a new perspective.

I will be the first to argue that there is still much to study and examine about the Founding Era, including the founding generation—especially with the production of new volumes of edited paper collections and more evidence being uncovered every day. I am so certain that this history should be written, I wrote a book about the subject, The Cabinet: George Washington and the Creation of an American Institution (2020). In our politically charged climate, knowing the foundations of our political system, political culture, and government norms and precedence could not be more important. While some of my colleagues may disagree, historians do not need to be the only ones telling these stories. Stephen Brumwell, Alexis Coe, and Candice Millard are great examples of independent scholars producing rigorous scholarship that also happens to be a delight to read.

The problem with O'Connell's Revolutionary is that it is nothing like those authors' work. It is, by contrast, the worst kind of founders hagiography. It is based on shoddy footnoting, irresponsible citation practices, and dishonest reporting—all flaws that an average reader would not know to look for unless they are intimately familiar with the archival material. Worse, it is likely to make a lot of money because it promotes American exceptionalism and the "Great Man" mythological version of Washington.

The first major issue is O'Connell's treatment of evidence for his claims. Of the 1,071 footnotes in the book, only 348 are primary sources—or 32.5%. The rest cite secondary literature, primarily biographies by Ron Chernow, Joseph Ellis, and Edward Lengel. O'Connell repeats many rumors and myths about Washington with little supporting evidence. For example, he writes that Sally Fairfax, "remained the great passion of [Washington's] life," despite being the wife of his close friend George William Fairfax. O'Connell also speculates that while Washington was recovering from a severe bout of dysentery and a racking cough in the fall of 1757, "they became lovers, if only briefly" (pp. 41–42, 49). He offers no evidence that Sally ever visited George while he was ill, or that he carried a torch for her for the remainder of his life. A basic understanding of the symptoms of dysentery (severe diarrhea) further challenges this assertion that his sickness would kindle their passion for each other into a torrid affair.

At other points, O'Connell makes outlandish claims and cites other scholars as evidence. A bit of sleuthing in the footnotes undermines these citations. When describing the end of the Seven Years' War, O'Connell argues that King George III's "only motivation" for keeping regiments in North America after the fighting concluded was his desire to do right by his troops (p. 56). Any historian familiar with the end of the Seven Years' War might raise an eye-brow at this claim, perhaps thinking of the ongoing French threat to British holdings in North America or the ministry's desire to keep conflict between colonists and Native Americans in check. To support this assertion, O'Connell cites Robert Middlekauf's Glorious Cause (1982). When I checked the listed source, I found that Middlekauff had written that the king's desire to care for the regiments was one of many factors that led the ministry to permanently station regiments in North America.¹

Perhaps this instance was a harmless exaggeration, but O'Connell also mixes...