Dear Mr. Adams, 

 

It has been over 200 years since you walked along the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia and the dirt paths of your farm near Quincy. Of how my humble words in this letter may reach your eyes after all these generations, separated by our respective eras, I cannot fathom the greatness of that mystery. So I will leave that to the divine knowledge of God in heaven.  

 

But perhaps that mysterious puzzle, in some small way, approaches the greatness of the distance between your fair commonwealth of Massachusetts and my home state, found five thousand miles away, far beyond the North American continent in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean on several beautiful islands, unknown to you, called Hawaii.  

 

However, allow me to begin my letter with a story about another island – all the way across the North American continent and beyond the Atlantic to that island you know rather intimately – England.  

 

It was the summer of 2003. I had the great pleasure of visiting the charming town of Stratford-upon-Avon and walking through the home of William Shakespeare, undoubtedly the greatest writer in the history of the English language. And I would add, in all likelihood, any language.  

 

One memory stands out in my mind. I came to a room where admirers down through the ages had signed their names on a wall in homage to the great Bard. Amidst the myriad of signatures, my gaze fell upon a signature that caught my attention and immediately raised my hopes: J Adams. J Adams?! I thought to myself could it be? Could I be walking in your footsteps from over 200 years ago? Could I be tracing your ancient paths through this quaint country house? But I quickly convinced myself that with such a common name as Adams, it probably was somebody else.  

 

And then I saw it. The crowning proof. Right next to J Adams was another signature — T Jefferson! Adams & Jefferson. Adams & Jefferson! The north and south poles of the American Revolution, all the way here in a country town in England! It was a thrill seeing your signatures. I surmise you two came to pay your respects to Mr. Shakespeare together when you served as ministers to England and France, respectively, in the 1780's. Perhaps it was in 1785, or was it 1786? 

 

It was a remarkable blessing of fate because I had just finished reading the pivotal book that would change my outlook on life – Founding Brothers by Joseph J. Ellis. The premise of that book was that you, Mr. Jefferson, and the rest of your amazing generation were more like brothers to each other, and not so much wise, all-knowing fathers of a great nation. That you were all improvising the whole business. That rather than a well thought-out plan, you started a grand experiment — an experiment in nationhood and an experiment in a new form of government. 

 

Anyway, because of that seminal book, I grew to love the American Revolution, U.S. history, and the American experiment in self-government. In its pages, I became acquainted with you and your good friend, Mr. Jefferson. And I am grateful, and you ought to be, too, that Mr. Ellis paints a quite positive picture of your role in the great revolution. 

 

In the years that followed, I devoured as many books about the American Revolution as I could get my hands on. As someone who leans toward dedication, order, and passion, I have actually kept a running log of all the books I have read about the American Revolution — and that number is currently up to forty-one! 

 

Of these books, eleven were specifically about you. For you quickly became my favorite Founding Father, if you will forgive my use of that term. My family became accustomed to hearing a snippet from me about John Adams this, or John Adams that. And they loved making snide comments, in derision and jest, but with a tinge of love, of my tremendous appreciation for you. 

 

Most people in my generation, even those who think they know something about American history, think of you as the second president of the United States, the one between the administrations of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. They usually think of your one term as president as proof that you were not very popular, or important. 

 

Little do these Americans understand the real John Adams in the mosaic of American history. Like Washington before you, you were elected president of the United States as an indication of the great esteem of the people for your place in the American founding. The fact that you had no previous experience in commanding a military force or governing a state did not matter to them. At your election in 1796, you were second to Mr. Washington in public esteem – and ahead of your friend Mr. Jefferson.  

 

For to fully understand you, one needs to consider the three decades before your election as president after Washington. How you were the leading voice against the Stamp Act of 1765. How you were Boston's most prominent lawyer, and Boston was the central core of the revolutionary affair. How you successfully defended the British officers who were accused of murder in the so-called Boston Massacre, resisting your fellow revolutionaries who demanded mob justice and threatened your life. In fact, you will be pleased to know that your legendary appeal from that trial is still often quoted today: “Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence”. 

 

Of course, you and I know that the truly great accomplishment of your life was your leadership in the Second Continental Congress in 1775 and 1776 in declaring independence from England. In selecting George Washington to lead the Continental Army. In writing out your Thoughts on Government in 1776, which served as a blueprint for State constitutions and later, the U.S. Constitution. In creating a government of laws, not men. In developing a system of checks and balances between the powers of the three branches of government. 

 

But the reason that most attracted me to you was your candor. Your lack of pretense. Your disdain for chasing the popular — or the idealistic. Your argumentative and contrarian ways. Your knowledge of the truth that history was almost never clean and simple, but messy. Unlike Mr. Washington and Dr. Franklin, you were not created to strike a grand, majestic pose for posterity. Unlike Mr. Jefferson, you did not believe Americans could magically change their basic nature just by leaving the shackles of Europe, crossing the Atlantic, and breathing the fresh air of a new continent. 

 

This is how I would sum up all of this — of all the Founding Fathers in the revolutionary generation, you were — the most human. 

 

And that was manifested in what I would call the Adams Creed — how you knew that God created all people throughout all history with the human condition, our true nature. This resonated with me. Try as we might, our reason and mind and intellect were no match for our passion and emotions. For the driving force in human history, for countless generations and ages, was not reason, but as you knew, human passion and the heart. That the deeper self-evident truth is that we are all fallen creatures, in need of boundaries and checks and balances for our protection and well-being. We are all at the mercy of our unbridled passion. This is the human condition. And all this you knew. 

 

But alas, it is time to bring my letter to its end. I must say that you, Mr. Adams, have a great deal to do with my letter-writing late in my life. I have been inspired by the letters you and Mr. Jefferson wrote to each other in the last decade or two of your lives on earth. I love what you wrote to Mr. Jefferson in 1813: “You and I, ought not to die, before we have explained ourselves to each other.” Your letters have gained renown as the most profound letter-writing correspondence between two great Americans in all U.S. history. 

 

But I know better. Your letters were special not because you two were part of the great pantheon of Founding Fathers. No, your letters were special because you were good friends. And to you, friendship trumps politics, it trumps disagreements, it trumps nearly everything in life. In my selfish inclination, I would be thrilled to develop a friendship with you. Perhaps God will grant me two decades of a sound mind and body so that I may write many more letters and express my ideas and feelings. With you in heaven with God Almighty, and me on earth in this great nation of America you helped to create, I hope to write letters that would bring both of us joy. And then, when I join you in heaven, we can engage in your preferred communication method – by having a debate, nay an argument, between good friends. 

 

Your new friend, 

Ted at Common Reason