Culture is amorphous; it isn’t immutable. In some way, the borderland descendants accepted the polio vaccine in the Fifties. In some way, the Puritan state of Massachusetts opposed Prohibition — led by a era of Irish Catholic politicians (however banned “Joyful Hour” throughout a spate of drunk-driving accidents in 1983). Fischer writes of the Scots-Irish: The folks of the Southern hill nation area “had been intensely resistant to vary and suspicious of ‘foreigners.’ … In the early twentieth century, they might develop into intensely negrophobic and antisemitic.”
However how does one show such an assertion? The one method is thru the meticulous accumulation of element. Over practically a thousand pages, Fischer describes 22 totally different patterns of habits or “folkways” for every of the 4 cultures — from costume and cooking, to marriage and child-rearing, to governance and felony justice. These culminate in 4 distinctive definitions of liberty. Freedom, he writes, “has by no means been a single thought, however a set of totally different and even opposite traditions in inventive rigidity with one another.”
Right here is the nub of the guide: The Puritan, Cavalier, Quaker and Scots-Irish notions of liberty had been radically totally different, however every supplied a vital pressure of the American thought. The Puritans practiced an “ordered freedom” with the state parceling out liberties: Fishing licenses allowed the freedom to fish. This was an idea that would appear laughable in the Southern hill nation — and would predict our present battle over gun management. Puritan order additionally predicted two of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms: The state supplied “freedom from need” and “freedom from concern” — that’s, freedom maintained by authorities regulation.
The Scots-Irish had been the reverse: Their sense of “pure freedom” was deeply libertarian. You moved to the backcountry in order that you might do what you needed — inside, of course, the ethos of the border tradition. “Pure liberty was not a reciprocal thought. It didn’t acknowledge the proper of dissent or disagreement,” Fischer writes. Scots-Irish leaders had been charismatic — Andrew Jackson was the paragon — and their faith was evangelical, “illiterate emotionalism,” an aristocratic governor of South Carolina sniffed. Honor was valor, a bodily trait (amongst the Puritans and Quakers, honor was religious). The American navy custom, and a disproportionate quantity of its troopers, emerged from the descendants of Scots-Irish warriors in the Appalachian highlands.
The Virginia definition of freedom was complicated, contradictory — and stays problematic. It was hierarchical, the freedom to be unequal. “I’m an aristocrat,” John Randolph of Roanoke stated. “I like liberty; I hate equality.” Freedom was outlined by what it wasn’t. It wasn’t slavery. It was the freedom to enslave. It was a freedom, granted to the plantation masters, to indulge themselves, gamble and debauch. “How is it,” Fischer quotes Samuel Johnson, “that we hear the loudest yelps for liberty amongst the drivers of Negroes?” And but, it was Virginia aristocrats, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, who concocted our founding paperwork. Over time, this plutocratic libertarianism discovered pure allies, if unusual bedfellows, in the fiercely egalitarian Scots-Irish hill nation people. Neither needed to be “dominated” by a powerful central authorities. Take a look at the Covid maps: The regional alliance stays to today.