SOURCE: "Franklin D. Roosevelt in Historical Writing, 1950-1957," in The South Atlantic Quarterly, Vol. LVII, No. 1, Winter, 1958, pp. 104-26.

Almost ten years ago, David Potter contributed an article to the Yale Review entitled "Sketches for the Roosevelt Portrait."¹ Potter pointed out that rarely had there been an opportunity to document so well the life of a public figure as prominent as Franklin D. Roosevelt. Almost all the major figures associated with him save Stalin, Marshall, and, of course, the President himself, had already contributed their memoirs. Roosevelt had made his contribution by providing for a magnificent research center at Hyde Park in which an almost unbelievable cubic footage of documents on the Roosevelt era had been housed. Since then, although Stalin has died almost as inscrutably as he lived, Marshall has agreed to the establishment at Lexington, Virginia, of a depository for his own papers, where an able professional is already in charge.

In 1949, when Potter wrote his article, many of the books on Roosevelt consisted of the memoirs of his associates. Of these, most were highly favorable in their appraisal of the New Deal and of F. D. R.'s part in it. This is not to say that they were entirely uncritical. Indeed, the most useful of these, those by Frances Perkins, Raymond Moley, Jim Farley, and Robert Sherwood, clearly pointed to weaknesses in character and procedures. However, the most consistently hostile of F. D. R.'s critics was John Flynn, whose books combine research with waspishness, and who showed, as Potter pointed out, some amusing inconsistencies in his selection of illustrations to prove the points that he wanted to make.

In addition to the memoirs were many monographs concerning the Roosevelt story, written before 1949. These include histories of New Deal agencies, which vary from slick-paper officials to the coldly objective analyses of the Brookings Institution. There were also at least three important general works, which continue to be useful references for any student of twentieth-century American history. Of these the one of perhaps the most general interest, because of its skilful organization and straightforward literary style, is Dixon Wecter's The Age of the Great Depression (1948), the last volume to date in the History of American Life Series. Another book equally thoughtful, more indicative of the author's predispositions, more detailed on the economic implications of the New Deal, and more pessimistic as to its accomplishments, is Broadus Mitchell's Depression Decade (1947). Perhaps most significant in its contribution, although more pedestrian in its approach, is Basil Rauch's The History of the New Deal (1944). Rauch's significance in New Deal historiography lies in his careful development of the thesis of the "Two New Deals," the "First" stressing recovery through increased prices and catering to large industry and the "big farmer," the "Second" emphasizing reform, partial to labor and all farmers, and aiming at social security and increased purchasing power. This thesis, or variants thereof, has crept into the textbooks, and has been generally accepted by most writers on the New Deal. If used cautiously it makes good sense and is a useful teaching device, although some of the similarities between the two "New Deals" are just as important as the differences.

The coming of the Second World War not only changed the direction of the Roosevelt administrations, but also shifted the emphasis of the writing about F. D. R. Most of the significant writing during the forties was on questions relating to foreign policy. Indeed writing became so brisk that schools of historians developed, and bitterness was created which probably was more acute than after the First World War. Revisionism has, in fact, become sufficiently controversial to inspire a number of historiographical articles; consequently, it would be mere repetition to devote much space to foreign policy here. Of the four principal historiographical articles, the one by William Appleman Williams (Oregon Historical Quarterly, September, 1956) is itself a highly opinionated yet stimulating critique of the course of twentieth-century American foreign policy. Robert H. Ferrell, writing on "Pearl Harbor and the Revisionists" in the Historian (Spring, 1955) is somewhat more favorably inclined. Louis Morton is firmly objective in writing "Pearl Harbor in Perspective, A Bibliographical Survey," for the United States Naval Institute Proceedings (April, 1955), while Wayne S. Cole's excellent article in the Mississippi Valley Historical Review (March, 1957) is analytical and equally objective.

Although in the fifties fewer memoirs of those intimately associated with Roosevelt have been published, there have been several which have made a significant contribution to an understanding of his administration. Of these probably the most important is a series of articles written by Rexford Guy Tugwell, one of the original brain trusters.² Tugwell's articles unfortunately do not form any easily recognizable sequence. They are repetitious; occasionally, the organization is difficult to follow, and the wording requires alert reading lest the subtleties seem to be contradictory. At the same time, Tugwell, perhaps more than any of the Roosevelt associates, exhibits a brilliant mind grappling with the economic, social, constitutional, and political problems that Roosevelt faced. Indeed, he implies that these problems were partly intellectual and that their solution required a psychological adjustment. In other words, according to Tugwell, the problems of the depression could not be solved by simply using past remedies. Obviously, the twenties offered no solution, and even though Tugwell acknowledges a relationship between the earlier Progressive Movement and the New Deal, he could see few precedents in progressivism which would help solve the problems of the depression and the postdepression years.

Perhaps more important, the Tugwell articles bring out the differences among the Roosevelt advisers. Tugwell quite frankly admits that he differed with many of the decisions that F. D. R. made. Roosevelt, though an experimenter, was more conservative and more of a compromiser than was Tugwell. Yet the latter concludes that Roosevelt was the master in his house, that he had general objectives toward which he was heading, and that he knew that many of his compromises were inglorious. Tugwell concludes: " . . . he would be the last to gloss over the ordeals he underwent, to belittle the baseness of the struggles he often had to carry on, or to claim that his ends were not more noble than his means."

Less important for an understanding of Roosevelt than Tugwell's articles, but perhaps equally important for an understanding of the New Deal, is Marriner Eccles's Beckoning Frontiers (1951). This book must have enraged Eccles's fellow-bankers, because it describes one of them whom the depression had made into a Keynesian before he had read Keynes. This intellectual shift makes fascinating reading, as does Eccles's account of the effect of the depression upon banks, of his joining the New Deal, and of his activities on the Federal Reserve Board.

Several other memoirs of Roosevelt advisers throw light on various aspects of the New Deal. Jesse H. Jones's Fifty Billion Dollars, My Thirteen Years with the R. F. C. (1951) reflects the point of view of a self-assured conservative. Samuel I. Rosenman's Working with Roosevelt (1951) is somewhat disappointing as a book by one who was closely associated with F. D. R. for many years, but at the same time, in addition to what it shows about speech-making, it does illuminate some little known events. Perhaps of greatest interest in this respect was Roosevelt's approaching Willkie to organize a new liberal party. Harold L. Ickes's three-volume diary (1953, 1954) is one of the most amazing documents of all because of its success in at times enlightening and at other times obscuring the events and the man it describes. Louis B. Wehle's Hidden Threads of History: Wilson through Roosevelt (1953) provides trenchant comments upon his association with Roosevelt. Here is a somewhat critical appraisal of the TVA and a balanced character sketch of Roosevelt himself. Finally, Donald Richberg's My Hero, the Indiscreet Memoirs of an Eventful But Unheroic Life (1954), is important for its treatment of the NRA.

One of the most revealing memoirs could have been that of Roosevelt's earliest political advisor, the "gnomelike" Louis McHenry Howe. Unfortunately Howe was not interested so much in posterity as he was in "making Franklin President," and thus he wrote little if anything about their association. However, Lela Stiles, a newspaper columnist who joined the Roosevelt entourage in 1928, has written a biography of Howe, The Man behind Roosevelt: The Story of Louis McHenry Howe (1954). Because of Miss Stiles's close association with Howe and Roosevelt, her book has more the flavor of a memoir than a biography. It is useful in describing the techniques of the little man who as a twentieth-century political adviser has yet to meet his match. At the same time, it is chiefly revealing as a document describing the enthusiasm and loyalty of the little-known personal retinue which became attached to Roosevelt from time to time through the years, of which Miss Stiles herself was one.

Memoirs have done more to illuminate the roles of advisers of Roosevelt and the administrative figures of the New Deal than of the congressional leadership of the era. Too frequently, the New Deal is thought of simply in terms of F. D. R. and the brain trust, with little realization of the role that Congress played in it. Or, if Congress is considered, the Roosevelt critic frequently describes it as a rubber stamp. Yet both houses of Congress during the Roosevelt era were dominated by tough-minded politicians, most of whom had emerged from the jungle of local politics upon the national scene many years before and had kept themselves on the national scene by being ever responsive to the demands of their local constituencies. A surprising number of New Deal measures were originated by Congressmen; and each enactment had to receive the approval of Congress, else it would not become law. Unfortunately, few of the congressional giants of the New Deal era have written their memoirs.

Since 1950, however, three of importance have been published. Of these, The Private Papers of Senator Vandenberg concentrates only on the period of the war where Vandenberg obviously made his greatest contribution. However, the autobiographies of Alben Barkley and Tom Connally do indicate something of the problems of a Democratic Congressman throughout the Roosevelt regime. Barkley's That Reminds Me (1954) does not provide a detailed narrative of congressional activity during the New Deal. It is important in indicating the scope of the economic disaster; it discusses the "Dear Alben" letter and criticizes Roosevelt's tactics at the time of the Supreme Court fight. It describes Barkley's support for the third term, his disagreement with F. D. R. over wartime tax policy, and the vice-presidential nomination of 1944. Critical of Roosevelt at several points, Barkley nevertheless concludes that, although not a profound thinker, Roosevelt "had a deep and penetrating insight into both the philosophy and the mechanics of government," "had the instinct of a virtuoso for playing practical politics," and was "one of the most fascinating personalities" that he (Barkley) had ever known.

My Name is Tom Connally (1954), written by Alfred Steinberg in collaboration with the Senator, gets more to the heart of congressional relationships during the New Deal than does the Barkley volume. Connally, a congressman from Texas since 1917, a senator since 1928, was in a strategic place to see what went on in the maneuvering for the Democratic presidential nomination of 1932. Later he worked closely with Vice-President Garner, who, according to Connally, considered his own beliefs less important than the Roosevelt program. Connally obviously had little affection for insurgents such as Norris and Wheeler, but respected the solid party men such as Ashurst, McKellar, and even Republican McNary. He broke with Roosevelt over the Supreme Court measure, in part, because the latter ignored the congressional leadership in preparing the bill. In general, he turned up his nose at the brain trust and insisted that Roosevelt unquestionably made his own decisions. But there is no question that the legislative was the most important branch of the government in Connally's opinion. As he said about the first years of the New Deal:

My afternoons on the Senate floor during the early period of the recovery program were a hectic conglomeration of debate and politicking. President Roosevelt originated much of the program with the advice of his Brain Trust and cabinet officers. But there were also many bills that stemmed directly from Capitol Hill. Besides, all of the legislation had to be passed by Congress, and this required constant prodding from the White House plus a smooth-working congressional leadership.

But, even though the student of the New Deal will continue to hope for more memoirs of participants, the principal contributions since 1950 have been biographies and monographic studies. Of these, the earlier ones were based largely on interviews or printed sources. In this group, two biographies are for different reasons highly rewarding books. John Gunther does not himself consider his Roosevelt in Retrospect (1950) a biography. It is not written chronologically or in narrative form. In fact, it is written so much in the same chummy style of Gunther's other popular volumes that it can quite aptly be given the subtitle "Inside F. D. R." Perhaps it can best be described as a sympathetic character sketch with profuse illustrations. Here is a partial description of the President: too eager to please, devious, garrulous, patient, energetic, self-confident, optimistic, politically skilful, with a broad but not subtle sense of humor, simply but not introspectively religious, tolerant, intuitive rather than logical, curious, casual, practical, ingenious, flexible—and the adjectives could go on and on. Perhaps more sensitively than anyone else, Gunther has brought out the impact of polio upon the Roosevelt career, an episode which provides an opportunity for the author quite cautiously to introduce a touch of psychology. In short, although Gunther makes little effort to examine the era historically, and although some of his evidence is somewhat uncritically accepted, the Roosevelt portrait as he paints it will be very difficult to forget.

It is perhaps unfair to compare Harold F. Gosnell's Champion Campaigner, Franklin D. Roosevelt (1952) with the Gunther volume. Whereas the latter is thick and rich in detail, the former is pared down to the bones. Although Gosnell's purpose is to use the Roosevelt career to explain "what makes for success in American politics," he uses the historical approach and provides a comprehensive narrative. The focus, however, is upon Roosevelt, not upon the New Deal. His conclusions are not startling and boil down quite simply to the contention that Roosevelt's political success was based in part upon certain qualities as a campaigner, of which some were "inherited" and others were acquired by experience. Most important, through these qualities and through his skill in putting them across to the electorate he came to exemplify the American tradition; thus he won popular confidence and, through his powers of persuasion, the acceptance of his program.

Neither Gunther nor Gosnell have attempted to provide any comprehensive analyses of the New Deal or of the diplomacy of the Roosevelt Era. The new volumes in the Chronicles of America series, now edited by Allan Nevins, have attempted to do this. Of the four volumes that cover the Roosevelt era, Denis W. Brogan's The Era of Franklin D. Roosevelt (1950) is probably the most satisfactory. Concerned almost exclusively with political and economic developments, it nevertheless moves into the war period, but only in as far as political questions such as the election of 1944 are concerned. The gaps left by Brogan in foreign policy and wartime activities are filled by Allan Nevins's The New Deal and World Affairs (1950), a skilfully written, comprehensive, completely sympathetic survey of Rooseveltian foreign policy to the founding of the United Nations; Fletcher Pratt's War for the World (1950) is concerned exclusively with military (principally naval) operations, and Eliot Janeway's The Struggle for Survival (1951) takes a highly subjective view of wartime administration. Of these, the volume by Pratt should not have been written, being a model of bad historical writing; the volume by Janeway, though thought-provoking and intelligent, does not belong in the series because of its lack of understanding of what constitutes historical writing (South Atlantic Quarterly, L, January, 1951, 109-121).

In a sense, the Gosnell biography marks the transition from the Roosevelt books of the early 1950's to those coming out later in the decade. The distinguishing feature of the more recent books is the exploitation of the manuscripts and documents now made available in the Roosevelt library at Hyde Park. The fact that these and other masses of government manuscripts are generally available has made it possible for scholars to be much further ahead in exploring the career of a public figure of such importance than would normally be the case. Roosevelt scholarship, for example, has almost reached the same stage today as that of Wilson scholarship, with the notable exception that more scholarly articles are available on Wilson.

The two most formidable undertakings of the decade in Roosevelt scholarship are those by the Harvard historians, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. and Frank Freidel. Schlesinger is projecting a multi-volume work on "The Age of Roosevelt" of which the first volume, The Crisis of the Old Order, was published in 1957. Freidel contemplates several more volumes in his biography of Franklin D. Roosevelt, of which three have already appeared. At first glance, it might seem that the two works must necessarily duplicate one another, but actually it is obvious from a study of Schlesinger's first volume that he is interpreting his project in quite different terms from the strictly biographical approach of Freidel.

Indeed one could almost say that Roosevelt's part in The Crisis of the Old Order is purely incidental. Schlesingers thesis appears to be that the New Deal was rooted firmly in earlier twentieth-century experience and that "the crisis of the old order" brought about by the Depression offered an opportunity to work out a reform program. This thesis, it should be noted, is somewhat different from the position of Richard Hofstadter in his Pulitzer-prizewinning The Age of Reform . . . (1955), who considers the New Deal a "new departure" in American reform movements. Schlesinger's thesis is, of course, not a particularly novel one: the question as to whether the New Deal was "evolutionary" or "revolutionary" has been argued almost as vigorously as has World War II revisionism; nor will readers of Link, Gabriel, Commager, Mowry, Goldman, Fine, F. A. Allen, and a few other writers on early twentieth-century America find most of Schlesinger's subject matter sensationally new. He has, however, provided a neat synthesis of the political and intellectual currents of progressivism which support his thesis. His story broadens as it reaches the twenties, where he describes "the economics of Republicanism" and the age of business together with the rumblings of discontent among labor groups, reformers, and intellectuals. But the Depression provides the crux of his story, and 400 pages of a 500-page book are devoted to the onset of the depression and the election of 1932, with a 100-page flashback on the Roosevelt prepresidential career.

Schlesingers most telling contribution is to keep alive for this generation the sense of horror at the effects of the depression. As the forties brought a wartime prosperity and as the postwar boom and the Iron Curtain maintained it, economic disaster has seemed remote. To the generation of the fifties the New Deal is simply Roosevelt and a mass of no longer particularly controversial legislation. The idea that the economic heart of the nation could stop beating not much more than twenty-five years ago is unbelievable. The fact that it did stop beating, that people were freezing and starving, that ominous sounds of revolt were being heard not only from those physically suffering but from businessmen who so far were still receiving dividends must be sensed, if one is to understand the New Deal. Schlesinger has chosen his statistics and his incidents skilfully; he has not exaggerated, and the climate of the Depression, at least by one who has lived through it, can be sensed again through his pages.

A more difficult question to determine, however, is whether Schlesinger, in his obvious sympathy for the New Deal, has been fair to Hoover. Schlesinger acknowledges that Hoover "brought great areas of the economy . . . into the orbit of national action," and that "he breached the walls of local responsibility as had no President in American history." But, aside from these observations, his appraisal of the unfortunate Republican is devastating. "Infatuation with the balanced budget." "Gloom and insecurity." "Dragged despairingly along by events." "His was the tragedy of a man of high ideals whose intelligence froze into inflexibility and whose dedication was smitten by self-righteousness." These are characteristic expressions of the indictment, and it is time that someone took direct issue with the Hoover biographers, who have seen no weaknesses in Hoover economics. At the same time, it is perhaps unfortunate that Schlesinger, whose political activities have made him suspect by many, is the one who has taken such strong issue with these writers.

The case for Hoover can be more strongly stated. It is not fair to assert unequivocally, as Schlesinger does, that Hoover considered the economy without defect in 1929 and 1930. He had been critical of the economic structure, especially the banking system, when he became President, and he continued to be. To say that "few men had seemed to care less about the Sherman Act" is also unfair. Hoover may not have been a crusader for small business, but he believed firmly in competition. He was a trust-buster rather of the Theodore Roosevelt school than that of Brandeis. Nor does Schlesinger give Hoover his due on the critical unemployment-public-works issue.

Admittedly, Hoover developed an "obsession" for a balanced budget; admittedly also, the stress upon the sound economy, the skepticism toward the efficacy of public works, the misinterpretation of statistics on the number of unemployed left him open to accusations of inflexibility and heartlessness. At the same time, Hoover did launch an unprecedented program of public works. Moreover, it is a questionable assertion (p. 232) that "in December, 1931, he formally repudiated the contention, once his own, that further expansion of public works would aid recovery." The evidence for this statement appears to be the report of a special committee appointed by Hoover to study "the desirability of the further expansion of public works as an aid to recovery." Hoover himself did not take quite this position, although he did rule out public works that were not self-liquidating. Moreover, Schlesinger does not put sufficient stress upon such statements of Hoover as that of February 3, 1931, in which he pledged that if voluntary and local agencies were unable "to prevent hunger and suffering in my country, I will ask the aid of every resource of the Federal government because I would no more see starvation among our Countrymen than would any Senator or Congressman. . . . "

Schlesingers flashback upon the Roosevelt career and his discussion of the election of 1932 are the areas in which there is considerable overlapping with other recent writers. But in most instances the writers differ so fundamentally in scope and objective that the duplication is not significant. Only Frank Freidel, for example, is attempting a biography of Roosevelt that will certainly run to six volumes. Probably no one will ever again attempt one in such detail, since it is unlikely that the manuscripts and memoirs which will become available in the future will materially change Freidel's interpretation, at least of the pre-presidential years.

His is not flashy biographical writing, but it is more than just methodical. Schlesinger's style is more brilliant, but that very fact leaves him open to charges of exaggeration or misinterpretation. Freidel's style is appropriate to the nature and scope of the subject. It is simple, clear, and direct. He has combed periodicals and newspapers and has used the unique Oral History Project at Columbia University. Most important of all are his finds in the large manuscript collections open to researchers on twentiethcentury politics topped by those at the Roosevelt Library. The style, the depth of the research, perhaps above all the tone, mark this as a distinguished biography.

The work, moreover, demonstrates the value of such biographical studies in providing the basis for historical synthesis. A study of the Progressive era, for example, must be based upon the way in which it manifested itself on the local level. In other words, countless studies of local "progressivism" are necessary even to make it possible to define the term. Roosevelt began as a local politician who was fortunate in many things, such as his name and background, who combined his good fortune with attention to detail and an awareness of the popular issues of the day. Before the war, he rode the tide of progressivism, which brought him at times to a break with Tammany, but he was careful never actually to sever his ties, and the regulars found it difficult to describe him as a bolter. The Roosevelt career exemplifies Democratic progressive politics in New York state.

The Freidel biography also illuminates the preparedness campaign, a facet of the Wilson administration hitherto obscure. Somewhat ironically perhaps, after becoming Assistant Secretary of the Navy, F. D. R. sometimes found his relations with the Wilson administration similar to his former relations with Tammany. His views in the bitter preparedness agitation more closely paralleled those of his uncle, of Lodge, and of the Navy professionals than those of his superiors, Wilson, Bryan, and Daniels. Freidel's treatment, particularly if read in conjunction with the much more subjective half-memoir, The End of Innocence (1954), by Jonathan Daniels, clearly brings out the bitter controversies that developed. Wilson and Daniels at times became furious with the youthful interventionist, yet when the chips were down, he always fell back into line; to him the Administration and the Party came first.

Freidel's second volume picks up the story with the end of the war and carries it until 1928. The subject matter of the book is somewhat thinner than in the first volume, for these were the years during which Roosevelt was almost entirely immobilized by polio. Freidel keeps the focus on Roosevelt, his painfully slow recovery from the disease, his dabbling in business, yet always keeping in close touch with the political scene. Again, however, the Roosevelt story is almost as important in emphasizing an aspect of twentieth-century American politics which usually remains obscured in the inadequate general histories of the twenties: what was happening to the Democratic party in the post-Wilson years of national defeat. The Democratic party was in fact struggling for existence, and F. D. R.'s fertile brain was active in formulating schemes for its rehabilitation, while Louis McHenry Howe was planning Roosevelt's part in the process. By the mid-twenties Roosevelt was already widely respected in his party; only his physical disability prevented him from being a serious contender for the presidency both in 1924 and 1928.

With 1928 Roosevelt's public career becomes complicated once again. Now, in addition to being Governor of the State of New York, itself one of the most difficult of executive positions, he was also running for President of the United States. For the accomplishments of the governorship, Freidel's third volume may be supplemented by Bernard Bellush's Franklin D. Roosevelt as Governor of New York (1955). Based upon newspapers, periodical articles, memoirs, and the Roosevelt papers, this volume is a well documented, clearly written narrative. Bellush's assessment is highly favorable, although he is critical of Roosevelt's initial handling of Tammany, and he concludes that much of the Governor's program originated with Al Smith. At the same time, he insists that Governor Roosevelt educated the public, dealt skilfully with obstinate Republican legislatures, handled Tammany with "unusual executive ability and political acumen," and pushed through much constructive legislation. Indeed Bellush is convinced that through his activities as governor, Roosevelt "had already formulated the basis for a program when he campaigned for the presidency in 1932."

In spite of the clarity of the study, Franklin D. Roosevelt as Governor of New York has a certain air of unreality because it is devoted so exclusively to the governorship. The reader is quite apt to overlook the fact that, at the same time, Roosevelt was running for the presidency. In this aspect of the political story Freidel's skill is perhaps most notable. In fact, one of Freidel's major theses is that F. D. R. was at the same time acting as governor and running for the presidency. Within a few weeks of his election as governor, Freidel concludes, Roosevelt had "without waste effort quietly erected .. . the scaffolding for both the governorship of New York and the candidacy for President in 1932."

This scaffolding consisted of a program and a tightly knit political organization. The program included more emphasis upon the farmer than did Al Smith's and a continued emphasis upon conservation and public power. Immediately after the market crashed, F. D. R. no more than Hoover was at first particularly concerned. In fact, he criticized Hoover's radicalism and preached Manchester liberalism. As conditions became worse, however, New York experienced many of the elements that were to go into the New Deal. As Freidel points out, for example, F. D. R. was a pioneer in working on the problem of relief for the unemployed.

Freidel shows that the building-up of the Roosevelt political organization was a masterpiece of co-operation, foresight, detailed planning, and timing. Here old line Democrats such as House, Hull, and Baruch combined with politicians more closely associated with the Roosevelt name such as Ed Flynn, Farley, and Howe and brain trusters such as Rosenman, Moley, and Tugwell. Letters, tours, speeches, physical examinations, public opinion polls, somewhat questionable maneuvers about Tammany and the League of Nations—all had their part in making Roosevelt President.

In spite of serious criticism of his methods at several of these points, Freidel's general conclusion is that Roosevelt's record indicated that greatness lay ahead. Roosevelt, Freidel concludes, clearly was in command of his forces as they advanced into the campaign. In retrospect, his qualifications for political office seem clear: "his years of careful training in practical politics," his familiarity with foreign affairs and defense policy acquired during World War I, "his superb administration of the State of New York" under adverse circumstances, his "humble willingness to learn," his "phenomenal capacity for hard work." In comparison with these, his principal weaknesses—"his tendencies to compromise and to accept things on the surface"—seem very small indeed.

Another indication of the direction which the Roosevelt presidency might follow and which is implicit in both Freidel and Schlesinger may be found in an important book, The Economic Thought of Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Origins of the New Deal (1956), by Daniel R. Fusfeld. Unlike most writers on Roosevelt, Fusfeld insists that Roosevelt was quite knowledgeable on things economic, that in fact he studied with considerable care the economic literature on a subject which at the moment concerned him. At the same time Fusfeld argues that Roosevelt's knowledge was not primarily theoretical, but largely derived from experience.

In short, Fusfeld would contend that by the time Roosevelt was elected President, he was well educated economically in "progressive" economics. A family background that accepted social reform, moderately liberal courses in economics at Harvard, debating economic issues as a candidate for local office and as a supporter of Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, being forced to make decisions on controversial questions involving business, labor, and government during World War I, self-education during the twenties culminating in the complexities of the New York governorship—all this, Fusfeld clearly implies, puts the burden of proof on those who have asserted that Roosevelt had no understanding of economics.

But Fusfeld's study ends with Roosevelt's election to the presidency in 1932, the same date at which Freidel chose to end the third volume of his biography. Such a tantalizing ending has undoubtedly caused many of their readers to speculate as to whether Fusfeld would find the same consistency in Roosevelt's economic thought during the presidential years, and whether Freidel will modify his essentially favorable appraisal as he proceeds through the thirties and into the forties. If the conclusions of two other recent writers on Roosevelt and the New Deal are any criteria, no objective writer would be able to find consistency, and favorable conclusions would have to be seriously qualified.

The writer of a general work who in recent years has provided the most serious indictment of the New Deal is a distinguished American historian of Stanford University, Edgar E. Robinson. Robinson assumed the task of providing an appraisal of the New Deal as the result of the will of Mr. J. Brooks B. Parker, a Philadelphia businessman. The will left $25,000 to be used in subsidizing a study of the impact of Roosevelt "without fear, favor, or prejudice." Robinson's earlier studies of elections made him a logical candidate for this assignment, although his association with Hoover at Stanford raises the question of the wisdom of his selection.

The result of Mr. Robinson's labor is important even though hardly as objective as a literal interpretation of the terms of the will would seem to require. Its importance lies principally in an exhaustive (70-page) bibliographical essay prepared by Vaughn D. Bornet, Mr. Robinson's associate in the project. Divided into sections, with works cited listed chronologically within the sections, this essay constitutes what is perhaps the most useful bibliographical aid to the writings by and about Roosevelt. Moreover, the objectivity of the critical comments goes far to meeting the terms of the will.

Robinson's text, on the other hand, is important rather for its criticism of the Roosevelt leadership from the "conservative" (that is roughly equivalent to the Hoover) point of view. Roosevelt's "transcendent power," according to Robinson, came because "he represented fairly well the level of conception, understanding, and purpose that characterized the mass of the American people of his time." This appeal was rooted deep in America's "rebel" past, in "the heritage of the masses of Americans who have always been radical in outlook . . . though infrequently in action." Roosevelt was able to provide them "for a time" with the practical results that the people wanted because of the initial crisis and because an "unusual combination of radical elements . . . repeatedly returned him to power."

So far the argument is clear. But its conclusion is less so. Robinson goes on:

We shall see that in these years there were other "revolutionaries" at work. Roosevelt's leadership was the façade behind which a less understanding but profoundly convinced revolutionary leadership was provided in the Congress, in administrative departments, in the press, on the radio, and in the colleges and schools. It was rarely a leadership pledged to doctrines alien to American soil.

Indeed this other leadership arose directly from American experience. .. . It was a revolutionary leadership in the sense that it was the work of fairly small groups dedicated to making over American society. And it used the slogans that found ready response in the hearts of Americans, in particular those associated with freedom of thought and expression. Eventually these advocates of fundamental change found their counterparts in other nations, and America was plunged into a world conflict of ideas, as well as of armies.

Franklin Roosevelt, possessing indomitable courage and will power, won the allegiance of innumerable enthusiasts, and by an incomparable sense of timing, he won continuing support of a huge body of voters.

This gave him control of a nation, and direction of the greatest striking force in the world. For a time he was the most powerful leader of the twentieth century, and in fact the most powerful in the history of mankind. A man of good intention cast in the role of hero, he was overwhelmed by the inexorable forces of his time. This was his tragedy, the tragedy of his people, and the tragedy of the world.

What is Robinson trying to show as to the affinity between Roosevelt and totalitarian revolution elsewhere in the world? This is never explicitly put, but he does state that "Government under Roosevelt, and particularly the Executive, was to be all-powerful," and that "on the whole, this leadership—in method and result—was injurious to the slow working of democracy as Americans know it. . . . "

This is a serious indictment, and there is much in Robinson's vigorous writing that is worthy of careful consideration. But the indictment is relegated to the realm of argument when placed beside another more important contribution to Roosevelt literature, James M. Burns's Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox (1956). Burns's conclusions, although considerably more favorable to Roosevelt than are Robinson's, present an equally serious indictment with similar conclusions as to his baleful lasting effect. More significant than the similarity of conclusion, however, is that the two authors arrive at their conclusions from diametrically opposite points of view. Robinson is worried because Roosevelt was "radical"; Burns, because he was "conservative."

Burns's approach, somewhat like that of Gosnell, is that of the political scientist interested in political leadership. It takes as its basic hypothesis "the central findings of social scientists that leadership is not a matter of universal traits but is rooted in a specific culture." In a sevenpage note Burns summarizes certain findings made by the behavioral sciences in the study of leadership and shows how "promising developments" in the general field have at the same time "enormously increased the complexities" of such studies.

The main trends in the general field of leadership study, according to Burns, have been first of all to place an increased emphasis upon environmental factors rather than heredity and secondly to de-emphasize universal traits as determining leadership and to emphasize instead "a reciprocal relationship between personality and culture . . . specific to a given situation." Moreover, Burns follows T. N. Whitehead in insisting upon emphasizing the difference between a leader who plays any role necessary to conform to the demands of society and "the creative leader who assumes roles . . . only as a tactical means of realizing his long-term strategic ends, and in the long run seeks to broaden the environmental limits within which he operates." This concept is basic to an understanding of Burns's interpretation of Roosevelt, for his appraisal is that F. D. R. "failed to exercise creative leadership."

Although Burns's interest in explaining the development of Roosevelt, the leader, is clear, it is injected subtly enough not to detract from a chronological narrative of his life. In a consideration of his boyhood, for example, Burns concludes that one cannot find "any foretoken of Franklin D. Roosevelt the politician" in his ancestry; nor is there any evidence that his parents "fashioned a world for their son that would encourage an interest in politics"; as for Groton, "none of his political battles" was won there, and at Harvard he showed less "political craft" than Hoover had displayed at Stanford ten years before.

The Progressive era and World War I, Burns concludes, were decisive influences. F. D. R. could not "escape the pervasive atmosphere" of reform, but he became a Democrat by chance. At first he was interested only in political progressivism, but, influenced by his Uncle Theodore, by his studies of official reports, and by the social consciousness of Tammany, he became concerned with economic and social causes. In response to specific conditions, he moved toward a New Deal position twenty years before the New Deal. Yet, withal, he sensed from his own political experiences that working with existing political organizations generally was more successful in achievement than risking all in "a knightly onslaught." The war provided experience in administration. His long hours, innumerable conferences, and "hard bargaining" not only brought him to political maturity but interested him in the working of the Federal government and how to improve it. His continuing progressivism is indicated by his prediction in 1919 of a new party consisting of liberals from both parties. In surveying his career to this point, Burns finds grounds for cautious generalization. First of all, from his youth on F. D. R. "was usually willing to come to terms easily with the dominant forces in his environment." He was fortunate, moreover, in his name, his associations, his income, "and in the assurance he gained from all these." But most important in explaining his future achievements, according to Burns, were his "keen ambition and his capacity to learn."

The period of the twenties to 1932 constitutes the second section of the Burns biography. One might expect a behavioral scientist to make much of the polio episode, but Burns does not believe that it brought any significant change in Roosevelt's political thought, although it altered the political picture considerably. In some respects his legs became a political asset: they brought him sympathy and compelled Eleanor to enter politics. Of most importance, however, his physical weakness kept him out of politics during the years of Democratic inadequacy. This was just "luck," and through good fortune too he was elected governor at a strategic moment, a success which pushed him further up the political ladder. Although Burns's appraisal of the governorship is somewhat less favorable than that of Bellush, it is similar to that of Freidel, adding up in Burns's book to an "impressive record," and "truly an apprenticeship in politics and statecraft."

With Roosevelt's presidency, the direction in which Burns's conclusions are taking him assume clearer form. The essence of his appraisal is that although Roosevelt provided "a leadership of frankness and vigor," he had no "master program." He boasted of "playing by ear," but in fact, according to Burns he was influenced by his party, his advisers, and Congress. Almost all the early legislation was embodied in either platform or campaign addresses; his advisers were numerous and diverse in philosophy; and Congress was equally diverse and effective enough to make Roosevelt believe that he must compromise with it. Yet he kept control over his advisers, Burns concludes, almost singlehandedly giving "pace and direction to the New Deal battalions," and "rarely lost the initiative with Congress."

Furthermore, according to Burns, a notable feature of the first term was Roosevelt's essential conservatism. Many of his advisers and "Congress" were more radical than he. Roosevelt's earnest desire was to stay above party battles. He did not work out a program of radical reform; he did not seek to build up voting strength among minority groups by promptly endorsing civil rights legislation and supporting underprivileged farm or labor groups. He was slow to do these things, because he continued to play by ear.

At this point Burns breaks with the standard interpretation of the Second New Deal. This interpretation sees Roosevelt coming to terms with radical elements in Congress and the demagogues of the left. Fearing the economic effects of a radical legislative program and the political effects of a radical coalition in 1936, he "stole their thunder" and marched leftward himself in order to remain in control of the program and to assure re-election. Burns insists that this interpretation is much too simple. Roosevelt's shift occurred partly because Congress had moved leftward after 1934, but in addition, he says cogently, the leftward shift was merely coincidence, a salvaging of those elements in the First New Deal which the court had not ruled out. However, Burns concludes, "the main reason for the new posture was the cumulative impact of the attacks from the right .. . the desertion of the right... automatically helped shift Roosevelt to the left."

This desertion was paradoxical, because, Burns insists, Roosevelt was still essentially conservative. He talked about the general rather than party or group interest; he believed in the unity of the past, present, and future; he was religious, and conducted himself as a gentleman of culture; he upheld personal property rights; and, of most significance, he believed in change "as essential to holding on to the values of national importance." Yet the right deserted him, according to Burns, because it was no longer in the conservative tradition. Business was narrowly self-interested and was a "prisoner" of laissez-faire; and of most importance was the psychological fact that Roosevelt had deprived business men of their position of preeminence—"he had sapped their self-esteem"; "he had disassociated the concept of wealth from the concept of virtue."

Deserted by the right, he appealed to the left. This was tactical rather than strategic, and as a tactical maneuver it met with overwhelming success in 1936. However, since it was not strategic, since there was no program or philosophical shift involved, according to Burns, disaster was to follow. "Creative leadership" was lacking. The United States drifted in foreign affairs, Supreme Court reform fizzled, a political purge was badly planned, and, perhaps most important, recession struck in 1937 and 1938.

The recession, in fact, is the crux of the Burns indictment. It symbolizes to him Roosevelt's failure:

Roosevelt's fumbling and indecisiveness during the recession showed his failings as an economist and thinker. His distrust of old and doctrinaire economic theories freed him from slavery to ideas. . . . But at the same time .. . cut him off from the one economist and the one economic idea that might have provided a spectacular solution to Roosevelt's chief economic, political and constitutional difficulties.

That economist, Burns asserts, was John Maynard Keynes.

Why did not Roosevelt accept Keynes? Burns argues that it was not simply because of the political situation or because of divided advisers, but that it was an intellectual failure. "A Keynesian solution . . . involved an almost absolute commitment," concludes Burns, "and Roosevelt was not one to commit himself absolutely to any political or economic method."

Equally important and related to the failure to accept "absolute commitment," Burns adds, was Roosevelt's lack of concern with the means used to gain laudable ends. He had moral objectives: "man's responsibility for his fellow man," and government's responsibility for the general welfare. But he had few illusions about man's nature and felt that power was necessary in order to win out over man's foibles. He was morally certain that his aims were right; hence "he was willing to use Machiavellian means" to win the elections indispensable for keeping him in power: "He would use the tricks of the fox to serve the purpose of the lion."

Both Robinson and Burns would agree, then, that Roosevelt failed as a creative leader. Both would agree that this failure was partly intellectual, that it resulted from an unwillingness to make "principle" the guide of method. They are in fundamental disagreement, however, as to the alternatives to failure. To Robinson the alternative was apparently something that resembled Hoover's individualism. To Burns it was a positive program for the benefit of the common man symbolized by a whole-hearted endorsement of Keynesian economics. Yet, in spite of this failure, Burns can still look "at the man as a whole" and "see the lineaments of greatness—courage, joyousness, responsiveness, vitality, faith, and, above all concern for his fellow man . . . sensitive but not weak, considerate but not fussy, plucky in his power to endure, capable of laughing and of taking a joke."

Thus the dilemma for the thoughtful reader of the Roosevelt literature remains. Not only do the scholars differ fundamentally in their interpretation of the past; but each one of them carefully hedges his own indictments. Thoroughly documented and thoughtfully conceived though Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox is, the dilemma will not be resolved by establishing a preconceived standard of creative leadership and placing the Roosevelt record beside it. Nor will the dilemma be resolved by those, such as Robinson, who refuse to face the fact that nineteenth-century liberalism is inadequate for twentiethcentury America.

Those who criticize the New Deal from that point of view are guilty of de-emphasizing the significance of the Depression. Moreover, in spite of the hypotheses concerning the effect of environment and changing situations, neither Burns nor Robinson sufficiently considers the realities of the political situation in its local, sectional, and party aspects. Finally, too few writers on the New Deal have sufficiently stressed the magnitude of the specialized administrative problems created by depression and war in contrast to the number of people trained to be specialized administrators.

The first three volumes of Freidel's biography give promise that subsequent ones will show an understanding of such questions as these. Moreover, his own comment in a review of Roosevelt: The Lionand the Fox indicates his awareness of the need for an historical approach to Roosevelt and the New Deal. He is complimentary about Burns's thorough research, smooth style, and the persuasive force of his indictment of Roosevelt, but his final sentence in the review is a model of understatement: "Measured by what his New Deal advisors ideally desired, he fell miserably short; measured by what other possible presidents might have achieved in the 1930's—Baker, Garner, or Smith, for example—he might receive higher marks."

NOTES

¹ Although this essay is designed to give some idea of the books published since 1950 about Franklin D. Roosevelt and the New Deal, it is concerned primarily with the following: Franklin D. Roosevelt: The Apprenticeship, Franklin D. Roosevelt: The Ordeal, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, The Triumph. By Frank Freidel. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1952, 1954, and 1956. Pp. 456, 320, and 433. Each volume $6.00. The Age of Roosevelt: The Crisis of the Old Order, 1919-1933. By Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1957. Pp. xiv, 557. $6.00. Franklin D. Roosevelt as Governor of New York. By Bernard Bellush. New York: Columbia University Press, 1955. Pp. xii, 338. $5.00. The Economic Thought of Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Origins of the New Deal. By Daniel R. Fusfeld. New York: Columbia University Press, 1956. Pp. 337. $5.00. The Roosevelt Leadership, 1933-1945. By Edgar Eugene Robinson. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company. 1955. Pp. 491. $6.00. Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox. By James MacGregor Burns. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company. 1956. Pp. xvi, 553. $5.75.

² "The Preparation of a President," Western Political Quarterly I (June, 1948), 131 ff.; "The New Deal in Retrospect," ibid. (Dec, 1948), 373 ff.; "The New Deal: The Available Instruments of Governmental Power," ibid., II (Dec, 1949), 545 ff.; "The New Deal: The Progressive Tradition," ibid., III (Sept., 1950) 390 ff.; "The New Deal: The Decline of Government," ibid., IV (June and Sept., 1951), 295 ff. and 469 ff.; "The Two Great Roosevelts," ibid., V (March, 1952), 84 ff.; "The New Deal, the Rise of Business," ibid. (June and Sept., 1952), 274 ff. and 483 ff.; "The Compromising Roosevelt," ibid., VI (June, 1953), 320 ff.; "The Protagonists: Roosevelt and Hoover," Antioch Review XIII (Winter, 1953), 419 ff.; "Franklin D. Roosevelt on the Verge of the Presidency," ibid., XVI (Spring, 1956), 46 ff.; "The Experimental Roosevelt," Political Quarterly, XXI (July, 1950), 239 ff.; "The Progressive Orthodoxy of Franklin D. Roosevelt," Ethics LXIV (Oct., 1953), I ff.; "Fallow Years of F. D. R.," ibid., LXIV (Jan., 1956), 98 ff. After the type was set for this article, a full-length biography of Roosevelt by Tugwell was published: The Democratic Roosevelt (Garden City: Doubleday and Co., 1957), 712 pp., $8.50. This is an important book. It is based upon considerable research in both printed and unprinted sources as well as upon Tugwell's own experiences. It has at points psychological overtones with a unique and quite subjective interpretation of Roosevelt's motivation.