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11/19/2019 Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy | Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History
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History Now
Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy
by Daniel Feller
Of all presidential
reputations,
Andrew Jackson’s is
perhaps the most
di�cult to
summarize or
explain. Most
Americans
recognize his
name, though
most probably
know him (in the
words of a famous
song) as the
general who
"fought the bloody
British in the town
of New Orleans"
in 1815 rather
than as a two-term
president of the
United States from
1829 to 1837.
�irteen polls of
historians and
political scientists
taken between
1948 and 2009
have ranked Jackson always in or near the top ten presidents, among the
"great" or "near great." His face adorns our currency, keeping select company
with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and the �rst secretary of the
treasury, Alexander Hamilton. Jackson is the only president, and for that
matter the only American, whose name graces a whole period in our history.
While other presidents belong to eras, Jackson’s era belongs to him. In
textbooks and in common parlance, we call Washington’s time the
Revolutionary and founding eras, not the Age of Washington. Lincoln
belongs in the Civil War era, �eodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson in
the Progressive era, Franklin Roosevelt in the era of the Great Depression, the
A Vindication of the Character and Public Services of Andrew Jackson, by Henry Lee (Boston: True and Greene, 1828). (Gilder Lehrman Collection)
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New Deal, and World War II. But the interval roughly from the 1820s
through 1840s, between the aftermath of the War of 1812 and the coming of
the Civil War, has often been known as the Jacksonian Era, or the Age of
Jackson.
Yet the reason for Jackson’s claim on an era is not readily apparent.
Washington was the Father of his country. Lincoln, Wilson, and Franklin
Roosevelt were war leaders who also (not wholly coincidentally) presided over
dramatic changes in government. But besides winning a famous battle in the
War of 1812 years before his presidency—and at that, a battle that had no
e�ect on the war’s outcome, since a treaty ending it had just been signed—
just exactly what did Andrew Jackson do to deserve his eminence? He led the
country through no wars. No foreign policy milestones like �omas
Je�erson’s Louisiana Purchase or the "Doctrines" of James Monroe or Harry
Truman highlighted Jackson’s presidency. He crafted no path-breaking
legislative program like Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal or Lyndon Johnson’s
Great Society. Indeed Jackson’s sole major legislative victory in eight years was
an 1830 law to "remove" the eastern Indian tribes beyond the Mississippi,
something more often seen today as travesty rather than triumph. �at
measure aside, the salient features of Jackson’s relations with Congress were
his famous vetoes, killing a string of road and canal subsidies and the Bank of
the United States, and Jackson’s o�cial censure by the United States Senate in
1834, the only time that has yet happened. On its face, this does not look
like the record of a "top ten" president.
An exception might be claimed for Jackson’s handling of the Nulli�cation
Crisis of 1832–1833. Most southern states in Jackson’s day vehemently
opposed the "protective tari�," an import tax that provided most of the
government’s revenue and also aided American manufacturers by raising the
price of competing foreign (mainly British) goods. In 1832 the state of South
Carolina declared the tari� law unconstitutional and therefore null and void.
In assuming this right, independent of the Supreme Court or anybody else,
to judge what the US Constitution meant and what federal laws had to be
obeyed, South Carolina threatened the very viability of the federal union.
Although he was himself a southerner, no great friend of the tari�, and a
South Carolina native, Jackson boldly faced down the nulli�ers. He �rst
confronted nulli�cation’s mastermind (and his own vice president), John C.
Calhoun, with a ringing public declaration: "Our Federal Union—It must be
preserved." He then responded o�cially to South Carolina’s action with a
blistering presidential proclamation, in which he warned that nulli�cation
would inexorably lead to secession (formal withdrawal of a state from the
United States), and secession meant civil war. "Be not deceived by names.
Disunion by armed force is treason. Are you really ready to incur its guilt?"
Bloodshed was averted when Congress passed a compromise tari� that South
Carolina accepted and Jackson approved. Although he played no direct role
in its passage, Jackson took much credit for the compromise, and even many
political opponents conceded it to him.
For his own generation and several to come, Jackson’s de�ance of nulli�cation
earned him a place in the patriotic pantheon above the contentions of party
politics, at least in the eyes of those who approved the result. In the secession
crisis thirty years later, Republicans—including Abraham Lincoln, an anti-
Jackson partisan from his �rst entry into politics—hastened to invoke his
example and quote his words. In 1860 James Parton, Jackson’s �rst scholarly
11/19/2019 Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy | Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History
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biographer, managed to praise Jackson’s unionism while providing a negative
overall assessment of his character.
Still, though not wholly forgotten, Jackson’s reputation as defender of the
Union has faded distinctly in the twentieth century and hardly explains
historians’ interest in him today. Secession is a dead issue, and commitment
to an indivisible and permanent American nationhood is now so
commonplace as to seem hardly worth remarking.
Rather, Jackson’s continuing prominence, and the source of continuing
controversy, lies in something much less concrete: his place as an emblem of
American democracy. He is remembered less for speci�c accomplishments as
president than for his persona or image, his role as America’s �rst presidential
Representative Man. �at image has deep roots. In 1831–1832, midway
through Jackson’s presidency, a French aristocrat named Alexis de Tocqueville
toured the country. Returning home, he published Democracy in America, still
the most penetrating analysis of American society ever penned. De
Tocqueville organized his exposition (which in many respects was not at all
�attering) around two themes. One was "the general equality of condition
among the people." �e other was democracy, which gave tone to everything
in American life: "the people reign in the American political world as the
Deity does in the universe." De Tocqueville saw democracy, for good or ill, as
the future of Europe and the world. "I confess that in America I saw more
than America; I sought there the image of democracy itself, with its
inclinations, its character, its prejudices, and its passions, in order to learn
what we have to fear or to hope from its progress."
America, then, was democracy embodied—and Andrew Jackson was its
exemplar. Born poor, half-educated, self-risen, he was the �rst president from
outside the colonial gentry, the �rst westerner, the �rst with a nickname
("Old Hickory"), the �rst to be elected in a grand popular plebiscite—all in
all, the �rst living proof that in America, anyone with enough gumption
could grow up to be president. He furnished the plebeian template of humble
origins, untutored wisdom, and instinctive leadership from which would
spring "Old Tippecanoe" William Henry Harrison, "Honest Abe" Lincoln,
and a thousand would-be imitators down to the present day.
�e image of Jackson as a quintessential product of American democracy has
stuck. Yet always complicating it has been the interplay between the personal
and the political. If Jackson is a potent democratic symbol, he is also a
con�icted and polarizing one. In his own lifetime he was adulated and
despised far beyond any other American. To an amazing degree, historians
today still feel visceral personal reactions to him, and praise or damn
accordingly.
Jackson’s outsized, larger-than-life character and career have always o�ered
plenty to wonder at and to argue about. His lifelong political antagonist
Henry Clay once likened him, not implausibly, to a tropical tornado.
Jackson’s rough-and-tumble frontier youth and pre-presidential (mainly
military) career showed instances of heroic achievement and nearly
superhuman fortitude. Mixed in with these were episodes of insubordination,
usurpation, uncontrolled temper, wanton violence, and scandal. Jackson
vanquished enemies in battle everywhere and won a truly astonishing victory
11/19/2019 Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy | Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History
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at New Orleans. He also fought duels and street brawls, de�ed superiors, shot
captives and subordinates, launched a foreign invasion against orders, and
(disputably) stole another man’s wife. As president he was, depending on
whom one asked, either our greatest popular tribune or the closest we have
come to an American Caesar.
An adept manipulator of his own image, Jackson played a willing hand in
fusing the political and the personal. First as a candidate and then as
president, he reordered the political landscape around his own popularity.
Swept into o�ce on a wave of genuine grassroots enthusiasm, Jackson
labored successfully through eight years as president to reshape his personal
following into an e�ective political apparatus—the Democratic Party, our
�rst mass political party, which organized under his guidance. Signi�cantly,
the party’s original name was the American Democracy, implying that it was
not a party at all but the political embodiment of the people themselves.
Democrats labeled their opponents, �rst National Republicans and then
Whigs, as the "aristocracy." But the initial test of membership in the
Democracy was less an adherence to a political philosophy than fealty to
Andrew Jackson himself.
A generation after Jackson’s presidency, biographer James Parton found his
reputation a mass of contradictions: he was dictator or democrat, ignoramus
or genius, Satan or saint. �ose conundrums endure, and the facts, or
arguments, behind them would �ll a book.
�ere are a few focal points upon which Jackson’s modern reputation has
turned for better or for worse. One is his attack on corporate privilege and on
the concentrated political in�uence of wealth. In his famous Bank Veto of
1832, Jackson juxtaposed "the rich and powerful" against "the humble
members of society—the farmers, mechanics, and laborers," and lamented
that the former "too often bend the acts of government to their sel�sh
purposes." No president before and few since have spoken so bluntly of
economic antagonisms between Americans. Jackson went on, in his Farewell
Address in 1837, to warn of an insidious "money power," made up of banks
and corporations, that would steal ordinary citizens’ liberties away from
them. (It said something of Jackson’s sense of his own importance that he
presumed to deliver a Farewell Address, an example set by Washington that
no previous successor had dared to follow.)
Jackson’s Bank Veto was so riveting, and so provocative, that in the ensuing
presidential election both sides distributed it as a campaign document. Foes
of bankers, corporations, Wall Street, and "the rich" have turned to it ever
since. Populists and other agrarian insurgents in the nineteenth century, and
New Deal Democrats in the twentieth, claimed it as their birthright. Writing
in the wake of the Great Depression and the New Deal, Arthur Schlesinger
Jr. made the Bank Veto the centerpiece of �e Age of Jackson (1945), the
foundational work of modern Jacksonian scholarship.
In the late twentieth century, Jackson’s strictures attracted some historians
who were articulating a class-based analysis of American history, and who
used them to interpret Jackson as a foe not only of capitalist abuses and
excesses, but of capitalism itself. To other recent scholars, though, the Bank
Veto has seemed merely demagogic, while to most people outside the
11/19/2019 Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy | Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History
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academy the whole Jacksonian struggle over banking grew to appear ba�ing
and arcane, divorced from our present concerns. All of that has suddenly
changed. Since the �nancial collapse of 2008, Jackson’s warnings seem not
only urgently relevant but eerily prescient. �ey are again often quoted, and
his reputation has enjoyed, at least for the moment, a sharp uptick.
�e other framing issue for Jackson’s recent reputation—one that Schlesinger
did not even mention, but which has come since to pervade and even
dominate his image—is Indian removal. �e symbolic freighting of this
subject can hardly be overstated. Just as Jackson—child of the frontier, self-
made man, homespun military genius, and plain-spoken tribune of the
people—has sometimes served to stand for everything worth celebrating in
American democracy, Indian removal has come to signify democracy’s savage
and even genocidal underside. It opens a door behind which one �nds
Jackson the archetypal Indian-hater, the slave owner, the overbearing male
patriarch, and the frontiersman not as heroic pioneer but as imperialist,
expropriator, and killer.
To Schlesinger (who was no racist) and to others who have seen Jackson’s
essential importance in his championship of the common man, the "little
guy," against corporate domination, Indian removal appeared to be an aside,
at worst a regrettable failing, but to many today it shows Jackson and his
white man’s democracy at their core. �ere is no doubt that removing the
American Indians, particularly those in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi,
was centrally important to Jackson. Together with purging the federal
bureaucracy of his political opponents and instituting what he called
"rotation in o�ce" (and what his enemies dubbed the "spoils system"), it
stood at the head of his initial presidential agenda. Jackson’s motives and
methods in pursuing Indian removal were deeply controversial at the time
and remain so today. He claimed to be acting only on impulses of duty and
philanthropy. American Indians could not, without violating the essential
rights of sovereign states, remain where they were; their own self-preservation
required quarantine from pernicious white in�uences; and the terms o�ered
for their evacuation were reasonable and even generous. Critics, then and
since, have branded these as artful rationalizations to cover real motives of
greed, racism, and land-lust.
Connecting directly to our widely shared misgivings about the human cost of
Euro-American expansion and the pejorative racial and cultural attitudes that
sustained it, the recent debate over Jackson’s Indian policy has gone mainly
one way. A handful of defenders or apologists—most notably Jackson
biographer Robert V. Remini—have dared to buck the tide, but for most
scholars the question is not whether Jackson acted badly, but whether he
acted so badly as to exclude considering anything else he might have done as
palliation or excuse. Both inside and outside the academy, at least until the
sudden resuscitation of Jackson as anti-corporate champion, the arch-
oppressor of Indians had become Jackson’s prevalent image. Far more
American schoolchildren can name the Cherokee Trail of Tears (which
actually happened in Martin Van Buren’s presidency, though in consequence
of Jackson’s policy) than the Bank Veto, the Nulli�cation Proclamation, or
perhaps even the Battle of New Orleans.
No simple conclusion o�ers itself. Jackson’s reputation, like the man himself,
de�es easy summary. �e one thing that seems certain is that Americans will
11/19/2019 Andrew Jackson’s Shifting Legacy | Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History
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continue to argue about him.
Daniel Feller is Betty Lynn Hendrickson Professor of History and editor of �e
Papers of Andrew Jackson at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He is the
author of �e Jacksonian Promise: America, 1815–1840 (1995).