Fame is a facet of culture and needs to be viewed through a historical lens. Something no Jefferson scholar, myself included, has previously reckoned with until now is this beguiling writer’s pursuit, not just of happiness, but of celebrity. He needed to publicize his thoughts, both to achieve a feeling of concordance (that all was right in the world) and to assert his vision for state and nation. It was through a passive-aggressive urge to shape the literal, as well as political, landscape that he became an iconic force in the larger story of continental empire. He crafted the laws of Virginia after independence was declared, planned state and federal buildings in the grand classical manner, and longed to preside over an America that would awe Europeans by its embrace of individual freedom.
The word “fame” had multiple meanings in eighteenth-century America. Depending on context, it was akin to “rumor” (as in “common fame,” word on the street); or it meant character, respectability, reputation; or it meant just what it means today: public eminence, a name. The fame Jefferson sought was the second one, closer to honor and the acceptance of one’s ideas, credit for possession of a desirable character and a favorable reputation that would outlive him. Of course, he couldn’t have the second meaning of “fame” without the third as well.
The fame (respect for his ideas) that Jefferson feared losing was that which he tied to a vibrant localized democracy. He worried about his political vision dissolving into one that moved governmental power from periphery to center, potentially leading back to monarchical forms. This became an extreme fear at the end of his life, though his prescriptive writing tried to deny it. What tends to be lost in the record is how stubbornly Jefferson resisted change. At identifiable moments over a long public career he prophesied ruinous consequences if his personal vision for a healthy republic was ignored. As a result, he made enemies, and he came up with behind-the-scenes plans to get the best of them.
He did not experience fame as it is typically thought of today. He lived decades before photography, at a time when having a name meant recognition in print, and being talked about as a result. For much of his life, Jefferson enjoyed anonymity when he traveled. His manner of dress—shabby, his critics said mockingly—was largely a performance, symbolic of the lack of ostentation he deemed appropriate for elected leaders in a republic. In most other respects, he spent lavishly; for example, in maintaining a wine cellar from the earliest iteration of his home, and in making his family seat a showpiece of architectural splendor. Monticello is stunningly beautiful. It has been a National Historical Landmark since 1960, and it is now a UNESCO World Heritage site—one of only twelve in the United States.