22 June 2007

Better Angels

--by Mike Murray

I never hesitate when I’m asked, “Whom do you most admire?”  While absolutes are often dangerous, in this instance I willingly embrace one.  My answer to that question is always the same:  Abraham Lincoln.

I go out on no limb with that reply; Lincoln is today all the rage.  Books about him proliferate.  He enjoys iconic status, even among the giants of our nation’s past.  At long last, it truly does seem that he “belongs to the ages.”

It wasn’t always so.

As any student of American history knows, Lincoln was vilified by many in his day.  The media skewered him.  They characterized him as ignorant, wrong-headed, stupid.  Cartoonists drew him as ape-like.  Even worse, he (along with Ulysses S. Grant) was labeled a butcher.

The Civil War was the source of much of his trouble.  Wars are bloody by design; his was bloodier than most.  It pitted family against family, “brother against brother,” American against American.

Historians debate the war’s principal catalyst.  Was it a conflict between those who wanted to preserve the Union and those who wanted to secede from it?  Was it a fight for preeminence between advocates of “states’ rights” and proponents of federalism?  Was it a clash over the legitimacy of slavery?  Or was it a struggle for political dominance between leaders of opposing regions of the country?

Was a dispute over cotton or ideology primarily responsible for the carnage?  Did the casualties mount sky-high over matters of commerce or conscience?

I don’t pretend to know.  The answers to such weighty questions rest with folks more knowledgeable.  I do like to think that Lincoln had the noblest of reasons for prosecuting a terrible war, but I cannot be certain.

My ignorance on that score troubles me little.  Because my admiration for the man doesn’t hinge on his original intent.  Whatever it was (perhaps it was as he publicly stated:  keeping our fledgling republic intact), I believe that he came to sincerely embrace the human cause he eventually declared most worthy, most desperate:  emancipation.

Because what most endears Lincoln to folks like me is that – when it mattered most – we believe that he did what he thought was right.  He did it in the face of harsh criticism.  He did it in spite of resistance that grew progressively more intense as the months and years wore on.

He did it despite great political cost.

Although deified today, Lincoln was thoroughly human.  He had obvious flaws.  He possessed liberal portions of guile and ambition.  He was as calculating a creature as existed in his day.  He vigorously pursued power.  And after attaining it, he used it in audacious ways.  As president, he “colored outside” Constitutional lines on several occasions.

But Lincoln did so in order to shepherd an unpopular war to what became – in the judgment of many of today’s historians – a just conclusion.  He stood by his embattled, senior military commander when a great many people (his own wife included) wanted General Grant’s head on a platter.  Although a difficult reelection vote loomed, Lincoln refused the expedient route.  He instead navigated the treacherous course dictated by his conscience.  He abandoned neither his cause nor his general.

His fidelity in both cases was rewarded.

Moreover, Lincoln remained generous in victory.  It is hard to imagine a more gracious winner.  He warmly embraced the vanquished.  Had he lived even a few years into Reconstruction, the defeated Southerners – Americans all – would almost certainly have been accorded greater courtesy than they received in his absence.

While it is understandable that Lincoln’s memory evokes discomfort for some of the children of Dixie, it need not be so.  Difficult as it might be for them to accept, Lincoln’s heart was likely in the right place.  Had he not been assassinated by John Wilkes Booth, his benevolence would have found full expression.  Lincoln would have guided America to a kinder post-war result.

And while not meaning to rub salt into anyone’s wounds, I confess that Ulysses Grant is someone whom I also deeply admire.  Not because I think him perfect; he was certainly far from that.  Grant was a troubled man who wrestled myriad personal demons.  He often sought refuge in a bottle.

As principal leader of the Union army during the Civil War, he anguished over the death and destruction that his command decisions visited upon both friend and foe.  And though his tactical decisions were no more inspired than those of his Confederate counterpart – nor his troops any more heroic – superior helpings of man and materiel delivered victory.

But like the commander-in-chief he served, Grant had no desire to humiliate the conquered.  He and Lincoln were of one mind when it came to the treatment of the defeated.  While they demanded that opponents lower their weapons, they required no man to surrender his dignity.

And while some interpreted Grant’s nighttime bouts of depression and weeping as signs of weakness, I see them as proof of his humanity.  It is hard for me to believe that the humble Grant, the man who so graciously received the stately General Robert E. Lee at Appomattox, had anything but sorrow for the devastation endured by North and South alike.

Although Lincoln would probably have achieved greatness in some other manner had events unfolded differently, Grant was salvaged by grim circumstance.  A failure at other endeavors, he rose to the occasion when Lincoln – and his country – needed him.

What makes Lincoln and Grant special in my eyes is intent.  As I view them, they strove to do what they believed to be right.  They acted conscientiously.  They shouldered nearly unbearable burden.  They persisted in the face of devastating resistance.  Resistance that came from all sides.

President Lincoln steadfastly withstood pressure that would have crushed most modern-day politicians.  Today’s pols so easily wilt when the media, Internet bloggers, or survey results turn against them.  What Lincoln endured must be difficult for them to comprehend.

Harder still for many of his day to understand was his post-war behavior.  After having suffered the stinging disapproval of fellow Northerners over his determination to see the Civil War to a successful conclusion, he subsequently declined to bask in victory’s afterglow.  Having finally achieved adulation (delivered by the South’s capitulation), he refused to embrace it.

Instead, Lincoln implored his contemporaries to heed the “better angels of their natures.”  He urged “charity for all,”  and “malice toward none.”  It was time, he declared, for America to  “bind up” her wounds.  It was time, he suggested, for brother to become brother again.

Impossible, some Unionists thought.  Following an especially brutal and bloody ordeal, they didn’t understand how Lincoln could urge compassion for the defeated Confederates – the ones who had, after all, fired the first shot.  And they questioned why Lincoln would risk reviving the wrath of a presently friendly press and public.

The answer seems obvious to me.  It’s perfectly in keeping with the core values of the man who would grow to become, perhaps, our nation’s most beloved figure.  Yet again, Lincoln had eschewed personal comfort in his effort to “do the right thing.”  That right thing was acting benevolently toward all members of his country’s family.  For him, there were no more Northerners.  There were no more Southerners.  All that remained were Americans.

That approach invited renewed criticism from partisans and editorial boards.  But such expressions of disapproval did little to deter the man who had been through so much.  Whatever were his motivations when he entered public life, Lincoln had long ago shed them.  He was by then marching to the beat of a different drummer.  He was looking to a different mountaintop.

Lincoln offers stark lessons for today’s troubled America.  To political leaders, he teaches that the loudest and shrillest voices need not be indulged.  Squeaky wheels may often “get the grease,” but Honest Abe demonstrated that developing a greater tolerance for whiny sounds sometimes serves one’s country better than does reaching for placating lubricant.

Effective leaders, Lincoln revealed, do not seek the path of least resistance.  They do not govern by opinion poll.  They are willing to faithfully carry out their duties, regardless of the negative impact that doing so sometimes has on the public’s esteem for them.

Good leaders know that they are not infallible; they realize that they sometimes err in matters of judgment.  But they also know that it is imperative that they do what they believe to be right.  They know that there are worse things than suffering the disapproval that can accompany an unpopular decision.

Lincoln demonstrated that people do well to rise above personal interests and entrenched positions.  Were he alive today, he would surely entreat us to move beyond lock-step loyalty to race, gender, class, and political party.

Lincoln would encourage us to find the strength to make tough decisions, and then to stand by those decisions.  He would urge us to be charitable to those with whom we disagree, and to offer compassion to those over whom we have advantage.  He would ask us to acknowledge our “better angels.”

So many of us today say that we admire Abraham Lincoln.  Do we admire him enough to follow his example?

 

Copyright © 2007 Michael F. Murray       All rights reserved.

 

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