One hundred fifty years ago today, the Union—or, what was left of it—was in an uproar. Two days earlier, after three days of debate, the South Carolina Convention declared itself independent of the American Union.
Never before or since has a greater threat existed against the cohesiveness and integrity of the United States of America. The hapless James Buchanan, a liar and a coward, sat in the Oval Office, impotent. The incoming president would not take the oath of office for another three months.
It seems appropriate, then, as we begin the 150th anniversary of the events that led to the American Civil War, we turn to the intellectual and spiritual patron of this website, Russell Kirk, and consider his views on Abraham Lincoln, the man who would become so identified with the four-year noble tragedy.
[posted originally at imaginativeconservative.org]
Russell Kirk, speech, “Lincoln and the Dignity of the Presidency,” February 12, 1970. Typescript in the Russell Kirk Center, Mecosta, Michigan.
“A the Roman Republic was at the back of the minds of the framers of the American Constitution; it was their hope that the chief magistrate of these United States would conduct himself with “the high old Roman virtue,” becoming an exemplar of pietas, gravitas, constantia, firmitas, comitas, disciplina, industria, clemetia, frugalitas, and severitas. George Washington, a grand gentleman of the old model, suffused with the un-bought grace of life, set high the standard for these virtues. Eight decades later, there appeared a public man of an origin very different from Washington's, who nevertheless has come to stand as Washington's equal in republican virtue.”
“From a disaster greater still, we were saved by the presidential dignity of Lincoln, from whom few had expected any dignity at all.”
“Both the New England of Hawthorne and the backwoods Illinois of Lincoln were faced by the whirlwind of fanaticism that had first stirred in their youth, had wailed onward to Fort Sumter, and then had raved triumphant from Manassas to Appomattox. That whirlwind might have left total devastation, had not Abraham Lincoln's dignity withstood it in some degree.”
“The war made Lincoln great–not by chance, but by summoning forth the noble fortitude and gravity that had no more than peeked out from him in his Illinois years.”
“How far Lincoln himself was conscious that a Providential purpose work through him, we cannot be certain; yet some such apprehension reins from the phrases of his speeches and letters between 1861 and 1865.”
“For all that, ever since his boyhood his friends had perceived in this curious being some element of greatness. Lincoln possessed the incongruous dignity that was Samuel Johnson's, too. Here stood a man of sorrows. It always has been true that melancholy men are the wittiest; and Lincoln's off-color yarns, told behind a log barn or in some dingy Springfield office, were part and parcel of his consciousness that ours is a world of vanities. When he entered upon high office, this right humor became an element of the high old Roman virtue: comitas, the belief that seasons gravitas, or the sense of grand responsibility.”
“He was no woman's man, and his marriage was made tolerable only by his own vast charity and tenderness, but he never was the man to weep over his own blemishes or blunders.”
“Lincoln's awareness of this ineluctable reality, combining with his knowledge of the weaknesses of poor sinning mortality, made demand strong in his sadness, and gave him the power to endure with humility and generosity the awful burdens of his office.”
“Pietas was his, too, in the old Roman sense: willing subordination to the claims of the divine, of ‘the contract of eternal society,’ of neighbors, of country.”
“There have lived few Americans more abundantly graced with the theological virtues, charity most of all. The New Testament shines out from his acts of mercy, and the Old from his direction of the war. We all know the deep piety of his Gettysburg Address; and in some of his letters there looms a stern justice, at once Christian and classical.”
“Prudent amidst passion, Lincoln never was a doctrinaire; he rose from very low estate to very high estate, and he knew the savagery that lies close beneath the skin of man, and he saw that most men are good only out of obedience to routine and custom and convention. The reckless Fire–eager in the uncompromising Abolitionist were abhorrent to him; yet he took the middle path between them not out of any misapplication of the doctrine of the Golden mean, but because he held that the unity and security of the United States transcended any fanatics scheme of uniformity.… Here he was like Edmund Burke; yet it is improbable that he read much Burke, or any other political philosopher except Blackstone; his wisdom came from close observation of human nature, and from the Bible and Shakespeare. The Radical Republicans detested him as cordially as did the Southern zealots. In his conservative object, the preservation of the Union, he succeeded through the ancient virtue of prudential.”
“Lincoln was a conservative statesman on the intellectual model of Cicero. In his dignity there was no hubris, no presumption; much, he knew, must be left to Providence.”
“Lincoln knew that what moved him was a power from without himself and, having served God's will according to the light that was given him, he received the reward of the last full measure of devotion. He did not assert dignity; rather, he was invested with it.”