The Enlarging Grace of Agitation

That Abraham Lincoln surrounded himself with his rivals is the very premise of Doris Kearns Goodwin's stunningly beautiful book, Team of Rivals. That he did it less as a shrewd political tactician than as an humble statesman seeking the best for his country is the more awe-striking lesson I retain as I finally turn the last page. Having populated his inner circle with those jealous for the job they, themselves, had coveted, he went about the even more strenuous task of listening to them, drawing honest counsel from them, and deferring to their particular expertise. It was, after all, the particulars of their expertise on which he believed the nation would depend. A few of the rivals became deep and abiding friends. Some simply became colleagues. One, at least, remained, to the end, a rival and was ultimately replaced for allowing his personal ambitions to supersede his public responsibility. Even then, however, Lincoln respected the considerable gifts and wisdom of this political mosquito whose incessant buzzing had created such distraction. When the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court died and Lincoln considered how to fill the vacancy, it was ultimately to this same rival that the President turned. It wasn't sentimentality that drove the selection, nor certainly affection. Lincoln later told a confidant that he "would rather have swallowed his buckhorn chair than to have nominated" this particular candidate, but he believed it was right for the country. Following Lincoln's death, another of those rivals-cum-colleague, William Seward, reflected on Lincoln's surprising Cabinet choices, concluding, "a Cabinet which should agree on every such question would be no better or safer than one counsellor (sic)" (p. 747).

It occurs to me that our culture must soon be chairless. If Lincoln opted to utilize the right people, regardless of their political fidelity and pedigree, rather than eat the chair he would have preferred, our practice by contrast has devolved into eating the furniture rather than risking the advice and counsel of those with whom we may not agree, and maybe not even like -- even at the expense of what is right or what is good. It's easy to point at politicians, where the promotion of political hacks and cronies is, sadly and tragically, assumed. But while employment and promotion are rarely my privilege, my practice of gathering wisdom is seldom more noble. I, too, tend to surround myself with echoes, rather than alternate voices. Thusly validated and seconded, I proceed on my merry, if impoverished, way, convinced of my sagacity and narrowed by my naivete.

If an intellect, like a rock, is polished by agitation, how dull my thinking must be. And how humbling.

powered by performancing firefox

The Better Angels of our Nature

A fat book loaned to me by a friend has immersed me in Lincoln of late. Though my reading schedule has allowed steady but only slow progress, every page has brought an education; and here and there, an awakening. For example, how did my education – or my retention – overlook the closing lines of Lincoln's inaugural address? Spoken at a time when at least one state had already seceded from the Union – spurred on by Lincoln’s own election – and rumors of assassination forced his covert arrival into the capital city, Lincoln strove to address the concerns of both North and South. And then this conclusion:

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

“We are not enemies, but friends. …the better angels of our nature.” The recent years of electoral combat, the polarization of progressive and conservative Christians, the strident arguments over bullying and civil rights for those of varying sexual orientations – to say nothing of warfare in the global community - make Lincoln sound like a contemporary. According to playwright John PatrickShanley (Doubt), Americans have shifted into a "courtroom culture." "It's evident in political talk shows, in entertainment coverage, in artistic criticism of every kind, in religious discussion," he writes. "Discussion has given way to debate. Communication has become a contest of wills."

The Des Moines Register (12/12/06) recently cited Deborah Tannen's best-seller The Argument Culture: Stopping America's War of Words, "When you're having an argument with someone, your goal is not to listen and understand. Instead, you use every tactic you can think of — including distorting what your opponent just said — in order to win."

His against hers. Hers against theirs. Theirs against ours. Us against them. We are not enemies, but friends, Lincoln wrote, and I pray we find a way to remember. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection.

Imagine what we might hear if we were to take his words to heart, allowing the “mystic chords” of humankind to be strummed by “the better angels of our nature.”