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Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia: A Biography
WINNER OF THE JEFFERSON DAVIS AWARD
Rising from humble origins in the middle Georgia cotton belt, Alexander H. Stephens (1812-1883) became one of the South's leading politicians and lawyers. Thomas E. Schott has written the first scholarly biography that analyzes the interplay between the public and private Stephens and between state and national politics during his contradictory career.
Stephens was a celebrated Whig, turned Democrat, who served as congressman from 1843 to 1859 and an antisecessionist who became vice-president of the Confederacy. Ignored by the Davis administration once in office, he eventually opposed most of its wartime policies. Schott argues that Stephens' devotion to the southern cause was as genuine as his devotion to civil liberties and states' rights. After the war, he became an elder statesman for Georgia, serving nine more years as a congress-man and the last five months of his life as governor.
Rising from humble origins in the middle Georgia cotton belt, Alexander H. Stephens (1812-1883) became one of the South's leading politicians and lawyers. Thomas E. Schott has written the first scholarly biography that analyzes the interplay between the public and private Stephens and between state and national politics during his contradictory career.
Stephens was a celebrated Whig, turned Democrat, who served as congressman from 1843 to 1859 and an antisecessionist who became vice-president of the Confederacy. Ignored by the Davis administration once in office, he eventually opposed most of its wartime policies. Schott argues that Stephens' devotion to the southern cause was as genuine as his devotion to civil liberties and states' rights. After the war, he became an elder statesman for Georgia, serving nine more years as a congress-man and the last five months of his life as governor.
584 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1988
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July 18, 2021
3.5 stars.
This book has the distinction of being the only academic overview of Alexander Stephens’ life and career, and the abundance of footnotes and citations of sources demonstrates the extent and rigour of research the author must have undertaken. However, although Stephens lived a sensational life, for some reason Schott seems keen to downplay it: he even starts out saying Stephens “was not a brilliant man”, which does not exactly serve to reel in the reader. This decision struck me as very odd: a biography shouldn’t be hagiography, but usually a preface does something to advertise why the subject is important and why the author has chosen to write their biography in the first place (particularly one of this length). In summary, I don’t really understand why Schott wrote a lengthy biography of Stephens in the first place — why does Stephens’ life, in Schott’s view, call for a biography? Why did this book come about — presumably it was as part of the ‘Southern Biographies’ series, but what makes Stephens a defining figure of the South? Not only does Schott decline to answer these questions but he also refrains from giving the reader a conclusion which reflects on Stephens’ life, ending abruptly with the moment of his death instead. It would seem that, in Schott’s view, the main theme of Stephens’ life was melancholy, since he both begins and ends the biography with weeping. If this was his intent, however, then I can somewhat get behind it, since I think we can at least agree that Stephens’ life provides some good lessons on dealing with illness, bereavement, and depression.
Throughout the majority of the book, Schott is actually more balanced and nuanced in his portrayal of Stephens than this inauspicious beginning would suggest. It’s still clear that Schott dislikes Stephens, and thinks of him as very arrogant, but sometimes concedes points which suggests he at least acknowledges the other side of the subject’s personality. Unfortunately, he’s still generally determined to think the worst of Stephens, generally based on his own interpretation and conjecture rather than hard evidence, making snippy comments as we go along. Schott perceives in his subject pretence rather than brilliance, stubbornness rather than principles, and contradiction rather than flexibility, but at least leaves enough fact-based information for the reader to form their own opinions along the way, as well as Stephens’ own assertions of values: “In a republic every man should wear his principles inscribed on his forehead”. His own pre-selected angle is also reflected in his use of sources: for instance, he doesn’t seem to think much of Johnston’s more positive biography of Stephens, even though Johnston knew him personally and Stephens himself gave it his approval as an account of his life. He includes moments and passages that show Stephens’ brilliance — Lincoln, on experiencing Stephens’ oratory, thought it “the very best speech, of an hour’s length” that he had ever heard: “My old, withered eyes are full of tears yet”. It’s good to avoid too much glowing praise, but this should be sacrificed in favour of objectivity rather than negativity. Like some other agenda-driven narratives, Schott is too heavily influenced by his own opinions, just in the opposite direction from the usual.
Nevertheless, I will defend Schott’s approach on the assumption that anyone who picks up this book either has an academic purpose or already has an interest in Stephens, and that Schott is showing awareness of modern cultural mores by taking the approach he does to his subject. He gives, for the most part, a fair picture of Stephens’ views, within the context of a modern author and reader looking back, in tune with modern positions while still supplying historical context. Schott’s narrative is well-balanced between recognising personal agency and looking at what was culturally normal at the time, and how Stephens compares to his contemporaries. What is more, in the main body of the text he does narrate the story of Stephens’ life engagingly, though he makes some odd stylistic choices along the way — he constantly refers to Stephens as ‘little Alec’, which he was called during his life, but one can likewise imagine that a biography of Lincoln calling him ‘honest Abe’ every five pages would get tiresome quite quickly. There are also some strange jumps — we skip Stephens’ transition from law to politics, going straight into his first term in the Georgia State Congress; the Civil War, which the average reader would probably expect to be the focus, is dwarfed by the long recounting of all Stephens’ political machinations in the pre-War period; and the Cornerstone Speech, the moment he is most known for today (for all the wrong reasons) is effectively skimmed over. Schott also seems to assume that, if Stephens expresses one view earlier and another later, this represents hypocrisy, whereas I would have liked to see more examination of how his views changed and why. I know this can be mysterious, even to a biographer, and his view of Stephens as a generally stubborn person is not inaccurate, but there are hints of his beliefs shifting in the post-war period that warrant mention. To be fair, however, I also think there are areas where Stephens’ decision-making is baffling — at times he is considered; at others dizzyingly impulsive — but I understand that even an expert cannot be expected to explain everything.
Schott also conveys the complexity of Stephens’ state of mind very well, particularly the strange balances between his contentment and melancholy (which don’t necessarily correspond to his own circumstances), his compassion and misanthropy, and his fondness and disdain for his career environment. He also shows some sympathy for Stephens in the language, and recognises the difficulties he faced, even if he personally dislikes him: “He looked like anything but a leader who deserved unqualified respect and admiration, and Stephens was painfully conscious of it. By his own description he was “a malformed ill-shaped half-finished thing”; “He writhed under the tortures of social inferiority. So he took refuge in pride, nurturing a self-image that canceled considerations of early poverty, constant ill health, and physical ugliness”. Although Schott is peeved at Stephens’ arrogant behaviour, he acknowledges that “Stephens was acutely aware of being different, and the thought of it tortured him. So, as always, he took refuge behind a mask of superior intellect and moral rectitude”. There is also interplay between this and his famously “volcanic” ambition and combative tendencies (including threatening to duel his opponents, an obvious outlet to challenge others as directly as possible while remaining within the bounds of Southern honour culture): his belief that he was “made to figure in a storm” and his tendency to fight and argue aggressively with others form a crucial part of his efforts to assert himself in an unforgiving world.
Conversely, despite this pretence, Stephens denied being vain, and we do see at times his more amiable tendencies, as well as his deep and genuine care for others’ opinions. We see this frequently in his moderation and preference for compromise, coupled with his dislike and suspicion of extremism, but two incidents stand out in my mind. Firstly, Stephens’ forgiveness of Francis H. Cone, the political opponent who tried to stab him to death: “Stephens, who knew the corrosive power of anger as well as anyone, refused to prosecute. And he let it be known, before the election, that he had forgiven the judge”; and secondly, the immediate and surprising connection he forged with Ulysses S. Grant, whom he later acknowledged was “one of the most remarkable men [he] had ever met”. The picture of them fraternising together paints a rather different view of the War, though again, it is another element that injects something fascinating into the narrative but cannot be easily rationalised or explained. There is good reason to call this the ‘definitive’ biography for now, and if it (ironically) won the Jefferson Davis Award then others must see something in it, but I am left feeling that a book truly capturing the spirit of the man is yet to be written.
This book has the distinction of being the only academic overview of Alexander Stephens’ life and career, and the abundance of footnotes and citations of sources demonstrates the extent and rigour of research the author must have undertaken. However, although Stephens lived a sensational life, for some reason Schott seems keen to downplay it: he even starts out saying Stephens “was not a brilliant man”, which does not exactly serve to reel in the reader. This decision struck me as very odd: a biography shouldn’t be hagiography, but usually a preface does something to advertise why the subject is important and why the author has chosen to write their biography in the first place (particularly one of this length). In summary, I don’t really understand why Schott wrote a lengthy biography of Stephens in the first place — why does Stephens’ life, in Schott’s view, call for a biography? Why did this book come about — presumably it was as part of the ‘Southern Biographies’ series, but what makes Stephens a defining figure of the South? Not only does Schott decline to answer these questions but he also refrains from giving the reader a conclusion which reflects on Stephens’ life, ending abruptly with the moment of his death instead. It would seem that, in Schott’s view, the main theme of Stephens’ life was melancholy, since he both begins and ends the biography with weeping. If this was his intent, however, then I can somewhat get behind it, since I think we can at least agree that Stephens’ life provides some good lessons on dealing with illness, bereavement, and depression.
Throughout the majority of the book, Schott is actually more balanced and nuanced in his portrayal of Stephens than this inauspicious beginning would suggest. It’s still clear that Schott dislikes Stephens, and thinks of him as very arrogant, but sometimes concedes points which suggests he at least acknowledges the other side of the subject’s personality. Unfortunately, he’s still generally determined to think the worst of Stephens, generally based on his own interpretation and conjecture rather than hard evidence, making snippy comments as we go along. Schott perceives in his subject pretence rather than brilliance, stubbornness rather than principles, and contradiction rather than flexibility, but at least leaves enough fact-based information for the reader to form their own opinions along the way, as well as Stephens’ own assertions of values: “In a republic every man should wear his principles inscribed on his forehead”. His own pre-selected angle is also reflected in his use of sources: for instance, he doesn’t seem to think much of Johnston’s more positive biography of Stephens, even though Johnston knew him personally and Stephens himself gave it his approval as an account of his life. He includes moments and passages that show Stephens’ brilliance — Lincoln, on experiencing Stephens’ oratory, thought it “the very best speech, of an hour’s length” that he had ever heard: “My old, withered eyes are full of tears yet”. It’s good to avoid too much glowing praise, but this should be sacrificed in favour of objectivity rather than negativity. Like some other agenda-driven narratives, Schott is too heavily influenced by his own opinions, just in the opposite direction from the usual.
Nevertheless, I will defend Schott’s approach on the assumption that anyone who picks up this book either has an academic purpose or already has an interest in Stephens, and that Schott is showing awareness of modern cultural mores by taking the approach he does to his subject. He gives, for the most part, a fair picture of Stephens’ views, within the context of a modern author and reader looking back, in tune with modern positions while still supplying historical context. Schott’s narrative is well-balanced between recognising personal agency and looking at what was culturally normal at the time, and how Stephens compares to his contemporaries. What is more, in the main body of the text he does narrate the story of Stephens’ life engagingly, though he makes some odd stylistic choices along the way — he constantly refers to Stephens as ‘little Alec’, which he was called during his life, but one can likewise imagine that a biography of Lincoln calling him ‘honest Abe’ every five pages would get tiresome quite quickly. There are also some strange jumps — we skip Stephens’ transition from law to politics, going straight into his first term in the Georgia State Congress; the Civil War, which the average reader would probably expect to be the focus, is dwarfed by the long recounting of all Stephens’ political machinations in the pre-War period; and the Cornerstone Speech, the moment he is most known for today (for all the wrong reasons) is effectively skimmed over. Schott also seems to assume that, if Stephens expresses one view earlier and another later, this represents hypocrisy, whereas I would have liked to see more examination of how his views changed and why. I know this can be mysterious, even to a biographer, and his view of Stephens as a generally stubborn person is not inaccurate, but there are hints of his beliefs shifting in the post-war period that warrant mention. To be fair, however, I also think there are areas where Stephens’ decision-making is baffling — at times he is considered; at others dizzyingly impulsive — but I understand that even an expert cannot be expected to explain everything.
Schott also conveys the complexity of Stephens’ state of mind very well, particularly the strange balances between his contentment and melancholy (which don’t necessarily correspond to his own circumstances), his compassion and misanthropy, and his fondness and disdain for his career environment. He also shows some sympathy for Stephens in the language, and recognises the difficulties he faced, even if he personally dislikes him: “He looked like anything but a leader who deserved unqualified respect and admiration, and Stephens was painfully conscious of it. By his own description he was “a malformed ill-shaped half-finished thing”; “He writhed under the tortures of social inferiority. So he took refuge in pride, nurturing a self-image that canceled considerations of early poverty, constant ill health, and physical ugliness”. Although Schott is peeved at Stephens’ arrogant behaviour, he acknowledges that “Stephens was acutely aware of being different, and the thought of it tortured him. So, as always, he took refuge behind a mask of superior intellect and moral rectitude”. There is also interplay between this and his famously “volcanic” ambition and combative tendencies (including threatening to duel his opponents, an obvious outlet to challenge others as directly as possible while remaining within the bounds of Southern honour culture): his belief that he was “made to figure in a storm” and his tendency to fight and argue aggressively with others form a crucial part of his efforts to assert himself in an unforgiving world.
Conversely, despite this pretence, Stephens denied being vain, and we do see at times his more amiable tendencies, as well as his deep and genuine care for others’ opinions. We see this frequently in his moderation and preference for compromise, coupled with his dislike and suspicion of extremism, but two incidents stand out in my mind. Firstly, Stephens’ forgiveness of Francis H. Cone, the political opponent who tried to stab him to death: “Stephens, who knew the corrosive power of anger as well as anyone, refused to prosecute. And he let it be known, before the election, that he had forgiven the judge”; and secondly, the immediate and surprising connection he forged with Ulysses S. Grant, whom he later acknowledged was “one of the most remarkable men [he] had ever met”. The picture of them fraternising together paints a rather different view of the War, though again, it is another element that injects something fascinating into the narrative but cannot be easily rationalised or explained. There is good reason to call this the ‘definitive’ biography for now, and if it (ironically) won the Jefferson Davis Award then others must see something in it, but I am left feeling that a book truly capturing the spirit of the man is yet to be written.
March 18, 2017
In his exhaustive summation of Alexander Stephens' life as illustrated by his letters, speeches, books, and historical accounts of the man, Dr. Thomas E. Schott has certainly written the definitive modern biography of the Sage of Crawfordville. What is definitive, however, is not necessarily good. While Schott has crafted an imminently readable and engaging narrative of Stephens' life, he has failed to make this work actually come to life. Readers are presented with a thorough yet incomplete image of Stephens, because a man is defined as much by his spirit as by his works, and Schott clearly knows nothing of Stephens' spirit.
Which is certainly not to say that this book is a bad biography. Schott is able to deftly condense an entire life into an appropriate length, and presents the context of Stephens' life with remarkable alacrity: Schott has rightfully made the story of Stephens the story of America during the middle of the 19th century, and he summarizes topics, and their relation to Stephens, as disparate as Squatter Sovereignty and the New Departure with impressive skill and narrative ability. It is immediately clear that Schott would be a fantastic author of a textbook, and for an account of Stephens' influence over American historical events, one could not ask for a better work.
Where Schott fails, however, is in his refusal to actually engage with Stephens' ideas. From his first harping upon Stephens' racial views to his last image of Stephens as a used-up relic, Schott shows himself intellectually incapable of understanding or even following the thrust of Stephens' political and philosophical beliefs. Where Stephens is dedicated, Schott sees only obstinacy; where Stephens is nuanced, Schott sees only hypocrisy; where Stephens is brilliant, Schott sees only sophistry. Such distinctions could be considered a matter of perspective were it not for the fact that Schott, in his middling summations and examinations of Stephens' ideas, makes it painfully clear that he has failed to grasp what Stephens was actually arguing. The result is Schott's introductory assertion that one of the most remarkable and respected intellectuals in the pantheon of American statesmen was "not a brilliant man." It is strangely ironic that Schott, in his narrative, often makes reference to the fact that Stephens' contemporaries did not understand him, as it is clear that Schott does not understand him either.
Nevertheless, as Stephens' has been woefully unappreciated by modern authors, I must necessarily recommend this work as a point of introduction for anyone interested in learning more about Alexander Stephens. After having gleamed the context and rudimentary details of his life from Schott, one may then proceed to a greater understanding and comprehension of Stephens which can be derived from his own writings and letters.
Which is certainly not to say that this book is a bad biography. Schott is able to deftly condense an entire life into an appropriate length, and presents the context of Stephens' life with remarkable alacrity: Schott has rightfully made the story of Stephens the story of America during the middle of the 19th century, and he summarizes topics, and their relation to Stephens, as disparate as Squatter Sovereignty and the New Departure with impressive skill and narrative ability. It is immediately clear that Schott would be a fantastic author of a textbook, and for an account of Stephens' influence over American historical events, one could not ask for a better work.
Where Schott fails, however, is in his refusal to actually engage with Stephens' ideas. From his first harping upon Stephens' racial views to his last image of Stephens as a used-up relic, Schott shows himself intellectually incapable of understanding or even following the thrust of Stephens' political and philosophical beliefs. Where Stephens is dedicated, Schott sees only obstinacy; where Stephens is nuanced, Schott sees only hypocrisy; where Stephens is brilliant, Schott sees only sophistry. Such distinctions could be considered a matter of perspective were it not for the fact that Schott, in his middling summations and examinations of Stephens' ideas, makes it painfully clear that he has failed to grasp what Stephens was actually arguing. The result is Schott's introductory assertion that one of the most remarkable and respected intellectuals in the pantheon of American statesmen was "not a brilliant man." It is strangely ironic that Schott, in his narrative, often makes reference to the fact that Stephens' contemporaries did not understand him, as it is clear that Schott does not understand him either.
Nevertheless, as Stephens' has been woefully unappreciated by modern authors, I must necessarily recommend this work as a point of introduction for anyone interested in learning more about Alexander Stephens. After having gleamed the context and rudimentary details of his life from Schott, one may then proceed to a greater understanding and comprehension of Stephens which can be derived from his own writings and letters.
August 25, 2020
A bit long and dry at points. Good material. Author could probably do a little bit of a better job contextualizing for readers. Still, good survey of Stephen's life.
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