4.5 rounded up
It may be said that the country doesn’t need another biography of Abraham Lincoln, even a smartly written analytical one by the author of several acclaimed bestselling bios of past presidents. At last count, more than 16,000 books about Lincoln already exist. What more could can be said about Lincoln that isn’t merely a rehash of what’s gone before?
It's certainly not my place to hazard an answer to this question; personally I find Lincoln endlessly fascinating so the idea that new books about him are superfluous is perplexing. As it happens, though, I am writing this only a few hours after what might be the final public hearing of the January 6 committee so my mind is in a particular place. I suspect it is very similar to the place Jon Meacham was in as he wrote this evocative book.
“And There Was Light” is a very thorough biography of the 16th president. It looks at his upbringing; the forces, people, events, and cultural currents that shaped him (including religion, philosophy, and race, to name three big ones); his experiences as a young man in business and politics; his life as a husband and father, as President of the United States; the internal contradictions he wrestled with; and more. I’ve read many books about Lincoln but I still discovered much here that I’d never read before.
What makes the book truly stand out for me is how Meacham very methodically uses Lincoln’s life and times as a vehicle for probing the fissures and challenges of our own time; that is, the book is not biography alone but also biography-as-commentary. He writes, "A president who led a divided country in which an implacable minority gave no quarter in a clash over power, race, identity, money, and faith has much to teach us in a twenty-first-century moment of polarization, passionate disagreement, and differing understandings of reality. For while Lincoln cannot be wrenched from the context of his particular times, his story illuminates the ways and means of politics, the marshaling of power in a democracy, the durability of racism, and the capacity of conscience to help shape events."
The years leading to the American Civil War were strikingly — even frighteningly — similar to our own. Sometimes the similarities appear so large that they seem almost forced and artificial. As the day of certifying Lincoln’s election neared, for example, it was feared that the Capitol might be taken by violence by armed men eager to prevent the counting of the electoral votes and the declaration of Lincoln’s presidency. The outgoing VP was a member of the opposing party, and what’s more, a loyal Southerner. Could he be counted on to act with integrity and fulfill his Constitutional duties? Might the boxes with the electoral votes be taken from him by force? Deepening anxiety about the certification led to the deployment of federal troops throughout the capital, headed by General Winfield Scott who declared that anyone “who attempted by force or unparliamentary disorder to obstruct or interfere with the lawful count [of Electoral votes] would be lashed to the muzzle of a twelve-pounder and fired out a window of the Capitol.” (Unsurprisingly, reading this I found myself thinking of the many sombre ruminations I've read about what might have happened on had the police guarding the Capitol on January 6 opened fire on the insurrectionists trying to overturn the 2020 election.)
Not all correspondences between those years and our own were so obvious, of course (though Meacham does direct the reader’s attention to the fact that Lincoln, fully expecting to lose his bid for reelection, made it clear that he would accept the results regardless of the outcome: “This is due to the people both on principle, and under the constitution. Their will, constitutionally expressed, is the ultimate law for all.”).
As I made my way through “And There Was Light” I noted the themes Meacham touches upon that are all-too-visible today: race, anti-immigrant animus, sectionalism, political factions, culture wars, disruptive technologies, the role of federal courts in “reorder[ing] reality", conspiracy-mongering and performative grievances ("On the eve of Fort Sumter, the governor of South Carolina, Francis Pickens, reportedly acknowledged the clash in realities in a private conversation with a U.S. Army office in Charleston. Pickens told the army man about 'the whole plan and secret of the Southern conspiracy,' admitting that 'the South had never been wronged, and that all their pretense of grievance… were invalid. But we must carry the people with us; and we allege these things, as all statesmen do many things they do not believe, because they are the only instruments by which the people can be managed.' ” ), how public opinion both empowers and constrains politicians, the politics of class and… well, I could go on for a very long time: these themes run deeply throughout American history. Indeed, arguably they are our history.
One key point Meachem makes is this: Lincoln came of age in an environment in which religion and religious language and imagery were very prominent. Lincoln’s mature writings are peppered with countless biblical allusions and expressions. Matters of belief and faith per se didn’t appear to be very important to him, but the ethical principles underlying religion were extremely important. In fact, they informed his perceptions of right and wrong, and how such principles work in real life, particularly in profoundly troubled and violent times. Most remarkably, from our current vantage point, Lincoln repeatedly demonstrated that he would not sacrifice his moral standards in order to win an election. If he was going to lose, he would lose knowing he stood for what he thought was right, not for what was politically expedient.
Character and morality are recurring themes in the book. (“Politics divorced from conscience is fatal to the American experiment in liberty under law,” Meacham writes, doubtless thinking of our situation today.) But if religion had a salutary place in shaping Lincoln's character, it played a less admirable role in public life, particularly in the South. The mayor of Savannah, Georgia, for example, said that he "could not bring my mind to entertain even the impression that a God of justice and of truth will permit a blinded, fanatical people… who set at defiance the right of private property by seizing Negroes, the personal chattel of others… to triumph in this unholy war.” Elsewhere, a minister opines from the pulpit that defending slavery is precisely defending the cause of God and religion. Another minister called for Heaven's aid in the fight against a heathen North: "Retaliation! To arms! To arms! Let us kill! Let us destroy! Let us by faith, obedience and love, so engage the Lord of Hosts on our side that he will fight for us." (Need I observe that we hear similarly heated calls for violence coming -- incongruously, it seems to me -- from some pulpits today?)
Lincoln is not held up as a perfect man in the book. He is in fact deeply flawed and conflicted. But these flaws are the very things that drew Meacham to closely examine Lincoln's character. As he writes, “We study Lincoln not because he was perfect but because he was a man whose inconsistencies resonate even now.” Prominent among these inconsistencies were Lincoln’s views about race. As a historian, Meacham uses his discussions of this complicated matter to make a convincing argument against “presentism” — the tendency many people have to evaluate people and events of the past in terms of modern values and concepts. (One wonders whether the opposite side of this conceptual coin is "originalism," at least insofar as certain legal theorists... no, I'll let it go.)
At the beginning of this review I referred to today's January 6 Committee hearing. I might add here that yesterday I listened to “The Argument,” a podcast from the New York Times. The topic under consideration was whether the United States is headed towards a second civil war. The discussion was thoughtful, serious, and — of course — inconclusive. This podcast was also on my mind as I wrote this review.
Meacham notes, early in his book, that in considering Lincoln “we… engage not only the possibilities and limitations of the presidency, but the possibilities and limitations of America itself.” “And There Was Light” makes it clear that Meacham believes the possibilities and limitations that were tested during the Civil War years are being tested again today. The matter runs throughout the book, both explictly and implicitly, but is, I think, best captured not in Meacham's words but in Lincoln’s own, oft-quoted observation: “At what point shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant, to step the Ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never!… I answer, if it ever reaches us, it must spring up amongst us… If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time, or die by suicide.” It remains to be seen what the outcome of our time's story will be.
My thanks to Random House and Edelweis+ for providing a digital ARC in return for an honest review.