Yesterday the state of Virginia permanently removed the nation’s largest confederate monument, a statue of Robert E. Lee, from its place on Monument Avenue in the capital city of Richmond, Virginia, where it had been erected in 1890. All other confederate monuments have already been removed. This was the last one to go. Lee was the famed confederate general who led a southern army of rebellion against the United States government during the American Civil War.
It was the right decision and long overdue. The historical truth is that Robert E. Lee and the confederate army fought a long and bloody war against the federal government of the United States over the legal right of the southern states to preserve and expand the institution of chattel slavery.
In reflecting on Lee’s surrender at Appomattox and the cause for which Lee and his army had served, U.S. Army General Ulysses S. Grant wrote in his post war memoir:
I felt like anything rather than rejoicing at the downfall of a foe who had fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so much for a cause, though that cause was, I believe, one of the worst for which a people ever fought, and one for which there was the least excuse. [underlining added]
He liked to say that he was in morals, not politics. From this the logical deduction was that people who opposed him, numerous though they undoubtedly were, must be willfully wrong. . . .
Yet angry words were about the only kind anyone cared about to use these days. Men seemed tired of the reasoning process. Instead of trying to convert one’s opponents it was simpler just to denounce them, no matter what unmeasured denunciation might lead to. . . . Men saw what they feared and hated, concentrated on its wide empty plains, and as they stared they were losing the ability to see virtue in compromise and conciliation. The man on the other side, whatever one’s vantage point, was beginning to look ominously alien. . . .
A philippic, as he had promised. No single vote had been changed by it; the Senate would decide, at last, precisely as it would have done if he had kept quiet. But he had not been trying to persuade. No one was, these days; a political leader addressed his own following, not the opposition. Summer had been trying to inflame, to arouse, to confirm the hatreds and angers that already existed. In the North there were men who from his words would draw a new enmity toward the South; in the South there were men who would see in this speaker and what he had said a final embodiment of the compelling reasons why it was good to think seriously about secession.
These excerpts are from Catton’s book, This Hallowed Ground. Though he is describing something that happened 165 years ago, it feels eerily contemporary.
In the opening pages of his book, a section aptly subtitled “Sowing the Wind,” Catton is describing the mood of the U.S. Senate (and the nation really) as Senator Charles Sumner prepared and delivered a speech on the Senate floor denouncing slavery and calling for the territory of Kansas to be admitted to the Union as a free state.
A few days later, on the Senate floor, as a result of that speech, Sumner was attacked and almost beat to death with a cane by Preston Brooks, a senator from South Carolina, and a strong advocate for slavery and states’ rights.
It was May, 1856. The nation was just 5 years from the opening shots of a bloody civil war.
It’s been at least 20 years now, but I remember watching a very interesting program on the Learning Channel (TLC) about the 13th century Cathars of southern France. I watched it probably 4 times because it was a fascinating story. The Cathars were sect of Christianity that held Gnostic beliefs. So naturally the Church considered them heretics. The Cathars had a fairly large following in southern France and they were based largely in the Languedoc region. Many of the region’s French Lords sympathized with the Cathars and became their defenders.
In 1209 A.D. Pope Innocent III ordered a crusade against the Cathars and their sympathizers. By 1240 A.D. the army of the Church had mostly stamped out the Cathar heresy, however, vestiges of the faith remained until the last of the Cathars was burned alive in 1321.
In southern France there are a number of “Cathar Castles.” These castles are mostly located in and around the southern French towns of Toulouse, Albi, and, the one I became most fascinated with, the massive and majestic castle, or fortified town, of Carcassonne.
After seeing the TLC program on the fate of the Cathars, I added Carcassonne to my bucket list. My wife and I have yet to get there. But, I can say with pride and envy, my oldest son was at Carcassonne today with his lovely southern French girlfriend. With a smile I opened the shared photo album this morning and my wife and I looked at the recently added 60 plus photos of Carcassonne. I thought I’d share some of them.
It’s hard not to find some humor and fascination in a man who is confident enough—and then some—to criticize his boss with such oblique candor.
Here is an extract from a letter written by Wellington in Spain around 1810 to the Secretary of War, Lord Bradford:
My lord, if I attempted to answer the mass of futile correspondence that surrounds me, I should be debarred from all serious business of campaigning.
So long as I retain an independent position I shall see to it that no officer under my command is debarred, by attending to the futile drivelling of mere quil driving in your lordship’s officer, from attending to his first duty – which is, as always, to train the private men under his command.
The young William and Mary college student stood in the doorway of the Virginia legislative chamber and watched the renown man speak. The year was 1765. With the cadences and imagery and power of his words the speaker seized the spirit of the young man. Reflecting on that moment many years later Thomas Jefferson wrote “He spoke as Homer wrote.” The speaker was Patrick Henry.
Homer was the great epic poet of ancient Greece and many of the lines from the Iliad and the Odyssey were memorized by many young colonial American boys. Jefferson and Henry could, no doubt, quote large sections of the texts from memory. Ancient Greek authors wrote their poems and histories specifically to be read aloud. The words and imagery were chosen carefully for the emotive purpose of getting the audience to “move with” the author. The success of the writer, or any artist really, is when the power of his or her words (or whatever art form they use) takes you along, imaginatively, to the place that he or she intends. We’re storytelling beings who find our purpose and meaning in the stories we tell ourselves. The world and our experience are the canvas; words are the paint.
The power of great words, especially the spoken, for good or for ill, can move people to do things they might not have done otherwise. That day Jefferson could feel the seductive force of Henry’s words. The men of that chamber, at the time, were debating the one of the most consequential things you can: treason. Henry added great persuasive force to the cause.
The younger Jefferson was a great admirer of Henry and his skill as a speaker, but the later, the older and more experienced Jefferson, found Henry’s power of oratory could also pose a tremendous problem. Breaking things up is much easier than building things up. And so while Henry was an asset in bringing about the revolution and a new nation, he was a serious liability when Virginia was trying to form a new state constitution. It worried Jefferson a lot. So much so that in a letter to James Madison we find some rather candid lines about the content of Jefferson’s prayers:
“While Mr. Henry lives another bad [state] constitution would be formed, and saddled for ever on us. What we have to do I think is devoutly to pray for his death.”