I commend to your attention this marvelous essay by Rachel Lu. Entitled “A Tale of Two Commanders,” Lu contrasts the statesmanship of two figures of modern history, Ulysses Grant and Adolf Hitler.
On first blush that may seem an odd comparison. Grant is known as a successful, if not necessarily high skilled, general of the United States Civil War. I am not suggesting Grant was not high skilled—the recent biography by Ron Chernow gives high praise to Grant’s generalship as does John Keegan, as referenced by Lu—I am merely bowing to the conventional wisdom that Grant’s victories were more the result of superior numbers than emanations from the mind of a master tactician. Later President of the United States, Grant’s presidency is most known for its corruption, largely by underlings and without Grant’s participation or knowledge. While there has been a recent reassessment of Grant, in part thanks to Chernow’s positive portrayal, on the whole Grant has been seen as something of a second-rate figure in American history, a sort of “good-not-great” fellow.
Hitler, of course, is Hitler. Need I say more? The face of evil at the heart of the central conflict of the modern world, it says all that need be said of Hitler that he is the go-to analogy whenever you want to say somebody is bad. In fact, Hitler has almost become a cliché. We thus have Godwin’s Law, i.e., the first person in an argument to reference Hitler or the Nazis loses the argument. Leo Strauss coined the logical fallacy reductio ad Hitlerum, a play on reductio ad absurdum, meaning the attempt to render an opinion invalid simply because it happens to be shared by Hitler (e.g., Hitler liked dogs. You like dogs. Ergo, you are Hitler). Still, let’s face it, Hitler earned every cent of his infamy.
Please read Lu’s piece to garner insightful lessons on statesmanship. I wish to focus on just one matter only alluded to by Lu. The basic point is this: Grant and Hitler both inspired devotion, whether military or political. The difference is how each man spurred such support.
Grant inspired his men and later his countrymen by simply doing his job and doing it well. He was shy, not the least bit charismatic, and while being quite well-read he was not what you’d call a great orator (though his memoirs are famously well thought of). In other words, Grant gained loyalty simply due to his competence. He didn’t have to play to crowds or stir emotions.
Hitler, by contrast, rose to power through pure demagoguery. His was an appeal to emotion, recalling Hamilton’s admonition in Federalist #1 that the demagogue begins by “paying an obsequious court to the people; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants.” The problem with such appeals is, however, that it is hard to sustain mass emotion. One must constantly up the ante, making ever more sensationalist appeals, perhaps inventing more and more complex conspiracies or having to create demons even worse than the demons invoked before. Eventually, when faced with failure, people start to see through the charade. No amount of illusion can make up for repeated failure. While Grant ascended to the United States presidency, Hitler ended up dead in a bunker, concluding his life like the coward he ultimately was.
Such is the peril of leadership as a public relations campaign rather than statesmanship guided by prudence and competence. C.S. Lewis once wrote that the only profession in which a Christian cannot in good conscience participate is advertising. Advertising has at its heart the appeal to desire, the lust for more, which is at the heart of sin. Advertising depends on deception. So it is with leadership (political, business, sports, whatever) that attempts to gain and hold power by manipulating appearances rather than through simple hard work and small successes.
A couple historical examples will do. I think of Dick Winters, the hero of Steven Ambrose’s tale of World War Two, Band of Brothers, later turned into the excellent television series for HBO. Winters’s fellow soldiers summed up his leadership in two words: “Follow me.” No matter how dangerous the mission, Winters always led from the front. By the simple admonition “Follow me,” Winters let his men know that as they ran into to danger, they could count on him to lead the way. He didn’t need to shout, give impassioned speeches, or brag about his exploits. He merely did his job with integrity, part which meant taking the same risks as every other man. This earned him the respect, even the love, of his men. Winters was not concerned with the appearance of courage; he modeled it. Doing so, he didn’t need to call attention to his virtue. It was easily recognized by all who witnessed his exploits.
Another example is George Washington. In 1932, Herbert Hoover addressed a joint session of Congress on the bicentennial of Washington’s birth. In this speech, Hoover notes that of all the men of his generation, Washington was not in many senses the most remarkable. Surely there were others who were better educated, more eloquent, more charismatic, even some who had more deft military minds. Yet that generation continually turned to Washington for leadership: as commander-in-chief during the Revolutionary War, as chair of what became the Constitutional Convention, and finally as President of the United States. Why? Hoover puts it as follows: “The answer of history is unmistakable: They brought their problems to Washington because he had more character, a finer character, a purer character, than any other man of his time.”
Washington was incorruptible. He led by the power of his character, not by the cleverness of his quick response team or the ability to spin the day’s news. People knew that Washington could be trusted with power because power could not corrupt him. He wasn’t thinking about what would play to the press, only what was the right thing to do.
There are few if any people like this in today’s world. We have leaders that inspire great emotion but little respect. There is a lot of talk about civic education today. Much of the language turns on the notion that we need to teach young people about our history and institutions. Put me down as in favor. We also need to teach about character. What differentiates a statesman from a mere politician? What kinds of characters can be trusted with power and which kinds cannot? History and literature can help us in the building of this kind of discernment. Until then, it’s more smoke and mirrors.