Hi Ms W,
I wish the new president the ability to rise to the occasion,
to show true statemanship in times of crisis. Ever since I
read this address about 10 years ago, it has helped me
understand what a terrible job the president has if he's a
statesman. If a president is a politician, I pray the nation
survives the term of office. Mr. Helprin describes
the "continual stress of soul" that needs to accompany our
nation's leaders.
From an address by Mark Helprin; April 1998, Imprimis
Magazine.....................................
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Rise to the occasion. The principle suggests itself from a
phrase, and such principles suggest easily and flow
generously. You can grab them out of the air, from phrases,
from memories, from images. A statesman must rise to the
occasion. Harry Truman had the discipline of plowing a
straight row ten, twelve, and fourteen hours a day, of rising
and retiring with the sun, of struggling with temperamental
machinery, of suffering heat and cold and one injury after
another. After a short time on a farm, presumptions about
ruling others tend to vanish. It is as if you are pulled to
earth and held there.
The man who works the land is hard put to think that he would
direct armies and nations. Truman understood the grave
responsibility of being the president of the United States,
and that it was a task too great for him or for anyone else
to accomplish without doing a great deal of injury—if not to
some, then to others. He understood that, therefore, he had
to transcend himself. There would be little enjoyment of the
job, because he had to be always aware of the enormous
consequences of everything he did. Contrast this with the
unspeakably vulgar pleasure in office of President Clinton.
Truman, absolutely certain that the mantle he assumed was far
greater than he could ever be, was continually and
deliberately aware of the weight of history, the
accomplishments of his predecessors, and, by humble and
imaginative projection, his own inadequacy. The sobriety and
care that derived from this allowed him a rare privilege for
modern presidents, to give to the presidency more than he
took from it. It is not possible to occupy the Oval Office
without arrogantly looting its assets or nobly adding to
them. May God bless the president who adds to them, and may
God damn the president who loots them.
America would not have come out of the Civil War as it did
had it not been led by Lincoln and Lee. The battles raged for
five years, but for a hundred years the country, both North
and South, modeled itself on their character. They
exemplified almost perfectly Churchill’s statement, “Public
men charged with the conduct of the war should live in a
continual stress of soul.”
This continual stress of soul is necessary as well in
peacetime, because for every good deed in public life there
is a counterbalance. Benefits are given only after taxes are
taken. That is part of governance. The statesman, who
represents the whole nation, sees in the equilibrium for
which he strives a continual tension between victory and
defeat. If he did not understand this, he would have no
stress of soul, he would be merely happy—about money showered
upon the orphan, taken from the widow. About children sent to
day care, so that they may be long absent from their parents.
About merciful parole of criminals, who kill again. Whereas a
statesman knows continual stress of soul, a politician is
happy, for he knows not what he does.
It is difficult for individuals or nations to recognize that
war and peace alternate. But they do. No matter how long
peace may last, it will end in war. Though most people cannot
believe at this moment that the United States of America will
ever again fight for its survival, history guarantees that it
will. And, when it does, most people will not know what to
do. They will believe of war, as they did of peace, that it
is everlasting.
The statesman, who is different from everyone else, will, in
the midst of common despair, see the end of war, just as
during the peace he was alive to the inevitability of war,
and saw it coming in the far distance, as if it were a gray
wave moving quietly across a dark sea.
The politician will revel with his people and enjoy their
enjoyments. The statesman, in continual stress of soul, will
think of destruction. As others move in the light, he will
move in darkness, so that as others move in darkness he may
move in the light. This tenacity, that is given to those of
long and insistent vision, is what saves nations.
A statesman must have a temperament that is suited for the
Medal of Honor, in a soul that is unafraid to die.
Electorates rightly favor those who have endured combat, not
as a matter of reward for service, as is commonly believed,
but because the willingness of a soldier to give his life is
a strong sign of his correct priorities, and that in future
he will truly understand that statesmen are not rulers but
servants. It seems clear even in these years of squalid
degradation that having risked death for the sake of honor is
better than having risked dishonor for the sake of life.
No matter what you are told by the sophisticated classes that
see virtue in every form of corruption and corruption in
every form of virtue, I think you know, as I do, that the
American people hunger for acts of integrity and courage. The
American people hunger for a statesman magnetized by the
truth, unwilling to give up his good name, uninterested in
calculation only for the sake of victory, unable to put his
interests before those of the nation. What this means in
practical terms is no focus groups, no polls, no
triangulation, no evasion, no broken promises, and no lies.
These are the tools of the chameleon. They are employed to
cheat the American people of honest answers to direct
questions. If the average politician, for fear that he may
lose something, is incapable of even a genuine yes or no, how
is he supposed to rise to the great occasions of state? How
is he supposed to face a destructive and implacable enemy?
How is he supposed to understand the rightful destiny of his
country, and lead it there?
At the coronation of an English monarch, he is given a sword.
Elizabeth II took it last, and as she held it before the
altar, she heard these words:
Receive this kingly Sword, brought now from the altar of
God and delivered to you by us, the Bishops and servants of
God, though unworthy. With this Sword do justice, stop the
growth of iniquity, protect the holy Church of God, help and
defend widows and orphans, restore the things that are gone
to decay, maintain the things that are restored, punish and
reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order; that
doing these things you may be glorious in all virtue; and so
faithfully serve our Lord.
Would that we in America come once again to understand that
statesmanship is not the appetite for power but—because
things matter—a holy calling of self-abnegation and self-
sacrifice. We have made it something else. Nonetheless, after
and despite its betrayal, statesmanship remains the
manifestation, in political terms, of beauty, and balance,
and truth. It is the courage to tell the truth, and thus
discern what is ahead. It is a mastery of the symmetry of
forces, illuminated by the genius of speaking to the heart of
things.
Statesmanship is a quality that, though it may be betrayed,
is always ready to be taken up again merely by honest
subscription to its great themes. Have confidence that even
in idleness its strengths are growing, for it is a
providential gift given to us in times of need. Evidently we
do not need it now, but as the world is forever interesting
the time will surely come when we do. And then, so help me
God, I believe that, solely by the grace of God, the corrupt
will be thrown down and the virtuous will rise up.
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Remember, this was written in the Spring of 1998 - a decade ago.
Best regards, Tom
AI
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