In
anticipation of the celebration this week of the 248th anniversary our
nation’s independence, I undertook to re-read President John Kennedy’s Pulitzer-Prize-winning
1956 bestseller, Profiles in Courage, a book I first encountered when it
was assigned to me by Mrs. Gore in my eleventh-grade American history class. If
I remember correctly, it impressed me then. But it astounded me now, and in
several different ways. Of course, I am more than aware of the widespread
belief that the book was substantially written by Theodore Sorensen, at the
time a Kennedy speechwriter with a strong interest in American history, and
that a good deal of the research that went into the book was undertaken by
Jules Davids, a professor of diplomatic history at Georgetown, where he had
among his students the young Jackie Kennedy, then still Jacqueline Bouvier. (Sorensen’s
remark that he wasn’t the book’s author, merely the guy who wrote “the first
draft of most of the book’s chapters” says more than enough.) Of course, I was
unaware of any of this when I was in Mrs. Gore’s class and took the book to be
the work of our martyred thirty-fifth president, whose memory we all revered
and whom we all believed would have gone on to do truly great things if he had
lived to the end of a second term in the White House. For better or worse, I
will refer here to John Kennedy as the book’s author.
The book
itself consists of a series of essays, eight in total, describing acts of moral
heroism undertaken at various moment’s in our nation’s history by sitting
senators. Most of the senators in question served in the Senate in the decades
leading up to the Civil War or in the ones that followed; all are depicted as
men who, rather than following the advice of their party or even the wishes of
their constituents, chose instead to do what they perceived to be the right
thing regardless of the consequences of their actions. These senators, in
Kennedy’s opinion, were therefore heroes: men who chose to remain true to their
own ideals and who were prepared to pay a big price for doing so.
That
notion, of course, was and remains controversial: is the job of elected
officials to do what they personally believe to be right or to represent their
constituents vigorously and to vote in accordance with the wishes of the people
who put them in office specifically to represent them in the Congress? It’s a
good question! And it is telling, at least to me, that that specific issue is
not debated or even raised really in the pages of the book: for the author, it
goes without saying that the job of public officials is always to act in
accordance with their own moral code and so to fulfill the “real” reasons
anyone is elected to office in the first place: to do good, to promote virtue,
to act in the best interests of the people, and to lead the nation forward to
(or at least towards) the fulfillment of its national destiny. No more than
that, but also no less!
What I
liked so much about the book the first time ‘round (i.e., back in eleventh
grade), I can’t quite recall. But what struck me this time was how complicated
it is to say that politicians who act in accordance with their own values and
ideals are always behaving in a praiseworthy manner—and that the corollary,
that it is always base and unworthy for politicians to bow to public opinion,
including the public opinion of their own constituents, is also true.
A good
example would be the case of Senator Robert A. Taft, the son of the
twenty-seventh president of the United States and the senator from Ohio from
1939 through 1953. What JFK particularly admired in Taft was his willingness to
face nation-wide opprobrium for publicly opposing the Nuremberg Trials of some
of the worst Nazi war criminals, to which Taft sneeringly referred as victor’s
justice under ex post facto laws. This latter idea—that no one may be
tried, let alone executed, for breaking laws that were only enacted after the
deed under consideration was done—is a pillar of Western justice. But there was
no one in the nation—except for Senator Taft, it seems—who was willing to apply
that to the Nazis being tried in Nuremberg, whose crimes against humanity
were—at least for most—so beyond the pale of “normal” criminality that the
regular rules could not reasonably apply to them. Nor did Taft mince his words
on the topic, repeatedly referencing the trials as being far more about
vengeance than justice. This could not possibly have been a less popular
opinion and he was publicly lambasted both by Republicans and Democrats for
daring suggest that there was something intrinsically illegal afoot in
Nuremberg and for going so far as to characterize Nuremberg as “a miscarriage
of justice that the American people would long regret.” (To read the New York
Times article of October 6, 1946 recording the senator’s words, click here.) It is
widely believed that this principled opposition to the Nuremberg Trials is what
cost Taft the Republican nomination for President in 1952.
JFK
admires Taft immensely for knowing what he believed to be right and for
repeatedly paying gigantic prices for being true to his own self. (His pre-Pearl-Harbor
opposition to US involvement in World War II is widely thought to have cost him
the Republican nomination in 1940, which he also didn’t get in 1948 because—or
at least probably because—of his isolationist positioning.) I felt myself swept
along by Kennedy’s rhetoric too: I couldn’t have agreed with Robert Taft less
on most issues, including—possibly most of all—the legitimacy of Nuremberg. And
yet I was struck by the portrait of a man with the courage of his convictions,
of a man who would simply not lie about how he felt for his own gain.
The
other portraits in the book are equally stirring, most of all the portraits of
Edmund G. Ross, the senator from Kansas who broke with his party and the large
majority of his constituency to vote to acquit at the impeachment trial in the
Senate of President Andrew Johnson, and of Lucius Lamar, senator from
Mississippi, who alienated huge numbers of his constituents by attempting to
re-integrate the South into the Union and by supporting Black suffrage. At this
juncture in history, it would probably be a good thing for all Americans to
review Kennedy’s book—including those of us who last read it as teenagers. The
chapters are a bit uneven (and some presume a familiarity with American history
that will not correspond to what most readers will bring along to their
encounter with the book), but the book’s basic argument—that our nation has
been blessed over the centuries to have among its leaders people whose devotion
to their own ideals and principles was ironclad and unshakeable—is something
American would do well to consider and reconsider as we wrap up the first
quarter of this century and move on into the second.
We have
evolved a system in which we esteem above all else flexibility of opinion and
elasticity of conviction. We hail as our greats individuals who get things
done, who are effective and energetic, who know how to compromise. And we
specifically do not admire people who refuse to go along with the majority, who
insist on sticking to their opinions no matter what the consequences, who don’t
mind being widely reviled if such is the price for being true their personal
convictions. Indeed, the notion itself that the job of senators and members of
the House is to embody their own virtues rather than invariably to act in
accordance with the opinions of their constituents is probably the opposite of what
most people think. And that is what makes President Kennedy’s book so
challenging and so interesting—because, in the end, the book is a provocative
argument that democracy needs leaders with vision and virtue, not ones who see
their job as simply doing what they are told by the voters. In turn, this
question leads to others. With whom should the ultimate power rest in a
democracy—with the people (who are, after all, the demos in democracy)
or with its leaders, chose precisely because of their vision and personal
philosophy? How should history judge those who claim to believe in democracy
but who—like JFK, apparently—ultimately hail as heroes elected officials who
refuse to obey the wishes of the people who put them office? What does it even
mean to lead a nation, for that matter: to do as the people demand or to
inspire them to want what you feel is in their own best interests? Is that
paternalism or leadership? Does hoi polloi get the final vote? Or is
putting that kind of power in the hands of the masses precisely what leads to
Nazism and Maoism? These are the questions that Profiles in Courage awakened
in me as we approach the nation’s semiquincentennial in just two years. Are our
leaders supposed to lead or be led? Do the people have the final word? Or is
their job to put in place leaders whose sense of allegiance to their own virtues
and values will lead the nation forward to its destiny? These are all excellent
questions…and one more timely than the next!