Our first Republican President did not campaign to end slavery, but to end its expansion to the new territories. His personal moral position revealed itself later when, as President, he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation and deposited it into a desk drawer. He decided not to reveal this document to Americans until his Union Army began to turn the tide of the Civil War in its favor. Instead, he berated his General for failing to advance the Union cause more aggressively. Contemporary politicians may interpret Abraham Lincoln’s reticence to support the abolition of slavery during his campaign and the withholding of his Proclamation for a more acceptable time as “good politics.” But they would mischaracterize Lincoln’s action by perceiving it through the lens of 21st century politics. When a majority in Congress overturned the Missouri Compromise to allow a potential majority in these territories to vote their admission into the Union as slave states, Abraham Lincoln broke with the concept of majority rule. He understood that a nation divided among slave and non-slave states could not stand united. Moreover, it would break with the promise of its Constitution “to form a more perfect union.” He became resolute to preserve what the founders created, “a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” ¹ Always mindful of public opinion, he chose not to follow it slavishly, but to lead it to “a new birth (italics mine) of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.” ¹ He was—above all else—dedicated to the nation’s core values. And, as President, Abraham Lincoln exercised moral leadership.

There is no doubt that President Lincoln and our nation faced an existential crisis in the 19th century. Although slavery had existed in the colonies since 1619, the prevailing influence of its economic value had persistently cloaked its moral character—even during the Constitutional Convention of 1787. But when a majority in Congress created the possibility of extending it to the new territories, one man staked his political career against that initiative. Then, as President, he led a young nation through the most catastrophic phase of its existence to a “new birth” of its founding ideals. Why, you might ask, do I bring this history into focus now? Perhaps I see a symmetry in what followed Lincoln’s Presidency, that is, Andrew Johnson’s impeachment. While our 16th President defined Republicanism, his successor is an analogue for our current President. After Lincoln’s assassination, Andrew Johnson, a former anti-abolitionist and southern Democrat from Tennessee, fought with the liberal—then considered radical—Republican majority in Congress over elements of the Reconstruction Act and opposed its oversight of his executive actions to reinstate former Confederate politicians. As a Democrat, he was the only southern Governor to support the Union. By restoring these Confederate politicians to office, he hoped to both strengthen his power and diversify the nation’s representation in government. But these same politicians could also threaten passage of the 14th Amendment which, among other civil rights, would grant citizenship to anybody born in America, including former slaves. Eventually, the Republican majority in the House passed 11 articles of impeachment pursuant to Johnson’s failure to support both a law passed by Congress (The Tenure of Office Act) and the legitimacy of Congress’ opposition to his executive initiatives. He was subsequently acquitted by the Senate on all counts by only one vote. Although his tenure as President was marred by chaos and furious dissension—both within his administration and Congress—his acquittal has been attributed less to his presumed innocence than to a political consideration. ² In “The Federalist, No. 65,” Alexander Hamilton writes, “there will always be the greatest danger that the decision (in a Senate trial) will be regulated more by the comparative strength of parties, than by the real demonstrations of innocence or guilt.” Do you see the parallel between Johnson’s impeachment and Trump’s?

Besides this similarity, there is an even more instructive difference between these impeachments. While President Andrew Johnson was intent on shoring up his power by assuaging former Confederates, the Republicans in Congress were committed to follow Lincoln’s moral leadership. Beyond freeing the slaves, they were intent on granting them citizenship and civil rights. While President Trump’s trial may replicate President Johnson’s politically inspired acquittal, the differences will be not only in the nature of their respective abuses of power and obstruction of Congress but also in the moral stance of the respective Republican Parties. In the 19th century, Republicans stood with Lincoln in support of the Constitution, the Union, post war reconstruction, and the extension of voting and civil rights to all citizens. Our 21st century Republican Party, by contrast, intends to exonerate a President accused of abusing his power and obstructing justice by attempting to extort a foreign country to help him rig his own reelection and blocking Congress’ lawful oversight of his illegal actions. This version of Republicanism is the adverse of moral leadership, intent on exonerating crimes against democratic elections and the Constitution, rather than holding parties accountable, most especially, the chief architect of these crimes, the President. The Senate Majority Leader has even vowed to subvert a Senate trial by excluding witnesses who might impugn President Trump. The question for Americans is whether any President should be more concerned with his/her political power than with the moral leadership his constituents entrust in and expect of any President. The question for the Republican Party is whether they choose to hold onto their seats in primaries over the more appropriate moral stance of conducting a fair trial. So far, the current Republican Party has not shown itself to be the Party of Lincoln.

What Lincoln endeavored to preserve was the revolutionary ideals expressed by Thomas Jefferson in 1776 and realized in the democratic republic constituted shortly thereafter by our founding fathers. In his response to James Madison’s summary of the Constitutional Convention of 1787, Jefferson wrote from Paris how much he liked “the general idea of framing a government” ³ apart from state legislatures, organized into legislative, judiciary and executive branches, and designed to counterbalance their separate powers. He had only two significant objections. First, he decried “the omission of a bill of rights.”³ And, second, he “strongly dislike(d) . . . the abandonment . . . of the principle of rotation in office, and most particularly in the case of the President.” ³ The newly established Congress addressed Jefferson’s first objection on March 4, 1789 when it passed the first ten Amendments, otherwise known as our Bill of Rights. The state conventions desired these amendments “to prevent misconstruction or abuse of its powers.” Jefferson’s second concern had to wait until after Franklin Roosevelt was elected for the fourth time. The 22nd Amendment limits a President to two terms, heeding Jefferson’s fear of an “officer for life.”⁴

It should not be surprising that the author of the Declaration of Independence would make these objections. A full reading of Jefferson’s Declaration (reference the version approved by Congress on July 4, 1776) includes a list of “abuses and injuries” whereby the King of Great Britain tried to establish an “absolute Tyranny.” If you read Jefferson’s grievances, you will undoubtedly note some similarities to the Trump Administration in terms of suppressing laws serving the public good (e.g., regarding the environment, consumer protection, worker safety, et al), representation of large groups of people via voting laws and census changes, naturalization of foreigners (reference DACA and immigration quotas), the role of civil authorities—like Congress—in military affairs, the jurisdiction of military tribunals in murder cases (via pardons), free trade with foreign nations (e.g., tariff wars), and fundamental institutions of our government such as HHS, EPA, USDA, HUD, and so on. Jefferson’s was the declarative voice condemning monarchical rule and suppression of representative government—the very “high crimes” specified in Trump’s Articles of Impeachment. His words heralded a revolution. Trump’s impeachment trial could spawn the rebirth of a pluralist democracy. His acquittal, on the other hand, would abet the suppression of a free people and their democratic institutions. And it would make Republican Senators complicit.

In “The Federalist, No. 65,” quoted above, the author specifies that impeachment is a political act regarding “the abuse or violation of some public trust.” That trust is established initially by the oath of office every public servant takes. An oath requires a special kind of humility, born of a conscientious submission of the self to an ideal. The proudest among us can find difficulty with oath-taking or, at least, adhering to it. Our greatest Presidents have often combined humility with their allegiance to the demands of office. Many Americans consider George Washington the epitome of a dedicated public servant. When John Adams, the key organizer of the colonists’ rebellion, nominated Washington to lead the revolutionary army, Washington immediately left the room, apparently not wanting to appear in support of his nomination. He then told his aid he did not seek command and did not feel qualified for the commission. But after his unanimous selection, Washington accepted the call to service though not the offered compensation. He declined what was then a considerable compensation of $500 per month. ⁵ Nonetheless, he became America’s first commander-in-chief, leading his outgunned and volunteer army to victory over a professional British military. Naturally, he was elected to become America’s first President. But, after his second term, he declined to continue in office. His decision was consistent with his character. He was ever committed to the service of his country, but not to office, title, enrichment, or the exercise of power. His example sets the standard for any public service, but most especially for the Presidency. Should we not apply this standard to any President, including President Trump? If so, Republicans should find it difficult to support a President who shows such disdain for Congress, for the Constitution, and for the trust the American people bestow in him. That trust requires him to serve our interest rather than his own.

In the foregoing paragraphs I have referenced Abraham Lincoln and the first four Presidents of these United States. The latter not only introduced the revolutionary ideals that formed America. They also demonstrated their commitment to those ideals in their service to a young country. The former preserved what they bequeathed: The United States of America and its Constitution. Each of these Presidents had unique talents and personal foibles. Madison and Jefferson were lifelong friends. But a growing rift developed between Adams and Jefferson. It would be somewhat of an understatement to admit that they were not always politically aligned. But each of these Presidents built upon the contributions of their predecessors. Jefferson, for example, continued Adams’ work on foreign treaties to enhance American security. Each of them sacrificed to meet the call to service. In Jefferson’s case, for example, he hated the idea of becoming Washington’s Secretary of State. But, when cornered by Washington, he accepted the call to service. Adams’ term as Washington’s Vice President forced him to separate from his beloved Abigail for lengthy periods. And, though devoted to his President, he detested aspects of his job, most especially, his duties as President of the Senate. And Lincoln grieved extensively over the suffering the Civil War brought upon his young nation. But this melancholia he kept private and absent from his public duties. What these Presidents shared was an unremitting dedication to public service, specifically, to “my flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” Our Pledge of Allegiance mirrors the sentiments expressed in the Preamble of the Constitution. And those sentiments form the basis for America’s liberal tradition, for a republican form of government, and also for the “Grand ole Party.”

Today, the panoply of “liberalism” seems only to dress the modern Democratic Party. But, from a traditional Republican perspective, Democrats tend to extend liberty and justice beyond the intent of the founders—to the governance of social norms and to unconstitutional limitations on the individual pursuit of happiness. To my mind, the political differences between these interpretations of liberalism is more a reflection of the different perspectives and ambitions in a truly pluralistic, democratic society. As a nation, we are more heterogeneous that we were at are founding. No longer an Anglican nation of farmers, we are a mix of people from every corner of the world. It is far too easy for contention to overrule the peace and order of a democratic polity when tribal, race, political, or religious differences collide in competition for power and influence. As Jefferson noted, maintaining an orderly democracy requires a government less concerned with its power to enforce change than with informing its citizens. He wrote, “educate and inform the whole mass of people. Enable them to see that it is their interest to preserve peace and order . . . They are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.” ⁶ Majority rule cannot work in a society ill-informed and not uniformly committed to the ideals of liberty and justice—that is, to the natural rights of all humans. When we go astray of these ideals, we sometimes need that moral leadership that founded our nation and sacrificed to preserve it.

But Jefferson also sounded a prescient warning that are reliance on majority rule can only succeed “as long as we remain virtuous (italics my own): and I think we shall be so, as long as agriculture is our principal object, which will be the case, while there remain vacant lands in any part of America. When we get piled upon one another in large cities, as in Europe, we shall become corrupt as in Europe, and go to eating one another as they do there.” ⁶

Jefferson wrote these words to Madison during the many uprisings Europe was experiencing, including those presaging the French revolution. He foresaw the conflict America would face as its rural character might change and its diversity became more conspicuous and, possibly, more contentious in crowded cities. Today, America has realized the nightmare Jefferson, perhaps reluctantly, foretold. We have more hate groups than at any time in our history. Within the last two decades, our nation has spawned wars that draw contending forces into a whirlwind of destruction and death. Our population has indeed become “piled upon” into massive cities that require huge investments while rural areas go largely unattended by government largesse. And our political leaders seem to follow a spinning compass leading in every direction except true north, that is, where our founding fathers blazed a path for us. We still have the government structure they built and a Constitution to guide our way. But we at times lack both the moral leadership from those we elect to represent us and their dedication to telling us the truth. Americans are not being enabled by propaganda and demagoguery to vote their conscience. Instead, we are wittingly and unwittingly following a path that could terminate this experiment in a free and just democratic republic.

The title of this blog might imply America’s current Constitutional impasse is solely in the hands of the Republican Party. But that implication would not be correct. We have all participated in the decline of America’s founding ideals. In Jefferson’s terms, we have become less virtuous. But the Republican Party, in particular, has brought us to a pivotal point in our history. Remember that period in the 1960’s when the Republican Party momentarily awakened to a rebirth of America’s classical liberal tradition. Besides recognizing what Lincoln did to preserve this tradition, it emphasized the roles of our founders in establishing classical liberalism as the bedrock of American politics. That liberalism was considered radical at its birth, but it was mother’s milk to an infant democracy. Through many generations it has born many offspring, some extending liberty and justice and some unintentionally inhibiting the same. But we can never fall prey to right-wing theories and conspiracies that promise to replace our people’s sovereignty with a more effective monarchical or dictatorial leadership. That leadership would spell the end of our democratic system. And we should not identify those theories with the sensibilities of a true conservative. The only excuse the Republican Party has for calling itself “conservative” is its dedication to conserving the classical liberal tradition that gave birth to this nation. Absent that dedication, the Party loses its identity, its birthright, and its purpose in a democratic republic. Without that dedication, Republicans will have killed Republicanism when America needs it most.

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Footnotes:
¹ Abraham Lincoln, “The Gettysburg Address.” (The rest of this paragraph reflects various sources recalled from memory and reminiscent of the same civics education shared by most, if not all, Americans.
² Andrew Johnson’s potential successor was considered too radical because of his support for women’s suffrage. The references to Johnson in this paragraph was found in Wikipedia and attributed to Annette Gorden-Reed, the Pulitzer awarded author of “Andrew Johnson: The American Presidents Series—The 17th President 1865-1869” (Times Book/Henry Holt), p. 139.
³ Thomas Jefferson, “The Writings of Thomas Jefferson,” selected and edited by Saul K. Padover, Easton Press, Norwalk, Connecticut, P. 311.
⁴ Thomas Jefferson, in loc cit., p. 312.
⁵ This summary of events was condensed from “George Washington,” an abridgement by Richard Harwell of the seven volume “George Washington,” by Douglass Southall Freeman, pp 219-220.
⁶ Thomas Jefferson, in loc cit., pp. 314-315.
⁶ Ibid., p. 315.