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George Washington
In Lieu of Statues
“An idea is a greater monument to God than a cathedral.” These words were spoken by Spencer Tracy in the film, “Inherit the Wind.” They are part of a lengthier monologue in which he discusses the individual human mind and the idea of progress. In a movie replete with memorable quotes, the one above is probably my favorite.
The recent movement to remove statues commemorating various Confederate generals, coupled with the suggestion to rename the Edmund Pettus Bridge after the late civil rights leader and Georgia congressman John Lewis, left me wondering. Do we approach our history from a perspective of immediacy and expediency, rather than principle?
Not unlike other cultures and countries, we lionize our past leaders—at least the ones we believe embodied the values we hold dear. There are, of course, exceptions. No other country would memorialize traitors. And, in fact, we have no statues to honor Benedict Arnold. He is the bane of the American Revolution. Then, why did we ever erect statues to honor the traitors who led the South during the Civil War? These monuments are a perfect example of bending history (and facts) to the expediency of the moment.
As has been pointed out in numerous journals and history tomes, most of those statues were built long after the war, the majority in the early part of the 20th Century. Had America forgotten the tragedy, the internecine conflict that tore apart not only a nation, but also families? No. But honoring these traitors served an agenda—the furtherance of white supremacy. As a result, while the violence had ended one could conceivably argue that the Civil War, itself, did not. After all, the Emancipation Proclamation did not end slavery, these statues espoused the clear conviction that blacks were subservient to whites, that segregation was natural and proper—all resulting in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. And continuing today.
But there are also memorials to people that the entire country can hold in esteem. The most obvious examples would seem to be the Founding Fathers. In August 2017 President Trump lamented the removal of statues to Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson, complaining that monuments to Washington and Jefferson would be next. Trump does not know enough history to be prescient, so it was quite by accident that he stumbled on the question of whether we should honor even our Founding Fathers with statues.
Consider the unpleasant truths buried within American history. Many, if not most, Americans believe that Washington was not only a great general and president, but that he freed his slaves. He did no such thing. Or consider Jefferson, whose brilliant, philosophical and enlightened mind crafted the Declaration of Independence, which in its original draft condemned slavery. In spite of that he not only did not free his slaves, he enslaved even his own children, his progeny with Sally Hemings. Are these men really role models?
This brings us to the current movement to rename the Edmund Pettus Bridge after John Lewis. Lewis was a man who commanded great respect for his lifelong commitment to equality, justice and civil rights, especially voting rights. I admire him greatly and consider him as much the heart of the civil rights movement as was Martin Luther King, Jr. Lewis gave his life, literally to the edge of death, in service of civil rights. But there is a danger that in death he may be lifted beyond the mere mortal. And future generations may discover the imperfect in John Lewis.
Only after King’s death did his shortcomings surface, reminding us that he was first and foremost a human being. Like all human beings he was imperfect. The same can be said of every great leader of every race. Every president in American history, all but one of whom were white, was human and imperfect. That humanity should not diminish their accomplishments. In fact, it should enhance them, with each person being judged on the merit of their principles and their achievements—or lack thereof.
In Psalm 146 we are cautioned: “Put not your trust in princes, in mortals in whom there is no salvation.” And yet, we need inspiration to strive toward perfection. If we do not find it by honoring those who came before us, where do we? Why not in principles, in movements and in legislation?
The Declaration of Independence, even in its final and less perfect form, is the premier document of the United States of America. Without it there would be no Constitution, another essential but imperfect document. Set aside for a moment the fact that Mt. Rushmore was stolen property and the carving of the presidential images illegal. How much greater would it be to have carved the Declaration of Independence in that rock?
We already have Independence Hall in Philadelphia and multiple Constitution Avenues. We now have Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, DC. In the case of the Edmund Pettus Bridge, might we not rename it “Bloody Sunday Bridge?” Then we can list the names of those who were beaten while peacefully marching to Selma.
It can be argued that erecting monuments to ideas, principles, movements and legislation serves another purpose. It causes people to think deeper than the image of a hero. It calls a nation to reflection and to the internalization of ideals. It reminds us that the work of justice is never complete. It prevents us from resting the on the laurels of those who came before us. It demands that we take up the mantel and be the force of change in our generation.
Perhaps future generations will see a Suffrage High School in every county. Or Voting Rights Parks dotting the landscape. Or downtown libraries named for Civil Rights. We are limited only by our ideals and our imaginations. Not only is an idea a greater monument to God than a cathedral. It is also a greater monument to heroes than a statue.
The recent movement to remove statues commemorating various Confederate generals, coupled with the suggestion to rename the Edmund Pettus Bridge after the late civil rights leader and Georgia congressman John Lewis, left me wondering. Do we approach our history from a perspective of immediacy and expediency, rather than principle?
Not unlike other cultures and countries, we lionize our past leaders—at least the ones we believe embodied the values we hold dear. There are, of course, exceptions. No other country would memorialize traitors. And, in fact, we have no statues to honor Benedict Arnold. He is the bane of the American Revolution. Then, why did we ever erect statues to honor the traitors who led the South during the Civil War? These monuments are a perfect example of bending history (and facts) to the expediency of the moment.
As has been pointed out in numerous journals and history tomes, most of those statues were built long after the war, the majority in the early part of the 20th Century. Had America forgotten the tragedy, the internecine conflict that tore apart not only a nation, but also families? No. But honoring these traitors served an agenda—the furtherance of white supremacy. As a result, while the violence had ended one could conceivably argue that the Civil War, itself, did not. After all, the Emancipation Proclamation did not end slavery, these statues espoused the clear conviction that blacks were subservient to whites, that segregation was natural and proper—all resulting in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. And continuing today.
But there are also memorials to people that the entire country can hold in esteem. The most obvious examples would seem to be the Founding Fathers. In August 2017 President Trump lamented the removal of statues to Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson, complaining that monuments to Washington and Jefferson would be next. Trump does not know enough history to be prescient, so it was quite by accident that he stumbled on the question of whether we should honor even our Founding Fathers with statues.
Consider the unpleasant truths buried within American history. Many, if not most, Americans believe that Washington was not only a great general and president, but that he freed his slaves. He did no such thing. Or consider Jefferson, whose brilliant, philosophical and enlightened mind crafted the Declaration of Independence, which in its original draft condemned slavery. In spite of that he not only did not free his slaves, he enslaved even his own children, his progeny with Sally Hemings. Are these men really role models?
This brings us to the current movement to rename the Edmund Pettus Bridge after John Lewis. Lewis was a man who commanded great respect for his lifelong commitment to equality, justice and civil rights, especially voting rights. I admire him greatly and consider him as much the heart of the civil rights movement as was Martin Luther King, Jr. Lewis gave his life, literally to the edge of death, in service of civil rights. But there is a danger that in death he may be lifted beyond the mere mortal. And future generations may discover the imperfect in John Lewis.
Only after King’s death did his shortcomings surface, reminding us that he was first and foremost a human being. Like all human beings he was imperfect. The same can be said of every great leader of every race. Every president in American history, all but one of whom were white, was human and imperfect. That humanity should not diminish their accomplishments. In fact, it should enhance them, with each person being judged on the merit of their principles and their achievements—or lack thereof.
In Psalm 146 we are cautioned: “Put not your trust in princes, in mortals in whom there is no salvation.” And yet, we need inspiration to strive toward perfection. If we do not find it by honoring those who came before us, where do we? Why not in principles, in movements and in legislation?
The Declaration of Independence, even in its final and less perfect form, is the premier document of the United States of America. Without it there would be no Constitution, another essential but imperfect document. Set aside for a moment the fact that Mt. Rushmore was stolen property and the carving of the presidential images illegal. How much greater would it be to have carved the Declaration of Independence in that rock?
We already have Independence Hall in Philadelphia and multiple Constitution Avenues. We now have Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, DC. In the case of the Edmund Pettus Bridge, might we not rename it “Bloody Sunday Bridge?” Then we can list the names of those who were beaten while peacefully marching to Selma.
It can be argued that erecting monuments to ideas, principles, movements and legislation serves another purpose. It causes people to think deeper than the image of a hero. It calls a nation to reflection and to the internalization of ideals. It reminds us that the work of justice is never complete. It prevents us from resting the on the laurels of those who came before us. It demands that we take up the mantel and be the force of change in our generation.
Perhaps future generations will see a Suffrage High School in every county. Or Voting Rights Parks dotting the landscape. Or downtown libraries named for Civil Rights. We are limited only by our ideals and our imaginations. Not only is an idea a greater monument to God than a cathedral. It is also a greater monument to heroes than a statue.