Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
It is fashionable in our time to speak of the Emancipation Proclamation as utterly useless. It did not technically free any slaves in Union territory. Some abolitionists were slightly saddened by it, as it cast emancipation as “a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing [the] rebellion.”
However, it was not clear at the time of the Proclamation that an end to the war would mean an end to slavery. The war was being fought for the integrity of the Union. This country was racist enough to kill each other for at least two years and not care whether slavery was a problem or not. The Emancipation Proclamation changed the war aims so that Lincoln’s privately stated truism, “if slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong,” could be formally acted upon. The Border States, crucial to the Union even having a chance in the war, had been encouraged prior to adopt gradual emancipation. The Proclamation meant that “gradual” might not be fast enough, as slavery was destined to end in America.
The Emancipation Proclamation went into effect on January 1st, 1863. The Gettysburg Address was delivered later, in November of that year. Even though it doesn’t mention race, the Gettysburg Address elaborates on how radical a change had to occur in America’s understanding of itself. We take for granted nowadays how long this country has endured. We forget that less than a hundred years after its founding, it broke in two and nearly destroyed itself entirely. The Gettysburg Address brings us back to that moment, where nothing can be taken for granted.
“Four score and seven years ago” from 1863 is 1776. Not the Constitution of 1787, but the Declaration of Independence itself has to be rethought. Lincoln is specific about what most needs to be emphasized: “all men are created equal.” To go back to Jefferson’s famous phrasing:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. –That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…
Jefferson claimed “that all men are created equal” is self-evident truth. This is geometric metaphor; self-evident truth may not be immediately seen, but if one thinks about it, it has to make itself clear. Lincoln, who called Jefferson his mentor in all things political, must of necessity doubt this. When he writes, the United States is at war with itself, and those fighting for Union or against Union, as he says in the Second Inaugural, only see slavery as “somehow the cause of the war.”
Lincoln claims that what the Declaration actually did was dedicate us “to the proposition that all men are created equal.” A proposition has to be proved true. The geometric metaphor is undone in Lincoln’s language; “fathers,” “brought forth,” “conceived,” “dedicated” – these words attend the emergence of human life.
Sometimes, we prove something true by believing it to be true, by making ourselves the central matter.
Even though the first line alludes to the Declaration of Independence, the Address contains no details which place it in a particular place and time. There is no mention of Union or Confederacy, of race or slavery. Except for the title, “Gettysburg” does not appear in the speech itself. The “great civil war” would test “any nation so conceived and so dedicated” as ours.
All of American history, as well as the central problem of most modern democracies, is the tension between liberty and equality. These are, when compared with societies of the past, strikingly vague notions. Sparta demanded courage of its inhabitants, and had laws to train them to be the best fighters possible. Governments with feudal legacies had established churches, aiming to enforce the Torah written on one’s heart. Liberty and equality were purposely made concerns of this Enlightenment Republic, as they help ensure government does things for us while respecting our freedom.
No amount of speaking in grand themes, though, can ultimately prevent democracies from infighting or decay. Every democracy has a majority that wants its way and minorities that feel threatened by their rule. If the majority does not get its way, that casts doubt on the legitimacy of the system, as democracy is meant to be rule of the people. If minorities do not get their way, that casts doubt on the legitimacy of the system, as democracy is meant to secure rights for all in opposition to systems dominated by privileged factions.
Equality in the broadest sense, as something valuable in and of itself, is the only way to ensure that our conflicts as citizens in the end are good for all. This is a difficult thing to say now, as “equality” lends itself to regimes such as “socialism” and “communism.” It was even more difficult to say in 1863, when people literally argued some form of “I’m free. Why can’t I have slaves?”
Lincoln ends by meditating on what the living can actually do with belief, with sacrifice: “in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground.” Why are they gathered, if nothing can be done? What is truly “fitting and proper” about the occasion?
“Hallow” only occurs once in the speech, and is proclaimed to be impossible to do. Man cannot make anything holy. Only God makes something holy; such holy things show in the providence of time.
Neither the crowd at Gettysburg, nor anyone reading the speech, can “consecrate.” The blood of the honored dead, who fought that this nation might live, have consecrated the ground.
Some form of “dedicate” occurs in each paragraph of the speech. To wit: our fathers dedicated this nation to the proposition all men were created equal. People doubt that any nation so dedicated can long endure. We are here to dedicate a portion of the battlefield as a resting place for those who fought. The ground itself cannot be dedicated, in the largest sense.
The importance of dedication lies in the consecration prior. Through actually fighting for the freedom of others, by nobly advancing the cause of liberty, the soldiers showed themselves thoroughly dedicated to what America stands for. We note this and dedicate ourselves to the same task. We do not allow them to die in vain.
We understand now that Lincoln and Jefferson have a muted, if potent, philosophical disagreement because of the fragility of the American enterprise. The first things, the final causes, are showing given that nearly anything could have doomed the Union. “I hope to have God on my side,” Abraham Lincoln is reported to have said early in the war, “but I must have Kentucky.” (1)
In our present situation, we understand that “a new birth of freedom” was necessary after the war and failed to come about in any significant sense until – maybe – the Civil Rights Act. The trap for Lincoln, and us, is surprisingly the same: the debased use of “liberty,” where “liberty” means the license to treat others like dirt. What stuns me is the surprising amount of energy we can marshal to fight for the largest comfort, that of feeling in the right no matter what we do. In the face of that, “equality” acquires a moral status far weightier than any supposed association with socialism or communism. It certainly means more than any sentiment that there is too much social justice and not enough virtue in the world. It is not a limit on liberty, but the precondition for it. It is the only proof we have that our rights are universal, that other people can actually share in them too.
Thurow, Glen. Abraham Lincoln and American Political Religion. SUNY Press, 1976.
de Alvarez, Leo Paul S. “Reflections on Lincoln’s Political Religion.” Abraham Lincoln, The Gettysburg Address, and American Constitutionalism. ed. Leo Paul S. de Alvarez. Irving: University of Dallas Press, 1976.
Brann, Eva. “A Reading of the Gettysburg Address.” Abraham Lincoln, The Gettysburg Address, and American Constitutionalism. ed. Leo Paul S. de Alvarez. Irving: University of Dallas Press, 1976.
(1) Gienapp, William. “Abraham Lincoln and the Border States.” Journal of the Abraham Lincoln Association 13, no. 1 (1992). 13