Abraham Lincoln of Illinois was elected President of the United States of America on November 6, 1860, for a four-year term. One year later, on November 6, 1861, Jefferson Davis of Mississippi was elected President of the Confederate States of America for a six-year term. 

     Between those two dates, eleven states, each in the south, voted to secede from the Union and form their own government, the Confederates States of America. 

     That division between north and south over the issue of slavery had widened into a chasm that neither side could bridge. It was Lincoln’s victory that prompted the southern states to secede. The southerners feared that Lincoln would terminate slavery, their way of life.

     Jefferson Davis was inaugurated on February 22, 1862, George Washington’s birthday, in Montgomery, Alabama. Some 10,000 people came out to witness the inauguration.

     Jefferson Davis spoke that day and said,

    “I enter upon the duties of the office to which I have been chosen with the hope that the beginning of our career as a Confederacy may not be obstructed by hostile opposition to our enjoyment of the separate existence and independence which we have asserted, and, with the blessing of Providence, intend to maintain.”

     That hope had already been dashed ten months before, on April 12-13, 1861, when southern canons had fired upon Fort Sumter, and war came upon the south and Jefferson Davis.

     That evening after his inauguration, Davis wrote to his wife, Varina, and said,

     “The audience was large and brilliant. Upon my weary heart were showered smiles, plaudits, and flowers; but beyond them, I saw troubles and thorns innumerable. 

     “We are without machinery, without means, and threatened by a powerful opposition; but I do not despond, and will not shrink from the task imposed upon me. As soon as I can call an hour my own, I will look for a house and write you more fully.”

     Three years later, on May 5, 1865, Jefferson Davis met with his cabinet in Georgia and dissolved the Confederate government. He had no more troops or cannons to advance the fight.

     Secession had not proved the panacea that the southern states had anticipated, had hoped for. 

    Instead, it ushered into their towns and cities an unimaginable and vicious war, incredible destruction of property, immense bloodshed, and thousands of deaths of young southern boys.

    Between November 6, 1860, and November 5, 2024, lies 164 years of relative peace between the states. No civil wars. Yet, today there is no shortage of opinion writers who warn readers and caution the wiser sorts that the potential for strife exists, and it is alarming.

     In the “New York Review of Books,” dated November 7, 2024, two writers—Steven Simon and Jonathan Stevenson—wrote the following.

     “Two years ago, when the U.S. was still convulsed by January 6, we suggested that the possibility of spiraling violence verging on civil war warranted serious consideration. It remains imprudent to dismiss it. MAGA fever has hardly broken.”

     “Today the U.S. political situation radiates civil instability.”

     “Many Republicans refuse to see January 6 even as a contravention of American constitutional democracy, let alone as an insurrection, characterizing it as as exercise of free speech that got a little out of hand.”

     “The rhetoric of his campaign has been grossly autocratic and anti-constitutional, and he has demonstrated clear intent to rally willing Republican state election officials to refuse to certify the vote.”

     When I wrote this column on Sunday, November 3, I did not know the election’s outcome.

     When you, my friends and readers, read these words, the American electorate may have voted into the Oval Office either a former President, or the current Vice-President.

     Secession fever in 1860-1861, and MAGA fever in 2024.

     I take hope that someday in the future MAGA fever will break. Maybe not now but someday.

Allen Guelzo, history professor at Princeton, tells a story about Lincoln that he included in his recent book, “Our Ancient Faith: Lincoln, Democracy, and the American Experiment.” 

     Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on September 22, 1862, one and a half years into the Civil War. He justified his Proclamation out of “military necessity.” Eleven states of the Union had rebelled and threatened the Federal Government’s very existence.

     Freeing slaves in the Confederacy, Lincoln argued, would harm those rebellious states’ ability to further prosecute the war against the Union. Democracy was under attack. He had to act.  

    Yet, Lincoln chose to limit his Emancipation Proclamation’s scope. 

     For example, Lincoln chose not to set the slaves free who were living in Tennessee, a Confederate state then under the Union army’s control. There was no “military necessity” there.

     In addition, Lincoln did not free slaves in Virginia’s forty-eight western counties that made up the new state of West Virginia that had chosen to remain inside the Union.

     Lincoln did not free twelve parishes in Louisiana, also under the Federal army’s control.

     Finally, Lincoln did not free slaves in the pro-slavery states that had chosen to remain within the Union: Delaware, Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri.

     Some disagreed and argued that Lincoln should free all slaves wherever they lived in all states, but Lincoln refused. He dared not to step outside the Constitution and the law.  

     Salmon Chase, Lincoln’s Secretary of Treasury, was one who urged Lincoln to cast away his justification by “military necessity” and to free all slaves now.

     Lincoln replied to Salmon Chase on September 2, 1863. In his letter, Lincoln wrote,

     “The original proclamation has no constitutional or legal justification, except as a military measure. If I take the step, without the argument of military necessity, it might be politically expedient and morally right.

     “Would I not thus give up all footing upon constitution or law? Would I not thus be in the ‘boundless field of absolutism?’”

     Lincoln’s last words—“the boundless field of absolutism”—was a quote that Lincoln had lifted from one of Jefferson’s letters from the 1820’s. The word “absolutism” refers to a monarch, a king, an autocrat, or a tyrant, someone who lives outside the law, unchecked and unrestrained.

     On January 6, 2021, a guy named Kevin Seefried, then 51 years old, from Delaware, a former slave state but not one in the Confederacy, paraded a Confederate flag throughout the Capitol.

      Two years later, on February 9, 2023, U.S. District Judge Trevor McFadden, told Seefried that his actions that day with that flag were “shocking,” and “outrageous.”

     “McFadden criticized Seefried for jabbing the flagpole at a black U.S. Capitol Police officer.” The judge looked at Seefried and said, “I hope you realize how offensive it is.”

     Seefried was convicted on five charges, including obstruction of an official proceeding—the joint session of Congress that was working to certify the Electoral College vote that day. Judge McFadden sentenced Kevin Seefried to three years in prison. 

     Last week, I took a few days off from work and flew to Charleston, South Carolina. I wanted to see Fort Sumter, the site of the Civil War’s first battle. The ferry ride to the small island in Charleston’s harbor lasted thirty minutes. I walked about the grounds for the next forty minutes.

     A flagpole stands in the center of the island, the island’s highest point. I looked up and atop the pole I saw whipping in the wind a massive United States flag, the stars and stripes forever, hovering over Fort Sumter.

 When driving to destinations from home and back, I occupy my time by listening to YouTube videos of Civil War historians on my mobile phone. I am curious to hear their ideas and stories. 

     The best crop of Civil War historians today, in my estimation, include: Eric Foner at Columbia, Gary Gallagher at the University of Virginia, David Blight at Yale, and Allen Guelzo now at Princeton, but formerly at Gettysburg College. Each has a collection of videos.

     Plus, each possesses that innate ability to bring to life the war, its people, its clash of ideas.

     Last week, I listened to a sixty-minute interview with Allen Guelzo, about his book, published last February, “Our Ancient Faith: Lincoln, Democracy, and the American Experiment.”

     Guelzo found his title in Lincoln’s speech at Peoria, Illinois, on October 16, 1854, when he first said, “my ancient faith,” but then later in that speech, Lincoln changed the phrase.

     He said, “I have quoted so much at this time to show that according to ‘our ancient faith,’ the just powers of governments are derived from the consent of the governed.” 

     Lincoln changed “my ancient faith” to “our ancient faith,” meaning, it includes all Americans.

     For Lincoln, “our ancient faith” is Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence, James Madison’s Constitution, and George Washington’s words when he presided over thirteen states.

     Guelzo says that each generation must teach the next generation the principles of “our ancient faith.” He says that we need their lessons. We must develop a reverence for their ideas.

     Also, Guelzo says that Lincoln was devoted to the idea that popular sovereignty within a democracy resides with the people, in other words, “from the consent of the governed.”

     At Gettysburg, Lincoln finished his Address with the words, “that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

     Guelzo points out that the phrase “of the people” indicates that a democratic government comes out of the people, that they select representatives who must act on the people’s behalf.

     The second phrase “by the people” according to Guelzo, indicates that people can take charge of their own lives, and that people are competent enough to govern their community’s affairs.

     The third phrase “for the people” indicates that the benefits and rich rewards spilling out of democracy and self-government will flow back to the people themselves.

     Guelzo points out that Lincoln’s ideas contradict those of a monarch, a dictator, or a tyrant, who believes the people are unwashed masses of ignorance, born with saddles on their backs and bits in their mouth, ready to be ridden, incapable of self-government or any display of wisdom.

     In the second chapter of the book, Guelzo discusses “Law, Reason, and Passion.”

     Lincoln understood that “passion” can sway people, carry them off the rails. For him, passion includes anger, impulsiveness, and revenge. It leads to lynch mobs, riots, and some very stupid decisions, like granting power to a dictator to set things straight and to drive away the chaos. 

     For Lincoln, the solution was “reason,” that ability to set aside the emotion and instead think toward an appropriate response that will reduce the temperature. Less heat and more light.

    The best means to reason was the “law.” The law is about reason. A reverence for the law will keep people’s passions under control.

     The last thing that Guelzo explains, at the end of the hour, is that democratic government is resilient, more so than a dictatorship.

     Guelzo says that a dictatorship may appear powerful, but once it slams into a brick wall, it disintegrates and dies. A democracy is like Rocky Balboa, who keeps getting knocked down flat again and again, but keeps getting back up to fight another day.

     Our American democracy can absorb a punishing lot of abuse and torment. It has in the past, will do so in the present, as well as into the future. Guelzo finishes, “We have been here before.”   

Universities opened their doors a week or two ago. Freshman students moved into their dorm rooms, met their roommates, hung pictures on the walls, and completed their class schedules.

     Most students want to do well, even just ok, at college, but not everyone does.  

     How well any student completes his or her mastery of course work at a college depends upon that student’s preparation, his or her readiness, his or her skill at reading and writing, plus his or her ambition, hustle, and drive.

     Yet, above all those variables, a person’s success at college depends upon his or her habits.

    Without steady, unswerving habits—studying for several hours everyday of the week—a very intelligent person with great reading and writing skills and sufficient preparation will fare poorly.

     Because success at college is often geared around examinations, a student should begin to prepare for each examination several days before, perhaps the day the class begins.

     A student, who builds that habit of preparing for an examination days before, will do ok.

     Still, few students ever feel great about their examination grade. Most are disappointed, believing that they should have performed better or should have received a better grade.

     In recent days, I have been re-reading William James’s fourth chapter, “Habit,” in his 1890 book, “The Principles of Psychology.”

     William James taught anatomy, psychology, and philosophy at Harvard College for thirty-four years, from 1872 until 1907, which means he gave a lot of examinations to a lot of students.

     At the chapter’s beginning, he writes,

     “When we look at [animals], the first thing that strikes us is that they are bundles of habits.

     “In wild animals, the usual round of daily behavior seems implanted at birth; in animals domesticated, and especially in man, it seems to a great extent, to be the result of education.”

     James is saying that parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, and adults must teach boys and girls the best, most civilized, of the habits, if the young are ever to learn them.

     James then quotes from a doctor named Dr. Carpenter, who said, “Our nervous system grows to the modes in which it has been exercised.”

     In other words, our minds in coordination with our bodies build habits by exercising our free will, forcing ourselves to do something again and again, until the habit is set, fixed. 

     James writes that “a habit simplifies the movements required to achieve a given result, makes them more accurate and diminishes fatigue.” In other words, once a person memorizes a sequence of actions—a, b, c, d, e, f, g, etc.—the outcome is superior and requires less effort.

     When I read James’s words here, I am reminded of the handful of hours I devoted to solving a Rubik’s cube the first time. The same is true of any procedure on the computer.

     Further into his chapter, he writes,

     “Habit is thus the enormous fly-wheel of society, its most precious conservative agent. It alone prevents the hardest and most repulsive walks of life from being deserted by those brought up to tread therein. It keeps the fisherman and the deck-hand at sea through the winter.

     “It holds the miner in his darkness.”

     In James’s final paragraph of the chapter, he cautions young people.

     “Could the young but realize how soon they will become mere walking bundles of habits, they would give more heed to their conduct while in the plastic [or malleable] state.

     “We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to be undone. Every smaller stroke or virtue or of vice leaves its never so little scar.”

     I say to each college-bound student, “build the best habits you can now, today, at college.” 

Students will walk back into school soon and settle themselves into a small desk. Once seated, each girl and each boy will stare at a series of math story problems, or long pages of difficult-to-read text on science or history, plus the dreaded weekly compositions in English.

To those anxious students, I say, “Embrace those compositions. Do not let them intimidate you. Let your light shine. Present your opinions, your ideas, your humor. Lay aside your fear of ridicule from your peers. Show your intelligence. The better writers are the better thinkers.”

You can become a better writer, by thinking more and writing more. One expert on writing recommends writing two or three five-paragraph essays every day, and show your work.

Years ago the computer scientist and writer Paul Graham wrote an essay he entitled, “The Age of the Essay,” and at its beginning, he wrote, “The most obvious difference between real essays and the things one has to write in school is that real essays are not just about English literature.”

In other words, Graham says, write about some topic other than a commentary on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “A Scarlet Letter.”

An ambitious student who wants to write well can select from a mountain of books, each designed to improve a student’s essays.

From that mountain, I would first pick up William Zinsser’s two books: “On Writing Well,” and “Writing to Learn.” Zinsser was a long-time New York City columnist, plus an instructor of nonfiction writing at Yale University. Step-by-step he leads young and old writers forward.

Zinsser “claims that writing about a field of knowledge is the best way to immerse oneself in it and to make it one’s own.” He calls for “accuracy, brevity, and clarity.” He says, “Writing is thinking on paper. Anyone who thinks clearly should be able to write clearly about any subject.”

“Clear writing is the logical arrangement of thought. A scientist who thinks clearly can write as well as the best writer.”

In addition, I would recommend Stephen King’s book, “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.” Of all of King’s book, “On Writing” is most unique. He stops writing horror fiction long enough to describe his early years, growing up in Maine, and learning how and what to write.

Similar to King’s book is Isaac Asimov’s condensed biography, “It’s Been a Good Life.” In it he explains his work habits: seven days a week, from early in the morning until ten o’clock at night. Always writing. The result: over his lifetime Isaac Asimov published some 500 books.

The most pervasive of that mountain of books on writing is William Strunk and E. B. White’s “The Elements of Style.” Thousands of that slim volume fill up the shelves of used book stores.

Students may glance at “Elements of Style” once or twice when in school, but most lay it aside after the class ends, convinced that never again will they write anything.

Bill Benson, of Sterling, is a dedicated historian.