Fall History & Heritage — #3 (week of September 26)

Students, parents, & friends: we continue our study of our Western inheritance with
some recent Almanac entries and some thoughts on Bill Bennett’s introduction to his
America, Volume 1.

September 20 — St. Francis and the Stigmata
Here the author drew our attention to an intense mystical encounter with Christ said to
have been experienced by St. Francis of Assisi late in his life (in 1224; Francis died in
1226). Francis’s monastic commitment to a life of “poverty, chastity, and obedience”
was dramatically confirmed for him when he apparently bore in his own body the
wounds of Jesus (known as the stigmata). It’s truly a classic incident in what is called
hagiography (the history of the saints), though one not subject to easy or certain
evaluation. The Roman Catholic Church, incidentally, claims about 300 Christians have
experienced something similar, though Francis is believed to have been the first.

September 20 — Chester A. Arthur Gets “Religion”
Arthur (1830–1886) was a Republican party politician in New York with a reputation for luxurious living and the misuse of public office for his own and his friends’ gain. His
party nevertheless nominated him for U.S. Vice President on the ticket with victorious
presidential candidate James Garfield in 1880, and he succeeded to the presidency
when the latter, an Ohio college president and Union veteran, was assassinated a year
later. Arthur apparently amended some of his ways in his one term as chief executive
(1881–1885). Rather than merely hand out lots of federal jobs to cronies and his
party’s supporters (the “spoils system”), he approved a Civil Service System that
sought to base hiring and promotions on professional merit.

“This Last Best Hope of Earth” — from Bennett’s America 1, p. xiii
The phrase is Lincoln’s (from late 1862), the 16th-president observing, in the throes of
crisis like none other in our history, that “we shall nobly save or meanly lose this last
best hope of earth.” It’s one of countless examples of how his prose sings like poetry.

Bill Bennett wants us, among other reasons for writing his book, to rekindle this
Lincolnian hope in America as the hope of the world. He rightly points out that many
great Americans of the past have so believed, and they were inspired to do great deeds
for which we are all grateful. Moreover, what goes by the name of “American
exceptionalism” sometimes seems to demand such belief.

Permit this teacher, if you will, to demur just a bit or to take exception with this aspect of
our native exceptionalism.

It’s not that it’s a Godless doctrine. Many, after all, will say (and have said) that God
Himself in His providence has called America to play precisely such a role in the world.
But where do we read such a thing in Scripture? How far shall we push our
speculations, particularly when they flatter us so?

It seems far safer, and much more modest, to say simply what the Bible says: Christ
(for, in, and through His Church) is the true and only hope of men on planet earth. Even
the U.S., as fine a land as she has been, is no substitute for the King and His kingdom.

Here’s a question with which we Americans may need to grapple: Can we still be proud
of our country, love her, admire her, and acknowledge her goodness (despite her faults)
if it turns out we’re not #1 after all? What if the 21st-century Chinese, or any other
people, surpass us in economic and military matters? What then? Our response will
surely reveal whether our hearts burn with true patriotism or mere nationalistic pride.

America is not, and never has been, the world’s “best hope.” The good news, however,
is that America surely has had hope, and will continue to have hope, but only to the
degree she longs for the True Hope of the World by receiving His Word, submitting to
His rule, and honoring His Church.

Call it a paradox; call it what you will. A nation becomes an earthly example for others
only by calling attention to a heavenly example. A people find hope for this age when
they hope, first and foremost, for another.

Somehow, somewhere, from the days of John Winthrop and the Puritans to today,
American aspirations exceeded their proper bounds. It’s a noble thing to shine a lamp
or build a city on a hill here below, so long as you want to reflect or imitate in some
measure the light and city above. But when you start to shroud the latter in order to
bask in the former, sooner or later the lights go out and you’re left with a heap of rubble.

One suspects that what you really have in utterances like Lincoln’s on America’s
mission in the world, and the similar but far less elegant assertions of others, is the
secularization of a sacred tradition.

Trying to be the “last best hope of earth” is a burden too big for men, even for
Americans.

p.s. The years listed above for Chester A. Arthur (1830–1886), interestingly
enough, correspond exactly to those of reclusive poetess Emily Dickinson of
Amherst, Massachusetts. This teacher spent his collegiate years (1972–76) in that western MA town.