In religious terms, “gospel” is a Christian term, which
means “good news,” and refers to the perfect life, sacrificial death, and the
triumphant resurrection of Jesus, all in order to save everyone on earth from eternal
punishment and to give each person a chance to reconcile with God and have a
relationship with Him.
Throughout The Gettysburg Gospel, Boritt kept
making the point of Lincoln using the word “God” instead of referring directly
to Christ. The implication was that
Lincoln was throwing those pious masses a bone. In my tabula rasa state, I had
no real preconceptions that Lincoln was a Christian (I have my doubts about
other presidents), but it seemed odd that Boritt kept underscoring this. But, this being the first “adult” nonfiction
book I’d read about Lincoln, I didn’t know who to trust. Was Boritt being a secular historian trying
to minimize Lincoln’s spirituality?
Well, I went to someone I do trust, not only in American
History matters, but in everything else.
“Dad, was Lincoln a Christian?”*
“No, I don’t think he was.”
Well, that settled it. I continued to listen to Boritt, freed from the nagging suspicion he was
trying to retroactively impose his own worldview onto Lincoln.
This helped a lot. Now I could comprehend there was an irony in calling his book The
Gettysburg Gospel. The Gettysburg
Address, given by a man who didn’t believe in the Christian Gospel. A man who possibly didn’t even believe in the
afterlife, dedicating a field to lay the dead to rest. And what about the entire idea of a man who
wasn’t “a technical Christian”** fighting to free slaves, when several
Christians before and after rationalized the slave trade and racism? It’s a
heavy load of thought!
What I think Boritt was getting at ultimately was that with
the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln was providing a sort of political gospel. A secular gospel. The speech is about how all the soldiers that
died “gave their lives that the nation might live,” and how it is our
responsibility—every American that has lived since that speech, not just those who
were present to hear it in person—to make sure the democratic model of
government works, in order to ensure that “these dead shall not have died in
vain.”
The thing is, this address is not a gospel. It’s not “good news.” It’s a eulogy of people who died. Yes, they may have died for a good reason,
but it’s still not good news that they died.
It’s a commission for the living to take up the quest for a new nation
dedicated to liberty. That’s a noble
calling, but not good news. There’s no
guarantee that the USA will last until the end of time as we know it. There’s no promise that even if it lasts it
won’t be corrupted beyond all recognition from the ideals it was founded
on.
Remember the circumstance of this speech was a dedication
of a cemetery. There is no real hope, no
expectation of inevitable success, in the Gettysburg Address. And though that sounds depressing, it’s
really okay. Because even though there
is no true “political gospel,” there is a true capital “g” Gospel:
*My dad’s personal library consists mostly of books
called “The Blue and the Gray”—or books that are literally blue and gray.
**According to his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln.
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