Today is Robert E. Lee’s Birthday
For
most of you, especially those living in the North or in other
countries, this is just another day. Nothing particularly special and
the passing of this historical person's birthday is nothing of
particular note. But too many of us who seek the answers of history, the
lessons that may yet help us find our future, this is not just another
man. Lee is some extra ordinary man whose dignity and whose deep sense
of duty nearly cost us this country and yet, in the end, it helped save
it.
As
for the real Robert E. Lee, there he is, pictured after Appomattox, on
the steps of a cottage, familiar as one's father, yet somehow more Lee
than the Lee of either Chancellorsville or Gettysburg, his greatest
victory and greatest defeat. He looks at the camera unmoved, unchanged
within, forever serene, duty done. ("Duty is the most sublime word in our language. Do your duty in all things. You cannot do more. You should never wish to do less.")
No more need be said. And wasn't. The Army of Northern Virginia had
been dismissed, its arms stacked, its banners furled. Its commander
looks straight ahead, never back. Gray as his uniform, gray as duty, he
awaits only the final Reveille, worn as mortal time.
Imagine
if his image were new, shiny, untarnished. What a counterfeit it would
be. Instead, like an ancient coin, nicked and rubbed almost clean,
Brady's photograph speaks of a different world, one we enter now to be
astounded not by the resounding clash of arms, the smoke and fire of the
futile Confederate batteries at Gettysburg, but by the utter stillness,
the perfect peace within which The General moved, always. He still
does.
But
why should an ever upwardly mobile society like this one take note of
him? Why take time this one day of the year to focus on an old man from
an old war? Time is money, as everyone knows. Why waste it? And on a war
he lost at that. It is success that counts, as every American who
worships it knows. Yet he still speaks to us. The shattered glass of the
old icon still glistens, obliterating any need for words. We pause,
waiting to hear what the silence says. We have an idea it's important,
that it may yet save us. We are like strangers just arrived on the scene
from the future, looking about, trying to understand what happened here
in this other country that is the past, searching for words to describe
it, till we realize no words are necessary. It is silence, that rarest
of modern qualities, that is called for. Words would only break the
spell.
It's
as if the day had become a cathedral, and we some heedless tourists who
had chanced upon it, come to take needless photographs. For the vista
is already ingrained within us. It is our birthright in these latitudes.
It only waits to come to life in due season, like the ever prolific
South itself.
Jan.
19. The date is somehow preserved intact among the flotsam of time,
unaffected by all that comes by. Familiarity has bred not contempt but
reverence. We begin to see what has always been there. And what remains
ours.
Ever
hear a couple of Southerners just passing the time, perhaps in a petty
political quarrel, when the name Lee is thoughtlessly interjected? The
air is stilled. Suddenly both are ashamed; neither wants to profane the
name by taking it lightly, by using it to gain some stupid, fleeting
advantage. There comes a pause in the conversation, as if light were
breaking in. A stillness descends.
The
stillness at Appomattox must have been like that. A stillness
accompanied Lee wherever he went. Before or after Appomattox, it made no
difference. He was the same Lee in defeat as in victory. Maybe that is
what is meant by character, duty, honor, all the old words cheapened by
hollow repetition. To look on him again is to bring back their original
power, without needing to say them. They are just understood.
Live Long and Prosper....
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