READING LINCOLN'S LYCEUM ADDRESS TODAY
On January 27, 1838, Abraham Lincoln was a twenty-eight year old lawyer and member of the Illinois House of Representatives. That night, he spoke before the Young Men's Lyceum in the state capital of Springfield.
Lincoln titled his speech "The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions."
He began optimistically, explaining that "In the great journal of things happening under the sun," his America was in great shape. It stood, he said, "on the fairest portion of the earth . . . under . . . a system of political institutions conducing more essentially to the ends of civil and religious liberty than any of which the history of former times tells us."
He admitted that he and his fellow citizens had not produced these "fundamental blessings".
"We toiled not," he said, "in the acquirement or establishment of them."
Rather, he continued, they were a "legacy . . . bequeathed . . . by a once hardy . . . and patriotic, but now lamented and departed race of ancestors."
The passing of those ancestors worried him.
For two reasons.
One based on the passions of the ambitious.
The other based on the passions of the people.
As a student of history, Lincoln recognized that the half-century survival of "our political institutions" would, for many, create a presumption they must continue. "Have we not preserved them for more than fifty years," they would ask, "And why may we not for fifty times as long?" But Lincoln was also a student of human nature and a thinker -- like Madison before him -- with an acute understanding of human psychology.
So, he thought . . .
"That our government should have been maintained in the original form from its establishment until now is not much to be wondered at. It had many props to support it through that period, which are now decayed and crumbled away."
The first was the Revolution itself.
Which drove the ambitious to fulfill its aims and make it a success.
"Through that period," he explained, "it was felt by all to be an undecided experiment". As a consequence, he continued, "all that sought celebrity and fame, and distinction, expected to find them in the success of that experiment. Their all was staked upon it."
"Their ambition aspired to display before an admiring world a practical demonstration of the truth of the proposition which had hitherto been considered at best no better than problematical; namely, the capability of people to govern themselves."
"If they succeeded, they were to be immortalized."
They did.
And they were.
"But," he warned, "the game is caught".
The Revolution's "field of glory" had been "harvested . . . [T]he crop . . . already appropriated."
And he knew the ambitious among them, himself included, would not stand still
"[N]ew reapers will arise," he explained, "and they, too, will seek a field."
"And when they do, they will as naturally seek the gratification of their ruling passion, as others have done before them."
"The question then is, can that gratification be found in supporting and maintaining an edifice that has been erected by others?"
"Most certainly," he thought, "it cannot."
As Lincoln looked at his fellow political travelers, he noticed "Many great and good men . . . whose ambition would aspire to nothing beyond a seat in Congress, a gubernatorial or presidential chair".
But he also noticed an underside.
Those who belonged "to the family of the lion or the tribe of the eagle."
"[T]hink you these places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napoleon?" he asked
And then answered in one word:
"Never!"
"Towering genius," he concluded, "disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored. It sees no distinction in adding story to story upon the monuments to fame erected to the memory of others. It denies that it is glory enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the footsteps of any predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns for distinction; and if possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves or enslaving freemen."
And so . . .
In the second half of the American republic's first century . . .
This was Lincoln's first fear:
The destructive passions of the ambitious man who . . .
With "nothing left to be done in the way of building up . . .
Would set boldly to the task of pulling down."
His second fear was the passion of the people themselves.
Because they too were no longer moored to the Revolution.
As Lincoln put it to the Lyceum:
"Another reason which once was, but . . . is now no more, has done much in maintaining our institutions thus far." This was "the powerful influence which the . . . the revolution had upon the passions of the people as distinguished from their judgment."
"By this influence," he explained, "the jealousy, envy, and avarice incident to our nature . . . were, for a time . . . smothered and rendered inactive, while the deep-rooted principles of hate, and the powerful motive of revenge, instead of being turned against each other, were directed exclusively against the British nation. And thus, from the force of circumstances, the basest principles of our nature were either made to lie dormant or to become the active agents in the advancement of the noblest cause -- that of establishing and maintaining civil and religious liberty."
"This state of feeling," he realized, had "faded with the circumstances that produced it."
"At the close of the struggle, nearly every adult male had been a participator in some of the scenes. The consequence was that of those scenes, in the form of a husband, a father, a son or brother, a living history was to be found in every family . . . But those histories are gone . . . They were the pillars of the temple of liberty; and now that they have crumbed away, that temple must fall, unless we, their descendants, supply their places with other pillars, hewn from the solid quarry of sober reason."
"Passion has helped us," Lincoln concluded, "but can do so no more."
"It will in the future be our enemy."
In the years that followed, Lincoln's fears proved prescient. The passionately ambitious sought to extend the south's slavocracy to the west, preserving it forever in the form of additional slave states that would make it impossible for the nation as a whole to ever end slavery constitutionally through an amendment, and the Supreme Court in 1858 strengthened their hand by making citizenship solely a function of state law and by turning slaves into property even in places where they could not be slaves. Shortly thereafter, and unwilling to run the risk that Lincoln's presidency would thwart their ambitions, the southern plantation aristocracy embraced and excited the racist passions of its poor whites to fight and die for those aristocrats in the Civil War.
In neither case did law or reason prevail.
And today we seem to be on the same path.
Among the many emerging disasters in these nascent days of the second Trump administration, the case of Kilmar Abrego Garcia is the worst.
On March 15, 2025, the Trump administration's ICE agents illegally seized Garcia and sent him to a terrorist prison in El Salvador. At the time, he was here legally, a federal immigration judge having held that he could not be sent to El Salvador because he might be tortured there if he was. After his seizure, which the administration immediately conceded was erroneous, a federal court ordered the government to "facilitate and effectuate" his return to the United States by "11:59 pm on April 7". On the morning of April 7, the Supreme Court stayed that order, but on April 10 it affirmed it. Since then, Trump has refused to honor it.
On Friday in Court, when the judge asked what the government had done to return Garcia to the United States, the DOJ attorney said he had no knowledge . On Saturday, Garcia's lawyers asked the Court to compel the administration to "ensure [Garcia's] safe passage to the aircraft that will return him to the United States" and suggested the Court order the government's lawyers to show cause why they should not be held in contempt. On Saturday, in a statement that would have made the Soviet politburo proud, the administration said Garcia was "alive and secure" in the El Salvadoran prison to which he had been sent and was "detained pursuant to the sovereign, domestic authority of El Salvador". On Sunday in a filing, DOJ argued "The Court should . . . reject [Garcia's] request for further intrusive supervision of the Executive's facilitation process beyond the daily status reports already ordered," to which in any case Trump's lawyers also objected.
So . . .
Here is where we are:
Trump is claiming he can seize anyone for good reason, no reason or even a mistaken reason; send them to a foreign prison without any due process whatsoever; and then assert (i) the courts cannot tell him otherwise without interfering with his conduct of foreign policy and (ii) even if they could, the prisoner is now subject to a "sovereign, domestic authority" over which neither they nor Trump have any control.
This follows his extortion of big law firms forced to pay tribute to remain in business; his attack on academic freedom as he arbitrarily withholds federal grants from Ivy League and other elite universities he dislikes; his illegal invocation of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 against individuals from a nation with which we are not at war; his incoherent and chaotic on-again, off-again tariff policy against allies and enemies alike that has roiled markets, imperiled America's status as a safe haven, gutted 401k's and made business planning impossible; the investigation at his urging of Christopher Krebs because Krebs told the truth in 2020 that Trump had actually lost the presidential election that year; his summary firing by DOGE of thousands of federal employees; an incipient measles epidemic his HHS secretary cannot contain and whose advice has actually made worse; the almost complete abandonment of Ukraine; and his continued devotion to Vladimir Putin.
In his Lyceum Address, Lincoln asked:
"At what point shall we expect the approach of danger?"
"Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant to step the ocean and crush us at a blow?"
"Never," he responded.
"All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasures of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest, with a Bonaparte for a commander, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio or make a track on the Blue Ridge in a trial of a thousand years."
The question therefore remained:
"At what point, then, is the approach of danger to be expected?"
He then looked in the mirror.
And told the truth.
"If it ever reaches us," Lincoln said, "it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and its finisher."
"As a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide."
In case you're wondering . . .
We're there.