More problematic, however, is the fact that the Lieber Code, as drafted, was intended to limit the conduct of Union, and later, American soldiers in time of war. However, one of the major innovations of the Lieber Code is that it enshrined the principal of “military necessity” as “a general standard for legitimate military action.” As Leiber defined it, Military necessity “consists in the necessity of those measures which are indispensible for securing the ends of the war, and which are lawful according to the modern law and usages of war.” According to Carnahan, however:
It should be noted that, both during the Civil War and in later nineteenth and twentieth-century conflicts, the terms “necessity,” indispensible,” and “unavoidable” were not taken literally by military commanders or their governments. In practice, so long as there was a rational connection, under circumstances as understood at the time, between an act of war and the defeat of the enemy’s armed forces, the principle of military necessity was regarded as having been satisfied.
Instead of having a limiting effect on soldiers, however, the principle of military necessity emboldened military commanders, soldiers, and politicians to claim that almost any action was justified by military necessity. Much of the balance of Carnahan’s book is dedicated to demonstrating that the escalation to total war was fully justified by the doctrine of military necessity, leading Carnahan to argue that the actions of Lincoln, Grant, and Sherman were more or less moral. Carnahan also examined Lincoln’s actions as Commander in Chief using other standards of the Laws of War at the time of the conflict, and found that “Under the standards of his time, President Lincoln did not authorize or condone any violations of the laws of war against enemy civilians.” Furthermore, Carnahan argued that scholarly statements decrying Lincoln and his commanders for war crimes committed by their troops suffered from “presentism,” because the doctrine of “command responsibility,” did not become incorporated into the Laws of War until after World War II. I found this argument very unsatisfying, however. According to the doctrines of Just War Theory, which provided the backbone for international law, commanders, and ultimately, the sovereign that sends them into the field, have the ultimate moral responsibility for the conduct of a war under Jus in Bello. In fact, the just war doctrine of the moral equality of soldiers recognizes the fact that the morality of all actions occurring in war fall at the feet of those giving the orders, not those executing them. To argue that the idea was not formally enshrined within the Laws of War appears to me to be a legal argument based upon technicality, and not upon understood principles in fact.
Carnahan’s Lincoln on Trial was received well by scholars, with only minor criticisms for failing to compare the complexities of the Laws of War during the Civil War with other like conflicts, such as the American Revolution or the Civil War in Post-Soviet Yugoslavia. Sailaja Paidipaty argued that such a comparison might have made the analysis more complex and might have served to create more questions about the application of the Laws of War to conflicts considered civil wars.
The result of these works has been to create a historiographical space for the assessment of the American Civil War through the lens of morality and ethics. The majority of those works, unsurprisingly, have tended to exonerate Lincoln and his generals as acting morally, but all of these works have applied differing moral standards. Miller’s work examined Lincoln through the eyes of Weberan ethics, Stout applied Christianity’s Just War Theory to weigh the actions of Lincoln and others, and Carnahan applied the dictates of International Law—which is based upon Just War Theory, but not bound by it—to weigh Lincoln and his commanders. Such varied approaches have of course crossed widely varied results, creating a historiographical problem that beckons additional attention to the subject. However, the authors of the extant works in this new subfield of Civil War Studies largely ignored the fact that they were creating or contributing to a unique historiographical approach to the war. Work that takes this new historiographical approach into account, and attempts to weave these differing approaches into a coherent whole will make a strong contribution to the field. While much ground has been covered in the few works that have so far appeared on this topic, much fertile soil remains for scholars who wish to till these grounds.
 Ibid, 31.  Ibid, 32.  Ibid.  Ibid, 119.  Ibid, 98-99.  Sailaja Paidipaty, review of Lincoln On Trial: Southern Civilians and the Law of War, by Burris Carnahan, New York University Journal of International Law and Politics 43, no. 211 (2010): 225.
Moral Man, Immoral War?: A Historiographical Study of Morality and Ethics in the American Civil War – Part IV
In the fourth installment of this multi-part post, contributing editor Joshua Ward Jeffery continues an examination and discussion of the historiography of morality and ethics in the American Civil War. You can find Part I here, Part II here, and Part III here.
McPherson judged Lincoln’s morality quite differently. In The Battle Cry of Freedom, McPherson viewed Lincoln’s issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation as much more than a simple measure to escalate the conflict to total war. To be sure, McPherson did see the proclamation as a war measure, but more importantly, he saw it as one of several tools that Lincoln applied at the same time in order to do what was right. As McPherson interpreted it, Lincoln employed a multi-pronged strategy to eliminate slavery: by pushing for gradual, compensated emancipation in border states, by advocating the colonization of freed African-Americans, by issuing the proclamation in order to free slaves in Confederate States as Union armies took additional territory, and through other legal and Constitutional means. McPherson also saw Lincoln’s movement towards the proclamation as one of “intentional ambiguity,” where he intentionally kept parties from all sides off balance and unsure of his true intentions until the moment that he was ready to reveal his hand. To McPherson, such deception was not only a strong political move, but also a very moral one, as to him, the true evil was not an escalation to total war or the means of that total war once it came about, but slavery.
Like McPherson, Burris Carnahan had no qualms with Lincoln’s pursuit of total war. Carnahan, Professorial Lecturer in Law at the George Washington University School of Law, argued in two succinct volumes a thesis the opposite of Stout: Lincoln’s prosecution of the war was indeed moral because it accorded with the Law of Nations, and therefore, according to the Just War Tradition, was engaged in justly. Burris’ first book on the subject, Act of Justice, explored Lincoln’s issuance and enforcement of the Emancipation Proclamation as an act of war. Carnahan set out to fill what he saw as a gap in the historiography, stating that “Although there have been many thoughtful efforts to explore the constitutional context of the Emancipation Proclamation, the rest of the proclamation’s legal context remains largely uncharted territory.” Carnahan proceeded to explore that context, relating the Emancipation Proclamation not so much as a legal measure under the U.S. Constitution, but as a war measure permitted by international law. Carnahan showed that most American legal scholars believed that during the normal course of events, the federal government had no jurisdiction over slavery. However, Carnahan discovered that Charles Sumner, the ardent abolitionist, pleaded with Lincoln to seize slaves as a war measure at the very beginning of the war, appealing to John Quincy Adam’s work before a joint tribunal for war claims between Great Britain and the United States in the aftermath of the War of 1812. Adam’s work and his later speeches demonstrated that the seizure and freeing of slaves as a military measure was allowed under the Law of Nations, and that the British not only freed American slaves during the war, but that the federal government had previously freed Southern slaves as a war measure during conflicts with Native American tribes. Carnahan then traced the use of emancipation of slaves as a war measure in Venezuela and Columbia in 1814, as well as emancipation of British slaves who reached Spanish Florida in the 1680s. This history Lincoln knew well, as it was described to him by men such as Senator Sumner, Secretary of War Stanton, and Lincoln friend Orville Hickman Browning.
After Carnahan established that the Law of Nations allowed emancipation as a war measure, he moved on to prove that as a domestic measure, the Emancipation Proclamation might not have survived legal challenges after the end of the war. Appealing to case law from the War of 1812 and the Mexican War, Carnahan demonstrated that the U.S. Supreme Court under Chief Justice Taney (the same justice who authored the Dred Scott decision) rejected federal arguments for unlimited power in seizing private property during times of war, and in fact made federal officers personally liable for property they seized under the doctrine of military necessity.
After demonstrating issues in domestic law with federal emancipation, Carnahan explored the development of Lincoln’s thought and treatment of the Confederacy from a band of conspiring insurrectionist rebels to a fully armed and recognized belligerent force under the Laws of War. As is well known, Lincoln, by his lack of understanding of International Law at the beginning of his Presidency, declared a blockade against the South, which amounted to an acknowledgement of their belligerent status under the Laws of War. However, Carnahan took analysis of the inadvertent application of the Law of Nations to the Confederacy to a new level by exploring how Union commanders, through their taking of Prisoners of War, use of the Flag of Truce, and other usages of war, also accidentally recognized the Confederacy as a legitimate belligerent.
Starting in 1863, the federal government began to officially recognize the Confederacy as a legal belligerent to which the Laws of War applied. Once this was done, it was an easy step from recognition to the application of principles such as military necessity to the fight against the Confederacy. In this vein, Lincoln authorized the adoption of the Lieber Code, a distillation and “codification of the law of war” for U.S. Forces that remains in force to this day. The adoption of the Lieber Code was, in effect, a enshrining of total war in U.S. military policy. Similarly, Lincoln would then employ the Emancipation Proclamation as a tool of military necessity consistent with the Lieber Code and International Law. The proclamation became a “weapon of war,” that had both immediate and future consequences. According to Carnahan, “after General Order 100 (the Lieber Code), whenever the U.S. Army marched into enemy territory in a future war any persons there held as slaves would be free. Now freedom would follow the flag.”
Taken altogether, Carnahan’s history of the development of the proclamation shows Lincoln the lawyer as developing his understandings of International Law and Military Necessity in order to overcome Constitutional problems with emancipation. Such a development made Lincoln out to be not only a skilled attorney and politician, but a man of strong moral character who sought to overturn slavery legally and finally at the beginning of the war. I found Carnahan’s analysis of Lincoln, his development of the proclamation as a weapon of war, and the constitutional and international legal intricacies of freeing Southern black slaves to be quite convincing. While most reviewers praised Carnahan’s book, not all scholars were pleased. In a review appearing in The Review of Politics, Herman Belz wrote:
Although provocative and illuminating Act of Justice under theorized as a consideration of the relationship between the U.S. Constitution and the law of war. A premise of the study is a distinction between constitutional context and legal context Carnahan makes no effort however, to define the constitutional context or to explain how it has been adequately explored in relation to the Emancipation Proclamation.
I found Belz’s critique puzzling, because while Carnahan does make the historiographical claim that the Constitutional context of the Emancipation Proclamation had been explored well, his reason for writing this monograph was not to explore that context further, but to explore the context of the proclamation under International Law. While flushing out the historiography would be helpful in such a text, the lack of such work does not make the book “under theorized.” Belz closes his review with the statement that “Finally, it is a stretch to say that the Emancipation Proclamation presented itself as an ‘act of justice’ in virtue of the right of emancipation of an oppressed people under the law of war.” Belz cites formulations of international law under Vattel regarding the liberation of citizens in a portion of the conquered Swiss Confederacy and fails to see the relationship between the Swiss case and Southern slaves. Such a statement is bizarre because Carnahan did not cite Vattel in this case, and ignored the fact that Carnahan’s main argument is that the slaves were freed under the concept of military necessity as allowed under the Laws of War.
Carnahan’s second volume examined the Laws of War as it applied to the rest of the conflict. Significantly, one of Carnahan’s major arguments in his second volume was that the even though the war was in fact a Civil War and not an international conflict, the Constitution, as interpreted by the Supreme Court, invested Lincoln as Commander in Chief with the same authority to act in an insurrection as he had in a full-on war with another nation-state. Therefore, while Lincoln was acting in accordance with the Laws of War, his legal authority to apply those laws to the conflict, according to the Court, was none other than the U.S. Constitution. Carnahan, in his own way then, answered the critiques of Belz regarding Carnahan’s book on the Emancipation Proclamation and the Laws of War. I found Carnahan’s discussion of the relationship between the Constitution and the Law of Nations, or the “usages of war,” to quote the court, to be quite satisfying and an important addition to the scholarship on the subject.
But while Carnahan’s discussion on the relationship between the Constitution and the Laws of War were satisfying, much of Carnahan’s later analysis of the conflict, viewed through the lens of the Lieber Code, was much less so. Carnahan argued that the Lieber Code “remains the best summary of the laws and customs of war as they existed in the middle of the nineteenth century.” Such a statement is problematic from a number of points. First, it can be argued that the customs and laws of war are separate, and that in some instances, diverge. In other words, what was legal in the nineteenth century may not fully comport with what was considered to be just under the customs of war as enumerated by Just War Theory. Furthermore, because as mentioned above, Lincoln’s legal authority for putting down the Confederate insurrection was first and foremost granted by the Constitution, which enshrined federal law as the law of the land, the adoption of the Lieber Code as a piece of federal military law necessitates that the Code was in fact “the law of war” for the United States. In other words, Carnahan’s logic, for an attorney, is quite circular.
 McPherson, Battle Cry of Freedom, 562-3.
 Ibid, 562-3; For Lincoln’s use of colonization as one of several pieces meant to either ensure the end of slavery or to prepare the way for abolition, see Ibid, 509-510.
 Ibid, 510.
 Carnahan, Act of Justice, 2.
 Ibid, 5.
 Ibid, 6-14.
 Ibid, 16.
 Ibid, 5.
 Ibid, 25-40.
 Ibid, 41- 60
 Ibid, 43.
 Ibid, 58-60.
 Ibid, 61.
 Ibid, 127-9.
 Ibid, 130.
 Ibid, 140-2.
 Herman Belz, review of Ct of Justice: Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation and the Law of War, by Burris Carnahan, The Review of Politics 70, no. 3 (Summer 2008): 507.
 Ibid, 508.
 Carnahan, Lincoln on Trial, 24-25.
 Ibid, 23-28.
 Ibid, 24.
 Ibid, 31.
This essay will be continued in a future post.
Moral Man, Immoral War?: A Historiographical Study of Morality and Ethics in the American Civil War – Part III
In the third installment of this multi-part post, contributing editor Joshua Ward Jeffery continues an examination and discussion of the historiography of morality and ethics in the American Civil War. You can find Part I here, and Part II here.
While I find Stout’s approach to the Civil War concerning Jus in Bello to be particularly refreshing, considering the amount of hagiography the American Civil War has produced, I find Stout’s unwillingness to judge the war on the merits of Jus ad Bellum to be troubling. I find his argument that the Civil War cannot properly be judged by this criteria because it was in fact a civil war, and not an international war to be completely unsatisfying. Similarly, I find his argument about judging whether or not the South had a right to secede to be particularly questionable; it echoes pre-modern Christian arguments that God’s providence would ensure that the side in the right would always win and that winning was therefore a sure barometer of justice. The reasons for the war, despite some rhetoric to the contrary, are well documented, and an objective evaluation of the actions of the North and the South that led to the war is entirely possible. Since it is possible to apply Jus ad Bellum criteria to the conflict, it is very disappointing that Stout fails to do so. While it can be argued that evaluating whether or not entering the war was just would undermine Stout’s purpose in evaluating the conduct of the war, I do not find this argument to be particularly reasonable. The Jus ad Bellum criteria are entirely separate from the Jus in Bello criteria. Just as a party can enter a war justly and then fight it unjustly, so can a party enter a war unjustly and then fight in a just, moral, and lawful manner. Stout would have done well by making, at the least, a tentative judgment on the morality of going to war in the first place.
But while Stout failed to judge the morality of engaging the war, he did in fact do well in judging the morality of how the war was fought. In two sections made up of twelve chapters on proportionality during the war and the discrimination of combatants from non-combatants, Stout rightfully decried the violation of Jus in Bello criteria. Stout critiqued the well known and problematic battlefield math of Grant versus his opponents, where Grant often sacrificed two, three, or four times the number of casualties of his opponents in order to win a tactical or strategic victory for the Union. The disproportionality that resulted from Grant’s reckless charges and other actions in order to eventually overwhelm enemy forces was so great after one campaign, that Stout remarked “In the aftermath of Spotsylvania, even Grant was stunned by the carnage… In little over twelve days, the Army of the Potomac had lost thirty-two thousand men. Northern reporters, and not a few Democrats, branded Grant a ‘butcher,” and some of his own soldiers agreed. Nothing before had equaled the sheer intensity of killing.” In a chapter on the battle at Cold Harbor, where the U.S. Park Service estimated 13,000 U.S. casualties to a Confederate casualty number of 2,500, Stout was able to demonstrate that Grant’s sacrificing of his men had no purpose, strategic or otherwise. Grant himself said of the battle, “At Cold Harbor no advantage whatever was gained to compensate for the heavy loss we sustained. Indeed, the advantages other than those of relative losses, were on the Confederate side.” Stout believed that Grant’s statements about Cold Harbor demonstrated that even Grant “had a moral sense of the war and an understanding of when the moral brake linings sheared. But even Cold Harbor could be morally justified by his commander in chief, who kept closely to his awful arithmetic.”
Stout assessed the reasoning for Lincoln’s “awful arithmetic” as well, in a commendable section of the justification for total war. Most northern historians, and a few Southern ones as well, have applauded Lincoln’s decision to engage in total war through his adoption of the Emancipation Proclamation. While Stout recognized the Proclamation as “unquestionably right and good,” he also recognized that it “becomes more problematic if it was employed by Lincoln and Northern Republicans generally as a “lever” (Lincoln’s term) for a total war on the Confederacy that deliberately targeted” Southern civilians. Stout rightly took Lincoln to task for fighting a war to save the Union, while using the emancipation of slaves as a method to escalate and win the war, and not as an end in and of itself. Stout also, correctly, saw Lincoln’s racism for what is was, unlike Miller, stating that “he could not escape the culture of racism and white supremacy of which he was a product. Besides favoring colonization of slaves before emancipation, he expressed no abhorrence about the racist laws in his native Illinois.” While flawed in some ways, Stout’s work delivers overall a nuanced and well balanced depiction of the morality of Lincoln and the Civil War.
Not all readers agreed, however, that Stout’s work was balanced or nuanced. James McPherson, the distinguished historian of the War Between the States and author of the Civil War volume of the Oxford History of the United States, was stunned that Stout would have the audacity to critique the war and Lincoln. While McPherson was critical of Stout’s unwillingness to engage in an analysis of the war from the vantage point of Jus ad Bellum, he saved his most bitter barbs for Stout’s discussion of how the conflict escalated to total war and the role that the emancipation proclamation played in that escalation. In his review, McPherson clearly saw slavery as a greater evil than the total war that the civil war became and the destruction that it wrought, and he criticized Stout for failing to declare which one he saw as the greater evil himself. He thought that Stout was “uncomfortably aware that emancipation was an integral and essential part of the escalation to total war…As a practical matter, Stout acknowledges, ‘emancipation was necessary as a means to total war.’ But it also gave total war ‘an unprecedented moral stature, allowing the Northern public to fasten on the ‘good’ of emancipation without ever inquiring into the ‘bad’ of unjust conduct in a total war.’” McPherson’s vitriol against Stout, it seems, was a question of ideology. To McPherson, no war that would ultimately end slavery—a gross evil—and free millions of slaves could be judged to be an evil in and of itself. Questions of Just Cause should have indeed been asked because the South was dead wrong. Returning to the question of Just Cause later in his review, McPherson attacked Stout for his view of African-American soldiers, stating:
By a twist of logic difficult to follow, Stout considers black soldiers fighting for freedom to have been engaged in a just war even if white soldiers fighting for the same cause were not. “If anyone had a ‘cause’ that could meet all the moral scruples of a just war, it was the slaves and freedmen,” he believes. “The willingness of black soldiers to fight and die helped to transform the moral meaning of the Civil War from a war for Union to a ‘crusade’ for freedom.”
McPherson could not believe that white soldiers, fighting for the Union, and eventually, to destroy slavery, could be fighting an unjust war, while African-American soldiers could be fighting a Just War. In the moral calculus of the Just War Theory, McPherson is correct—soldiers following orders have no moral culpability as long as they fight according to the laws of war—but I suspect that Stout, in his differing assessments of the just cause of black and white soldiers, was appealing to a higher law than Just War Theory in that moment. In addition, McPherson attacked Stout’s calculation of civilian casualties, stating that “Through carelessness or misrepresentation, Stout grossly inflates the number of civilian casualties directly caused by military action in the Civil War.” I found this attack regarding numbers to be curious, since it is well known that the there has been disagreement and consternation regarding the number of casualties caused by the war since the very first battles were fought. The rest of McPherson’s review of Stout continued with an acidic tone that made clear that McPherson believed that Stout, “As a historian of American religion,” had no business engaging in the lofty academic debates that were the proper purview of seasoned Civil War historians. Judging Lincoln, then, was his job as an historian of the Civil War, not Stout’s, as an historian of American religion.
 Stout, 348.
 Ibid, xvi.
 Ibid, 185.
 James McPherson, review of Upon the Altar of the Nation: A Moral History of the American Civil War, by Harry S. Stout, New York Review of Books 53, no. 5 (March 23, 2006). http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2006/mar/23/was-it-a-just-war/
In the second installment of this multi-part post, contributing editor Joshua Ward Jeffery begins an examination and discussion of the historiography of morality and ethics in the American Civil War. You can find Part I here.
Miller’s argument is correct in that he denounced the severe presentism of critics such as Bennett, who saw Lincoln as an inveterate racist. However, while I believe Miller’s argument is logical, I do not find it fully satisfying. While it may be true that Lincoln’s arguments did create room for making some arguments that advanced the status of blacks in the United States, many of his statements did in fact reinforce racial stereotypes and prejudice and reinforced systemic injustice towards African-Americans, which is the definition of racism. Furthermore, while it can certainly be argued that Lincoln was much less a racist than the majority of his white contemporaries, it certainly cannot be argued that his opinions and declarations on race were exemplary. Many white abolitionists, such as William Lloyd Garrison, and even many successful white abolitionist politicians, such as U.S. Representative Thaddeus Stephens and U.S. Senator Charles Sumner, were far more advanced in their understandings of race and racism than was Lincoln. Stephens especially pushed Lincoln towards more progressive views of race and slavery.
While Miller was interested in
Lincoln’s moral developments and wished to defend him against current critics
who called him a racist, Miller was particularly interested in demonstrating
how Lincoln was a moral politician. Miller believed that what made
Lincoln a “moral exemplar” was the fact that he applied his ethics in the
public arena in an attempt to influence and then create policy. Miller had no
interest in sectarians that separated themselves from the world. Instead, he admired Lincoln because he was:
engaged in collective undertakings—political parties, legislative bodies, governments—in which his decision and action must take account of the decisions, actions, and convictions of others. He will be engaged in collective undertakings that, whatever they embodied of value, also entailed seeking and exercising power. He will realize a moral ideal only in the fragments and distortions possible in a particular place and time.
At the heart of Miller’s book was the fact that Lincoln was remarkable not only because he was so very moral (in Miller’s eyes), but also because he applied that morality to the public arena. Miller was quick to admit that if Lincoln had not become a politician, and if he had not been propelled into the greatest crisis the United States had even known, he would not have been remembered as a great man. However, Miller was not just interested in Lincoln’s performance during the Civil War, but in his political work as a whole, especially against slavery.
For example, Miller dedicated a chapter to Lincoln’s political maneuvering and moral attitude with regard to halting the extension of slavery in the land ceded to the United States after the Mexican War. While Lincoln was absolutely opposed to the institution of slavery, he was not an abolitionist. As is well known, Lincoln favored gradual, compensated emancipation of slaves. However, Lincoln, like many anti-slavery politicians, did not believe that the federal government could directly intervene in slavery where it already existed. What the government could do, however, was to prohibit the expansion of slavery into existing territories without slavery, as well as prevent it from being an institution in new states. During Lincoln’s time in both the Illinois Legislature and the U.S. Congress, Lincoln worked towards campaigning for candidates and legislation that opposed the expansion of slavery. As a part of this work, Lincoln sometimes found himself stumping for candidates who opposed the expansion of slavery, but who also owned slaves themselves. Lincoln gladly supported these candidates as long as they were willing to work against the expansion of slavery, but some of his fellow Whigs refused to support slaveholders as candidates, no matter what their positions on the expansion of slavery. These Whigs refused to vote for the “lesser of two evils,” instead arguing that they must maintain their “purity” or “perfection” by voting only for non-slaveholding, anti-slavery, and ideally, abolitionist candidates. Lincoln opposed such purist attitudes as unhelpful, and adopted a consequentialist view of ethics that focused upon the “fruits” of voting. Lincoln compared the fruits of voting for a slaveholding Presidential candidate such as Henry Clay, a slaveholder who opposed the expansion of slavery, versus James Polk, who favored expansion and pushed the United States into the Mexican War in order to provide more territory for slave states. Lincoln, then, was ready and willing to vote for “the lesser of two evils” in order “that good may come.”
Miller the ethicist praised Lincoln’s willingness to vote for evil in order to achieve good, comparing Lincoln’s political work and thought to the thought of Max Weber. Miller found Lincoln to embody Weber’s “ethic of responsibility” that he described in his essay “Politics as a Vocation.” Such an ethic rejecteds philosophical purity in exchange for a realism that could accomplish a real moral good. Lincoln argued that such an ethic would have real successes. In a letter to colleague and “Liberty-man” Williamson Durley who refused to vote for slave-holders, Lincoln denounced the perfectionism of Whigs who voted against Henry Clay because by their refusal to support Clay, they ensured that Polk would be elected as President. Such a stance was not just foreign to Lincoln, its provoked “wonder” in his mind as to how such a stance could be morally right. Such stances caused Miller to view Lincoln through the light of Weber and his “ethic of responsibility” throughout the balance of the book.
Miller’s work was fairly well received, though it was not without critics. Eric Foner, early on in a review, expressed the opinion that “ ‘Lincoln’s Virtues’ is filled with digressions, irrelevancies, arguments with other historians and annoying asides.” Foner also found Miller’s defense of Lincoln’s alleged racism less than successful, seeing much of his defense as a gloss over very real racism. Foner argued against Miller’s defense that “ it cannot be denied that, like many of his contemporaries, he [Lincoln] held prejudiced views regarding blacks even as he believed that slavery was a crime.” Foner also took Miller to task for ending his book in 1861, as Lincoln took the reigns of the Presidency at the beginning of the Civil War, showing that Foner was unaware of the fact that Miller was under contract for a second volume addressing the morality of Lincoln’s presidency. It is somewhat understandable, however, that Foner, a master historian of the Civil War, might want to read a book on Lincoln’s morality that came to bear directly upon his time and area of study, and not on its margins.
Skip Stout’s book, Upon the Altar of the Nation, did address Lincoln’s morality—and the morality of many other historical actors—during the time of the actual war. Stout, the Jonathan Edwards Professor of American Christianity at Yale University Divinity School, published this monograph in 2006. Stout, a historian of American religion, set out to write “a moral history of the Civil War” in reaction to Confederate General Evander Law’s declaration at Cold Harbor that the slaughter of Union soldiers under fire by cannon during the battle “was not war, but murder.” In response to this statement, Stout attempted to ask and answer the question of whether or not what General Law saw was truly murder or not.
To answer such a question, Stout
selected the Just War Theory as his main moral yardstick in evaluating whether
the actions of Union and Confederate soldiers, generals, and Presidents were
moral or not. Stout selected this method because he thought that:
In opposition to both pacifism on the one hand and amoral realism (Realpolitik) on the other, just-war theory offers a series of ethical principles that articulate a plausible moral framework. Whether one is dealing with wars in the distant past or contemporary wars, two sets of principles are especially important. The first set of principles offers guidelines for when a war might justly be declared. The second set of principles offers guidelines for governing just and fair conduct in the actual fighting of the war.
After declaring such a moral framework, Stout immediately rejected using Jus ad Bellum, or the guidelines for when a war might justly be declared, as a moral yardstick for the American Civil War. Stout refused to evaluate whether or not the Jus ad Bellum criteria were met or not because of the fact that the War Between the States was a civil war, and not an international one. Stout claimed that “it often becomes difficult to discern with finality who is the unjust aggressor and who the just defender” is, and so, attempting to do so is just not worth doing. Stout asked if a nation had the right to secede from a state that it was a part of, such as the South from the North. His answer was “Yes. And no. Only a civil war would determine the answer.” Such an answer echoes back to a prior time when Christians who assumed the overarching providence of God in all things believed that the outcome of the war clearly showed which side was just and which side was not.
However, while Stout was uninterested in answering the question of whether or not the causes of the war were just, he gladly engaged questions of morality for individual actions that occurred during the war. He engaged in such a work because he believed that “Moral history imbues the present with a heightened sensitivity to what actors might have done, what they ought to have done, and what in fact, they actually did. It is in the distances between the oughts and the actualities that moral judgments emerge. One bears witness to the past with all possible integrity and disinterestedness for the sake of the present and the future.” Stout, unlike Miller, was interested not in celebrating the ethical worthiness of Lincoln or the Union, but in making objective moral evaluations of the President(s) and the war that often weighed these actors on the scale of justice, and found them severely wanting.
 For a full discussion of Lincoln, his views of race, and his development on the race question over time, see Eric Foner, The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2011).
 Scot J. Zentner, review of Review Essay of Lincoln’s Virtues the Second Inaugural Address by James Tackach; Lincoln’s Greatest Speech the Second Inaugural by Ronald C. White: An Ethical Biography by William Lee Miller; Lincoln’s Moral Vision, by William Lee Miller, Journal of the Abraham Lincoln Association 25, no. 1 (Winter 2004): 104-18.
 It also seems that Foner’s dislike for the book (and possibly for Miller) kept him from imagining that this was the case. Other reviewers also noted that the chronological time period for the book was not satisfying, but were charitable enough to suppose that Miller had another volume in store. For an example, see Cathal J. Nolan, review of Lincoln’s Virtues, by William Lee Miller, Ethics and International Affairs Review 16, no. 2 (October 2002): 173-76.
In this multi-part post, contributing editor Joshua Ward Jeffery begins an examination and discussion of the historiography of morality and ethics in the American Civil War.
The American Civil War is arguably one of the most contentious events in U.S. History. Even now, over one hundred and fifty years after the conclusion of the war, questions regarding the causes of the war, whether the war was just, why the North won and the South lost, or whether President Lincoln was a hero or a tyrant, are continually asked and rehashed by both historians and the public alike. It is well known that the answers that people provide to many of these questions often depend upon the social and geographical location of the individual answering the question. This is amply demonstrated by the various names that are used to denote the war. In the North, the war is typically known as “the American Civil War,” or less often as “the War of the Rebellion.” In the South, the war is often titled “the War Between the States,” or more tellingly, “the War of Northern Aggression.”
While there is no way to eliminate geographical or social bias in attempts to answer these historical questions, a cadre of historians have attempted to find a more objective framework for the evaluation of these and other questions. A natural genre of history for the exploration of more objective frameworks for these critical questions is the field of religion and war. As this subfield has expanded from an almost ignored area of study to one with that is gaining more and more attention, it is unsurprising that historians interested in the interplay between religion and war would attempt to answer these questions through a moral framework. Thus, some historians have turned to the use of religious and philosophical ethics, just war theory, and international law in order to provide a more balanced analysis of these questions. Specifically, most of these historians have focused their work on President Abraham Lincoln, the U.S. head of state and the Commander and Chief of the Union’s armed forces. Sifting through massive amounts of monographs and articles on Lincoln and the war as a whole, these scholars have created an interesting and notable contribution to the scholarly understanding of Lincoln and the war.
However, while the historians that have examined the war and Lincoln through this lens have done an excellent job in engaging the historiography of these two subjects as a whole, they have largely neglected to take notice of the fact that they have begun their own historiographical tradition. In this historiographical study, I will show that while the subject of Lincoln’s morality and ethics have begun to be covered fairly well for the small number of books which have been issued, more work remains to be done, especially with regards to the historiography of this new genre in Civil War studies.
In this essay, I will examine four monographs that have closely scrutinized Lincoln through the lens of ethics, morality, and law, and which have provided a more objective framework for the examination of critical questions in the historiography of the American Civil War. Additionally, I will examine a fifth text in juxtaposition to these works, due to an interesting scholarly dispute that began between two historians because of the questioning of Lincoln’s wartime ethics.
These five works include Lincoln’s Virtues: An Ethical Biography by William Lee Miller, Upon the Altar of the Nation: A Moral History of the Civil War, by Harry S. Stout, Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era, by James McPherson, Act of Justice: Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation and the Law of War, by Burrus M. Carnahan, and Lincoln on Trial: Southern Civilians and the Law of War, also by Carnahan.
The first historian that examined Lincoln’s life and work specifically through the lens of ethics and morality was William Lee Miller. Miller, who at the time of publication was the White Burkett Miller Center Scholar in Residence at the University of Virginia, and had served previously as the Commonwealth Professor of Political and Social Thought at the University of Virginia. Miller considered himself an ethicist, not a historian, and had earned his PhD from Yale Divinity School in Religious Social Ethics. While Lincoln’s Virtues is a biography and history of the President from his early life until his inauguration, Miller’s training as an ethicist and philosopher easily shined through the text. Miller’s work was not simply a moralistic retelling of the Lincoln’s life; it was a serious socioethical analysis.
In that vein, Miller intended to demonstrate that Lincoln was “an unusually worthy human being,” and to reexamine Lincoln’s life story in order to demonstrate the “moral meaning” of “his rise to power.” Miller believed this work badly needed to be done because he thought that the “mythic picture” of Lincoln as the great emancipator, savior of the federal union, and then martyr for those causes tended to have a “perversely damaging effect on our understanding of Lincoln as a real human being in a real world… his actual moral achievements are discounted.”
One of the main ethical successes that Miller found in the life of Lincoln was his self-education. Miller spent much time and energy on Lincoln’s lack of a formal education, and then demonstrated that despite this deficit, Lincoln worked hard to acquire knowledge that would allow him to escape farming (a pursuit he detested) and provide him with access to a career that would permit him to exercise his mind over his muscles. Lincoln’s cousin Dennis Hanks reported that Lincoln “was always reading, scribbling, writing, ciphering, writing Poetry, etc.” Lincoln learned law not by attending law school, but by borrowing a copy of Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England and studying them thoroughly. Through his own self study he was able to gain enough knowledge and skill to be admitted to the bar, and then quickly became a partner in a law firm. After being elected to Congress in 1847, Lincoln found lodging in a small house across the street from the Library of Congress, and spent almost all of his free time in the Library studying the issues that he had to confront in office. Among the topics that Lincoln studied were Euclid’s geometry, with Lincoln saying that he “nearly mastered” all six volumes. He continued to use the Library when he was elected President. Miller was highly impressed by Lincoln’s personal scholarship, stating, “It is not every president who would get books on military science from the Library of Congress, studying the subject in order to deal with the generals. Lincoln would develop rare powers of concentration, and he would use them all of his life. He developed a confidence that he could dig into books for what he wanted, and would do so repeatedly in the years ahead.”
Miller found that Lincoln was not just unique in going to the library to gain the knowledge he needed to get ahead in the world, but also that young Abraham’s moral sense appeared to be unique compared to those around him. Miller enumerated Lincoln’s moral distinctiveness by observing that:
In a society of hunters, Lincoln did not hunt; where many males shot rifles, Lincoln did not shoot; among fishermen, Lincoln did not fish; among many who were cruel to animals, Lincoln was kind… in a world in which men smoked and chewed, Lincoln never used tobacco; in a rough, profane world, Lincoln did not swear; in a social world in which fighting was regular male activity, Lincoln became a peacemaker; in a hard-drinking society, Lincoln did not drink; when a temperance movement condemned all drinking, Lincoln the nondrinker did not join it; in an environment soaked with hostility to Indians, Lincoln resisted it; in a time and a place which the great mass of common men in the West supported Andrew Jackson, Lincoln supported Henry Clay; surrounded by Democrats, Lincoln became a Whig; in a political party with a strong nativist undercurrent, Lincoln rejected that prejudice; in a southern-flavored setting soft on slavery, Lincoln always opposed it; in a white world with strong racial antipathies, Lincoln was generous to blacks.
Miller challenged the notion that the President was “a ‘white supremacist’ and even… a racist.” Miller spent a page of his short preface, as well as a full chapter in the main text, to defend Lincoln’s reputation from allegations of this type. According to Eric Foner, Miller was writing in response to Lerone Bennett, who denigrated Lincoln as total racist with little to no true moral vision. Miller referenced Bennett in a footnote in his chapter where he defended Lincoln, but only mentioned that Bennett’s selection of Alexander Trumbull as a heroic non-racist foil against Lincoln was both bizarre and incorrect. In order to defend Lincoln from the charges of racist and white supremacist, Miller had to first attempt to explain Lincoln’s statements during his U.S. Senate campaign against Stephen Douglas where Lincoln unequivocally stated that he was not in favor of “social and political equality” for African-Americans. Miller explained and defended Lincoln in three ways. First, Miller pointed out that Lincoln’s critics of today who accuse him of gross racism are engaging in “presentism,” that is, not recognizing that Lincoln was a “man of his time,” a time where most if not all white men were in fact racists. Second, Miller pointed to the fact that Lincoln was not monolithic, but instead that his ethics and morals continued to grow as he experienced life and learned new lessons. Finally, Miller emphasized that Lincoln was in fact a politician, and that as a politician, he was bound to agree with some racial generalization or else he would be made unelectable. However, Miller argued that by agreeing with some of the standard racial generalizations of his time during political debate, Lincoln was then was able to create space that allowed him to argue against other generalizations. For example, by arguing against political and social inequality for African-Americans, Miller saw that Lincoln was able to then create space to contend that blacks were at least entitled to the same natural rights as whites, as found in the Declaration of Independence. Arguments such as these served to set Lincoln apart as more morally advanced than his white male peers that surrounded him. In this way, just as Lincoln the politician was ethically unique with regards to alcohol, tobacco, and cursing, so too was he in his actual attitudes toward black Americans.
 For more on how religion has been often ignored in American history, and specifically how the interplay of religion and war has been almost completely overlooked by scholars, see Harry S. Stout, “Religion, War, and the Meaning of America”, Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation 19, no. 2 (Summer 2009): 275-89.
 (New York: Vintage Books, 2003).
 (New York: Penguin Books, 2007).
 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988).
 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2007).
 (Louisville: University Press of Kentucky, 2010).
 For Miller’s description of himself as an ethicist and not a historian, see William Lee Miller, interviewed by Brian Lamb, June 14, 1992, Booknotes, CSPAN, Washington, DC. For Miller’s educational background, see Margalit Fox, “William Lee Miller, Scholar on Abraham Lincoln, Is Dead at 86,” New York Times, June 5, 2012.
 Miller, xii.
 Ibid, xiii.
 Ibid, 31.
 Ibid, 130.
 Ibid, 52.
 Ibid, 53.
 Ibid, 43.
 Ibid, xiii-xiv.
 See Miller’s chapter, “Lincoln’s Defense of Our Common Humanity”, 340-374.
 Eric Foner, “The Education of Abraham Lincoln,” review of Lincoln’s Virtues, by William Lee Miller, New York Times, February 10, 2002, 1, accessed March 23, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2002/02/10/books/review/10FONER.html.
 Forced into Glory: Abraham Lincoln’s White Dream (Chicago: Johnson Pub. Co., 2000), 1.
 Miller, 362-3n*.
 Ibid, 354.
 Ibid, 355.
 Ibid, xiv-xvi.
 Ibid, 353-363.
Peace Without Victory: Sectarian Christians and the First World War, Part II
After questioning whether or not the label “evangelical” is a useful description in trying to understand the majority of American Christians, Gamble suggests that using the categories of Paul Kleppner would be more fruitful. Gamble thus proposes to examine the churches through a “pietist-confessionalist continuum” instead of through a lens of progressive versus conservative. Gamble sees the Pietists as having an interest in perpetuating “a cultural and morally Christian America,” while the Confessionalists had less of a cultural stake in the maintenance of an American “Christian identity.” Gamble suggests that if historians embrace this “pietist-confessionalist continuum,” that they might find something new. Gamble argues that if this work is done, that:
such a study might uncover a group of apolitical preachers who cared for their flock on Sunday, 8 April 1917—the Sunday after Congress declared war—much as they had done every Sunday before. . . Perhaps they prayed with particular urgency for those in authority in a time of national crisis and met the extraordinary demands of a congregation whose sons had enlisted or would soon be drafted. But they never thought of displaying the stars and stripes on or in their churches and certainly not draped across their altars. They never included . . . “The Battle Hymn of the republic” in their order of worship. Instead, they preached on the mission of the church and not the mission of America, took care not to confuse spiritual and physical warfare, and never thought of interpreting God’s promises to Israel and to the church as if they were meant for the united states. If such a group could be found for the First World War and all the way back to the Revolutionary War and forward to the War on Terror, and that group turned out to be large, then the entire narrative of American religious history, especially of religion and war, would have to be retold. 
I agree with Gamble that finding such a group would require a rewriting of American religious history. However, it is highly unlikely that such a group will be found among Confessionalists.
Gamble was not the only one who came to see that his dichotomy between Progressive and Conservative Christians and support for the war effort was a false one. Andrew Preston challenged Gamble’s thesis in The War for Righteousness in a chapter that recently appeared in Beyond 1917: The United States and the Global Legacies of the Great War. Preston, who apparently had not yet read Gamble’s revision of his own thesis which had appeared the year before, argued, among other things, against Gamble’s original dichotomy, demonstrating that, in fact, conservative Christians were just as much, if not more, in favor of the war effort as Progressives. In fact, Preston argues that conservative, fundamentalist Christians provided “shrill and unquestioning support for America’s cause.” Preston, in a larger argument about whether the Great War caused a decline in American religion, declares that “Conservative Protestants were never apolitical, and they never separated themselves from American society to retreat into their own subculture.” While Preston is correct here, that conservatives did not separate themselves from the larger culture, his argument demonstrates, along with the argument of Gamble, that historians of American religion have largely misunderstood the relationship between American religious groups, and have neglected theory which would provide greater clarity to what was occurring during World War I.
The social relations of American religious groups to the world should be measured according to Sect-Church typology. According to H. Richard Niebuhr, Max Weber, and Ernest Troeltsch, a religious group that separates itself from the larger culture and retreats into its own sub-culture is a sect. Sects are, by definition, not liberal or conservative. They instead stand apart from and are opposed to the larger political and social institutions of the dominant culture. Denominations, on the other hand, have made peace with the larger culture, and share its values. Churches, the third Weberian ideal type, are dominant religious groups that claim universality and that often see citizenship as synonymous with church membership. Churches make significant accommodations to culture. Historically, the church-type has included the Anglican Church in England, and the Catholic Church in France and Italy.
Sectarian groups, which were the chief religious opponents to American participation in the war in 1917, were theological and political radicals. For example, in the Churches of Christ, a sectarian group that broke from the mainline, denominational Disciples of Christ in 1906, most members were either socialists or anarchists. Not coincidentally, the sect was also the largest pacifist group in America at the start of the war. 
Sectarian groups were typically anti-war. Denominational and Church typed religious groups, however, were typically pro-war. This is easily seen by dividing religious groups into their sect/denomination/church categories, and seeing who was and who was not pro-war. Sectarian groups in 1917 included Restorationists, Pentecostals, Holiness groups, and the International Bible Students Association. All four of these sects were anti-war, and members from all were arrested and prosecuted for resisting the conflict. Denominational groups included Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, and Congregationalists. None of the major denominations or churches in the United States had a significant number of conscientious objectors or war resisters.
Having dealt with the original Gamble thesis, along with Preston’s corrective, let us quickly look at Gamble’s new dichotomy, that of pietist versus confessional. Gamble’s suggestion is based upon the work of Paul Kleppner and Frederick Luebke, but while arguing that historians should examine this dichotomy more carefully, he provides no examples of this idea in action. Since Gamble fails to apply the theory to the First World War, he leaves this work to other historians to do for him. Since I have no argument of Gamble’s to analyze, I will propose my own. A look at draft cards easily disrupts Gamble’s suggestion. According to the latest work of Jay Beaman, a sociologist of religion, Beaman has found close to 11,000 draft cards of conscientious objectors to World War I. Of this number, sectarian groups make up 84.5% of CO draft cards. Comparatively, German Pietists and Confessionalists make up just 0.6% of CO draft cards. Just due to their small numbers, it is easy to dismiss a Pietest versus Confessionalist dichotomy as being the controlling paradigm for understanding which religious Americans were for or against American intervention in the Great War.
The correct paradigm for understanding how religious groups responded to the war is that of sect versus denomination. American religious groups on the whole, whether conservative or liberal, denomination or church, supported the war effort once Congress declared war. It was only America’s sectarian groups, including Restorationists, Pentecostals, Holiness groups, and IBSA, along with the Historic Peace Sects, such as the Mennonites, Quakers, and Church of the Brethren, who opposed American entry to World War I. Before concluding, I would like to turn to one more claim made by Richard Gamble. I quoted Gamble at length previously, where he declared that a study of the Pietist-Confessional continuum “might uncover a group of apolitical preachers,” who did not give into nationalism, did not wave the flag, and did not play the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Gamble argued, “If such a group could be found for the First World War and all the way back to the Revolutionary War and forward to the War on Terror, and that group turned out to be large, then the entire narrative of American religious history, especially of religion and war, would have to be retold.” I would like to submit that such a group has been overlooked by American historians of religion due to their improper over-focus on denominations and churches. However, this group is not found among the Confessionalists, but among the Restorationist sectarians. Restorationist sectarian groups have a long heritage in the United States. The Sandemanians, a Restorationist group founded in Scotland in 1730, had congregations on the eastern seaboard of North America as early as 1750. These Restorationists were brutally attacked during the American Revolution for being pacifists. The Sandemanians, who died out in the United States in the late 19th Century, made a major impact on the thought and theology of Alexander Campbell, one of the founders of the Stone-Campbell Movement, which spawned the Churches of Christ, the Disciples of Christ, and the Christadelphians. Campbell’s Movement in the United States can be dated to 1812, and his movement absorbed many Sandemanian congregations. Both the Churches of Christ and the Christadelphians maintained a fervent pacifistic theology throughout the American Civil War, the Spanish-American War, World War I, and into World War II. While Church of Christ pacifism has waned since World War II, the pacifism of the group still exists in some quarters. Christadelphians have also maintained their pacifism. Furthermore, the events of World War I rekindled pacifism among the Disciples of Christ, and they are at the forefront of the Christian peace movement in the United States today. Yet, while pacifist Restorationists have indeed existed throughout American history, they have largely been ignored by historians. Sociologist R. Lawrence Moore, in his influential book, Religious Outsiders and the Making of Americans, has argued that the Disciples of Christ and the Churches of Christ, while being “denominations that have recently been granted mainline status,” have “nonetheless remained on the edges of general narratives of American religious history.” Finally, in regards to size, the Churches of Christ were the largest peace church in America during World War I, and the Restorationist sects and denominations, taken together, continue to be one of the largest Protestant religious groups in the United States. Based on this data, I would suggest that I agree with Richard Gamble’s analysis at least in one way: that the entire narrative of American religious history, especially of religion and war, might need to be retold.
 Ibid, 20-21.
 Ibid, 29.
 Ibid, 29-30.
 Andrew Preston, “To Make the World Saved: American Religion and the Great War,” in Beyond 1917: The United States and the Global Legacies of the Great War, ed. Thomas W. Zeiler, David K. Ekbladh, and Benjamin C. Montoya (Oxford University Press: New York, 1917), 142-58.
 Ibid, 147.
 Ibid, 145.
 For church and sect, see Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, trans. Olive Wyon (New York: McMillan Company, 1927), 1:331. For the denomination, see H. Richard Niebuhr, The Social Sources of Denominationalism (New York: Henry Holt Company, 1929), 3-25.
 For the claim that most Church of Christ members were anarchists, and that the group was the largest peace church in the United States, see Joshua W. Jeffery, “Spies, Slackers, and Saboteurs: Federal Suppression of Religious Pacifism in the Churches of Christ During World War I” (master’s thesis, Vanderbilt University, 2015). For Church of Christ socialists, see Michael W. Casey “From Religious Outsiders to Insiders: The Rise and Fall of Pacifism in the Churches of Christ”, Journal of Church and State 44, no. 3 (2002).
 For Restorationists, see Jeffery, “”Spies, Slackers, and Saboteurs.” For Pentecostals and Holiness adherents, see Jay Beaman, Pentecostal Pacifism: The Origin, Development, and Rejection of Pacific Belief Among the Pentecostals (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2009). FOR ISBA arrests, see M. James Penton, “The Bible Students I Jehovah’s Witnesses in the United States during the First World War,” in American Churches in the First World War, ed. Gordon L. Heath (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2016).
 Jay Beaman, “Un‐muting the Genealogy of Peace, WWI” (paper Presented at the “Remembering Muted Voices Symposium: Conscience, Dissent, Resistance and Civil Liberties in World War I Through Today, Kansas City, KS, October 21, 2017), 34.
 Richard Gamble, “Together for the Gospel of Americanism, Evangelicals and the First World War,” in American Churches in the First World War, ed. Gordon L. Heath (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2016), 29-30.
 For an account of the Sandemanians during the Revolution, see Jean F. Hankins, “A Different Kind of Loyalist: The Sandemanians of New England During the Revolutionary War,” New England Quarterly 31, no. 3 (1987): 223-49. For a history of the Sandemanians in America during the whole of the 19th Century, see John Howard Smith, The Perfect Rule of the Christian Religion: A History of Sandemanianism in the Eighteenth Century (Albany: SUNY Press, 2008). Also see Joshua W. Jeffery, The Glasite Political Theology Project, http://www.glasite.com/
 For a discussion of the influence of Sandemanian and Haldanite Restorationists on Alexander Campbell and the theology of the Stone-Campbell Movement, see James L. Gorman, Among the Early Evangelicals: The Transatlantic Origins of the Stone-Campbell Movement (Abeline, TX: Abilene Christian University Press, 2016).
 For evidence of this claim, see my master’s thesis, Jeffery, “Spies, Slackers, and Saboteurs.”
 For Disciples, see my article Joshua Ward Jeffery, “‘a Barbarous Method of Adjusting Differences’: Federal Persecution of Conscientious Objectors in the Disciples During the Great War, 1917-1918,” Stone-Campbell Journal 20, no. 1 (April 2017): 17-33.
 R. Laurence Moore, Religious Outsiders and the Making of Americans (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), xiv.
Peace Without Victory: Sectarian Christians and the First World War, Part I
For the inaugural post of the War and Society Blog, Joshua Ward Jeffery examines the historiography of religion and the First World War.
With the dawn of the 100th anniversary of the Great War, it is an exciting time to be a historian of Religion and the First World War. The last three years have seen a flurry of scholarship on the conflict, including several studies on the relationship between religion and the war. Those studies that centered on religion and the conflict helped revive an important but somewhat forgotten discussion among scholars on the topic. However, while this conversation has been renewed, many of the conclusions have been less than fully sound. Therefore, in this paper, I will survey the dominant historiography on Religion and World War I—focused on the role of churches in the conflict—and will then argue that historians of religion and war have largely committed the same error that historians of religion have committed in American Religious History: over-focusing on mainline, traditional denominations such as Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, and Congregationalists. This over-focus has led to the minimizing of the roles of sectarian groups such as Pentecostals, Restorationists, and other marginalized but vibrant religious groups in the United States. Furthermore, historians working on the role of churches in the conflict have largely undertheorized the relationship between religious groups in the United States, which has led historians to lump sectarian churches together with “conservative” or “fundamentalist” churches. This has led to a false dichotomy focused upon a divide between these conservative or fundamentalist religious groups with “modernist” or “liberal” groups. I will argue that applying the Church-Sect typology of Weber, Niebuhr, and others to the various religious groups in America in 1917 will help break this false dichotomy and will demonstrate that the majority of religious opposition to the First World War came from sectarian Christians.
Any survey of the historiography of religion and the Great War must begin with sociologist Ray Abrams’ monograph, Preachers Present Arms. Writing in 1933, Abram’s sought to fill a gap in the literature, because of the books written about the Great War up until that time, “few have been concerned with the integral relationship of the civilian population to the whole configuration of war.” To do so, Abrams chose as a sample group “the clergy and the churches of the United States.” While the first part of Abram’s book focused mostly on the clergy, he carefully balanced this focus on them by showing how their actions impacted the common person in the United States, and he especially studied the effects felt by those marginalized by the nation’s war machine and propaganda.
What Abrams found and presented in his study was an unflattering picture of America’s clergy during the wartime years. Abrams found that much of the clergy was intimately involved in pushing the United States to enter the war on the side of Great Britain. Abrams used the concept of social control, which are the means that a society uses to ensure conformity with societal norms, to analyze the actions of the clergy. Abrams concluded that the clergy, in collusion with the government, played an active role in extending federal hegemony over almost every facet of life in order to ensure full cooperation with the war effort. In so doing, the clergy not only contributed to a rise of nationalism, but they also contributed to the general war-time hysteria and became part of the national propaganda machine. Abram’s work, taken as a whole, showed generally that many of the churches put themselves squarely in the service of the government during the war.
A response to Abrams did not come until 1965, when John F. Piper wrote a dissertation to challenge Abrams’ findings. Piper argued that Abrams described the churches of the period as having whole heartedly “sold out” to the American propaganda machine during the Great War, and that most students of American religion had bought into this line of thinking. According to Piper, however, “The primary difficulty with the sell-out theory has been and continues to be that it has very little validity. In fact, there is no reason to give it any credence except as an artifact of historical interpretation.” With one quick sweep in this short article that shares a name with that of his later published dissertation revised into monograph, Piper set up a caricature of Abrams’ argument and then just as quickly dismissed it as a mere historical construction.
Piper, though, had more issues with Abrams’ text than just what he perceived to be its thesis. Objecting strongly to Abrams’ claim of being an objective social scientist, Piper claimed that:
he approached his subject with a strong pacifist bias and a determination to show that not only the war but all those who shared in it were morally wrong. The singlemindedness [sic] of his work helped him establish his point and also led him to misunderstand much of the churches’ ministry. The discovery of acculturation in the churches’ wartime work was like finding sand on a beach. … What Abrams missed was the work and testimony of those who accepted the war but who agonized over their roles, who sought a national wartime ministry that would lift up the Gospel, and who also gradually came to realize that the struggle had changed life for them and their institutions.
While it is certainly obvious that Abrams wrote from a biased point of view, it is difficult to substantiate the claim that he “misunderstood much of the churches’ ministry.” Abrams’ interest in writing Preachers Present Arms had not been to discuss the church as a totality, but instead had been to highlight how the government was able to co-opt the clergy and the churches as instruments of social control, and also to demonstrate how the clergy had acted as a barometer for what was occurring in the culture at large. 
After accusing Abrams of bias and of having missed the larger ministry of the Federal Council of Churches and the Roman Catholic Church during the war, Piper entered into his larger project of chronicling those ministries. Piper’s focus upon war-time ministry, while filling a gap in the literature, left him with much less space to discuss the relation of the clergy to the politics and feelings of the era.
While Piper in many ways only outlined and caricatured the role of the clergy in the politics and feelings of the nation, Richard M. Gamble fully fleshed out this role in his book The War for Righteousness: Progressive Christianity, the Great War, and the Rise of the Messianic Nation. In formulating his argument, Gamble critiqued Abram’s sociological approach to the war in one sentence and then continued on towards his thesis, stating that “The liberal clergy were not merely lackeys in the Wilson administration’s attempts at social control, nor were they caught unaware and unprepared by the outbreak of war; rather, these forward-looking clergy embraced the war as a chance to achieve their broadly defined social gospel objectives.” Gamble saw the clergy as willing agents of the government, acting to secure their own agenda. Likewise, Gamble summed up Piper’s work in a single sentence as well, and used Piper’s argument to bolster his own, stating that “the Protestant denominations contributed to the war effort in some very practical and visible ways—through relief work and various ministries to the soldiers at home and abroad…” Gamble would argue that this relief work and the various ministries aligned with the Social Gospel of the progressive clergy, which would allow them to baptize the conflict as a progressive war of Christian messianism to the nations.
Gamble’s agenda was to find an interventionist, crusading progressive clergy to hold responsible for the war, and this is exactly what he found. Gamble argued that without a progressive clergy that saw the Kingdom of God as synonymous with western culture, a total war in Europe could not have been waged. Gamble saw the intellectual arguments for “a war to end all wars” coming first and foremost from the clergy. Like Abrams, he saw the clergy as participating in the propaganda machine, enabling and pushing American interventionism. Gamble, however, has recently changed his mind. In a recent book chapter, Gamble argues against a liberal-conservative dichotomy, with progressives being the ones who largely supported the war effort. Instead, Gamble proposes an evangelical versus confessional dichotomy, with evangelicals all largely endorsing an American Civil Religion in the hopes that the American war effort would “be a global force for righteousness.” As evidence that he was incorrect, Gamble points to an article titled “No False Peace,” which was an open letter originally published in the Outlook and which was subsequently republished in many different American religious journals. The article called on Woodrow Wilson to reject any peace that did not result from a decisive victory, and also to resist the efforts of pacifists to keep the United States out of the conflict. The letter was signed by an amalgam of progressive and fundamentalist ministers and religious leaders, including the conservative itinerant preacher Billy Sunday, and progressives such as Lyman Abbot and Harry Emerson Fosdick.
This essay will continue in Peace Without Victory: Sectarian Christians and the First World War, Part II.
Notes:  For an excellent synthetic overview of the history of religion, war, and diplomacy in United States History, see Andrew Preston, Sword of the Spirit, Shield of Faith: Religion in American War and Diplomacy (New York: Knopf, 2012).
 The historiography focused upon the role of American Churches and the Great War includes three books: Ray H. Abrams, Preachers Present Arms (New York: Round Table Press, 1933), John F. Piper, The American Churches in World War I (Athens, OH: Ohio UP, 1985), and Richard M. Gamble, The War for Righteousness: Progressive Christianity, the Great War, and the Rise of the Messianic Nation (Wilmington, DE: Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2003). Upon the advent of the centennial of the United States entering the conflict, a series of essays in edited volumes has appeared, challenging the historiography. Richard M. Gamble revises his own thesis in “Together for the Gospel of Americanism: Evangelicals and the First World War,” in American Churches in the First World War, Gordon L. Heath, ed. (Eugene, Oregon: Pickwick Publications, 2016), 15-31. Andrew Preston, who has written the only interpretative synthesis of religion and war that surveys all of American history, recently challenged Gamble’s work in “To Make the World Saved: American Religion and the Great War,” in Beyond 1917: The United States and the Global Legacies of the Great War, Thomas W. Zeiler, et all, eds. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 142-158.
 Abrams, xiii.
 Ibid, 41-48.
 Ibid, xiv-xvi.
 Ibid, 95-124.
 John F. Piper, “The American Churches in World War I”, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 38, no. 2 (June 1970): 148.
 Since Abrams saw his work as sociological, based upon empirical evidence, I find it quite ironic that Piper dismisses his caricaturized understanding of Abram’s thesis as a mere “artifact of historical interpretation.”
 John F. Piper, The American Churches in World War I (Athens, OH: Ohio UP, 1985), 2-3.
 Clyde Penrose St. Amant, review of Preachers Present Arms, by Ray H. Abrams, Review and Expositor 68, no. 1 (Winter 1971): 144.
 Richard M. Gamble, The War for Righteousness: Progressive Christianity, the Great War, and the Rise of the Messianic Nation (Wilmington, DE: Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2003).
 Ibid, 3.
 Ibid, 155.
 Richard Gamble, “Together for the Gospel of Americanism, Evangelicals and the First World War,” in American Churches in the First World War, ed. Gordon L. Heath (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2016), 17.