The incumbent party was in disarray during primary season. They had spent the better part of the previous decades in positions of dominance in the Federal government, doing their best to enshrine their beliefs in legislation and court decisions, viewing with alarm and incredulity the growing unpopularity of their positions in certain parts of the country. They were highly principled and eager to fight for their beliefs ... when they weren't fighting among themselves.
During the primary contest, one element of the party believed they should take a strong, no-compromise tone emphasizing their core principles, even knowing that doing so would further alienate the rabid, polarized forces of the other party and possibly lose them the election. Moderates feared the outcome of such a fiery position and argued for a more centrist stance, gaining the upper hand in a painful series of contests. Furious, crying betrayal, the extremists broke with their party, nominating one of their most respected orthodox adherents to stand on their behalf.
Meanwhile, the minority party was having an equally difficult time. A rising group of leaderless, fiery insurgents - featuring prominent evangelicals and freely borrowing religious imagery and symbolism - believed they were on a holy crusade against an immoral government. Nevertheless, within the party itself, conventional wisdom pointed to a moderate, well-respected establishment candidate, but as events developed, party elders were worried that the front-runner was not colorful enough to oppose the coming challenge from their opponents.
After a series of contests, support swung behind a more down-home, folksy character who had lost a visible national election quite recently and never served more than a half term of their single state-level office. This individual, loathed by the other side and weighed down by nicknames and a conscious allusion to a humble background, had shown a gift for oratory and had a proven ability to fire up the base of the party. With a bit of skillful behind-the scenes efforts and loud-voiced support from an enthusiastic grass roots supporters, the radical got the nod.
Meanwhile, alarmed at excesses of partisanship and sectionalism and fearing the outcome of the the radicalism of both parties, a centrist group tried to mount a late-game appeal to reason and decency and reconciliation of the sections through compromise.
The result: a four-way election. Two strong radicals with grass-roots support, on opposite sides of an insurmountable ideological fence, and two moderates - one fatally compromised because of an historical affiliation with a broadly unpopular policies, the other an underfunded outsider.
A plausible fairy tale for 2012? Or, because of the absence of an incumbent running for reelection, maybe 2016? Drop Mitt Romney into the role of flawed establishment candidate, overshadowed by the folksy Sarah Palin. Cast your choice of Democratic politicians in the incumbent roles, and Michael Bloomberg as the doomed centrist/outsider third party candidate.
The astute will recognize the events as the election of 1860. Swept up by a tide of hyperpartisanship and a split field of candidates, the winner was the folksy radical who could fire up the base. This winner gathered no more than 40% of the popular vote, but was so despised by the other side that before even taking office half the country was speaking of open revolt. Before Lincoln won, the north spoke regularly of secession from a United States where slavery is legal; after his election it went the other way.
Okay, am I saying Palin could be Lincoln? Lincoln the candidate, positioned for victory by a mix of principle and circumstance, perhaps. And in other ways: a spotty public service record, a consciously folksy pedigree, enormous rhetorical appeal among his supporters, yes. Most importantly, a polarizing figure for both sides, someone you either love or hate - enough to drive even sober people to extremes of emotion.
But put the personal characterizations aside for a moment, and look at the events themselves. The parallels are a bit creepy, and the implications even worse: imagine Sarah Palin at her victory rally after election night, then imagine the discussions taking place in every blue-state back room. Lord knows what the result might be, but none of the scenarios are pretty.
The parallel breaks down quickly beyond this, of course. It's clear in retrospect that the weight of history was on Lincoln's side - it's impossible to justify slavery in any reasonable way. And of course Lincoln was the radical forcing change on the conservatives in the South - Palin's radicalism is consciously in the name of restoring values, not advancing them. Geography mattered immensely in the sectarian conflicts of the antebellum years; today's blue state/red state divide is more cultural/philosophical.
The moral of this fairy tale is this: the last time we saw a period of hyperpartisanship akin to the one we are living through now, the result was Not Good. At all.
For 150 years, few have been able to credibly imagine a way the country could have avoided the outcome of the period. The momentum of principle - on both sides - made the issue of slavery one that naturally pushed people to the extremes, making even the idea of compromise seem impossible. Most agree that the refining fire of the conflict provided a decisive verdict in the end, and possibly the only resolution that could have resulted.
We are seeing a momentum of principle in our era as well - one which seems at first blush equally impossible to resolve. As Lincoln said, "a nation divided against itself cannot stand ... It will become all one thing, or all the other." He was right, and one wonders if there is any reasonable way to avoid repeating history.
Unless we're smart enough to calm down and avoid making old mistakes. Despite what some radicals would say, our era doesn't have a single issue with the moral equivalence of slavery at its core. We have many more issues, but few are even close to slavery's breadth or monstrousness. Most may prove exceedingly difficult to sort out, but each - when viewed in a calm, narrow way - seems more susceptible to compromise and gradual resolution.
Do we have the will to divert the momentum of principle? Can we avoid the place towards which we are being swept?
