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Remnant Connection<br />
JOHN LUKACS<br />
One of the profound differences between the rule<br />
of law and the rule of history is that the law<br />
does not permit multiple jeopardy: a man may<br />
not be tried for a case more than once. Yet the<br />
rule of history is that of multiple jeopardy: a<br />
man, or a cause, may be—indeed will be—tried again and<br />
again. History amounts to the constant rethinking—and,<br />
consequently, to the rewriting—of the past. One result of<br />
this are waves of declining and rising historical reputations.<br />
It is pleasant to record that, more than a half-century<br />
after his retreat from public life, this has not happened to<br />
<strong>Winston</strong> <strong>Churchill</strong>. His reputation has not much changed<br />
during the last forty years; as a matter of fact, it may even<br />
be said that admiration for <strong>Churchill</strong> has spread even<br />
farther than before. This includes historians. About a<br />
quarter century ago occasional historians published books<br />
critical of <strong>Churchill</strong>, but their influence turned out to be<br />
entirely inconsequential. This is an unusual, perhaps even<br />
amazing, phenomenon.<br />
The reason for this is obvious. It is that of contrast.<br />
After <strong>Churchill</strong> there have been no presidents or prime<br />
ministers or other statesmen comparable to him, not in any<br />
English-speaking country or even anywhere else. (One particular<br />
exception to that may have been General de Gaulle.)<br />
<strong>Churchill</strong> is something like a gold standard, to which the<br />
fluctuating currencies of the reputations of other statesmen<br />
are, consciously or not, compared.<br />
Another reason is the continuing interest in the<br />
Second World War. Among its victors, the reputations of<br />
Stalin and of Roosevelt have undergone changes since their<br />
deaths. Yet <strong>Churchill</strong>’s reputation has hardly changed at<br />
all—despite the fact that his wartime leadership was followed,<br />
soon after the war, by the liquidation of much of<br />
the British Empire, a prospect that he himself had denied<br />
in a ringing phrase during the war.<br />
A third reason is something that I have emphasized in<br />
some of my writings, summing it up in a few words: while<br />
Roosevelt and Stalin won the Second World War, it was<br />
<strong>Churchill</strong> who did not lose it.<br />
This is not a matter of a phrase. We—and at least<br />
some historians—are more aware than before of how close<br />
Hitler had come to winning his war in the late spring and<br />
summer of 1940—and even for a long time thereafter. One<br />
man stood in his way then: this was <strong>Churchill</strong>, whose task<br />
was much more difficult and much less promising than it<br />
seemed for a long time.<br />
Dr. Lukacs is the author of over twenty-five books, including The<br />
Duel: Hitler vs. <strong>Churchill</strong> (1990), the acclaimed account of Five Days<br />
in London: May 1940 (1999) and, most recently, Bl od, Toil, Tears and<br />
Sweat: The Dire Warning. He was a professor of history at Chestnut<br />
Hill College from 1947 to 1994.<br />
FINEST HoUR 140 / 31<br />
Yet another reason, particularly relevant to documentary<br />
scholarship: Unlike many other leaders and statesmen,<br />
<strong>Churchill</strong> was not a secretive man. His quick mind and<br />
temperament not only impelled him to express his<br />
thoughts instantly to others; there is little or nothing in the<br />
documentary trove of his (and of other British) archives<br />
that throws a different light on what he said or wrote then<br />
or afterwards. Moreover, there were instances when he<br />
chose not to emphasize but to obscure his contribution at<br />
decisive moments. Why, for example, did he, in Their<br />
Finest Hour, choose to write nothing <strong>about</strong> his crucial<br />
debate with Halifax during those five days at the end of<br />
May 1940?<br />
I can surmise only two reasons for that. One is educational:<br />
his wish to tell the English-speaking nations of the<br />
world and their readers that the British people and their<br />
representatives had been sublimely united at that very time.<br />
The other reason, apparent throughout his life, was his<br />
magnanimity. He had been right: but he saw no reason to<br />
say this not only during the war but also thereafter. “Don’t<br />
ever tell people ‘I told you so,’” he once said to his<br />
daughter.<br />
He is our remnant connection—an ancient silk<br />
thread—to a now dead, and yet deathless, past. ,