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Battle of Gettysburg and American Mythology
Much of what Americans believe about Gettysburg is myth, but their flawed knowledge of the battle nevertheless serves
to sanctify their national memory of the fight.
By Thomas A. Desjardin At the conclusion of all great battles, according to Norse mythology, winged female creatures hover over the slain in search of the warriors who fought the most valiantly. When they find the bravest of combatants, these winged Valkyries spirit them away to the mythical banquet hall at Valhalla. There Odin, the greatest of Norse gods, entertains the slain heroes with a sumptuous feast. When the morning dawns, the warriors again take to the field of battle, this time in Odin's kingdom. After a day spent demonstrating their courage and martial skill against one another, these heroes, including those killed in the fighting who now rise, return to the banquet hall to begin the same cycle again. The highest of honors in Norse culture was to prove oneself worthy enough on the field of battle to be selected by the Valkyries and taken to Valhalla to spend eternity in combat and fellowship among the greatest warriors.
In the relatively short history of the United States, the national culture has developed its own unique myths. Although they may not measure up to the elaborate religion of ancient Greece, they are still a powerful source of knowledge and culture. The story of Gettysburg is America's Valhalla, and though George Meade and Robert E. Lee may not measure up to the likes of Odin or Zeus or Apollo in the minds of many, the sociological process is the same, and many of those who immerse themselves in the story of the battle are, in their own way, waiting for the Valkyries.
Dan Sickles spent his life trying to lift himself up to greatness, though he seemed to thwart his own designs. Whether by murdering his wife's lover, making some political misstep, or creating a scandal, he managed to help illustrious fame escape him -- until Gettysburg. Failing to achieve unquestionable greatness on the battlefield, he successfully engaged in mythmaking. Within hours of his being carried from the battlefield on a stretcher, he began telling his story to President Abraham Lincoln and anyone else of authority or prominence he could find. Though he had to bend the facts to his whim -- or ignore them altogether -- his lifelong campaign for the lion's share of credit for the great victory there enabled him to write, near the end of his life, "I won the great and decisive battle of Gettysburg."
Though this statement was a bit bolder than time has judged it, in the years following 1863 he saw to the design and placement of most of the New York monuments on the field. He shaped Gettysburg history by creating one of its greatest sources of debate and controversy, significantly affecting what veterans wrote and how they wrote it. And he was almost single-handedly responsible for the establishment of Gettysburg National Military Park as a federal entity.
In 1913, six months after avoiding arrest and prison for embezzling the balance of the New York Monuments Commission's treasury, the 93-year-old Sickles made his final visit to Gettysburg to take part in the 50th anniversary ceremonies and reunion. During this visit, he was asked whether he was disappointed that there was no monument to him on the battlefield. Advancing age had not robbed him of his ability to turn an issue on its head. "Hell," he replied, "the whole damned battlefield is my memorial!"
As a matter of history, it is not possible to determine whether Sickles was right or wrong at Gettysburg -- this is a question of opinion with no absolute answer. It is, however, possible to assess how the one-legged old politician managed to shape the story of Gettysburg in the popular mind. In that sense, what he did after July 2, 1863, may be a far more useful subject of historical inquiry than are his actions on the field.
John Bachelder tried to paint the greatness he felt for the Battle of Bunker Hill. Unable to capture it in the way he hoped, he set out in search of another great moment in history. When he decided Gettysburg would serve his purposes, he spent decades trying to make the world see it as the pivotal battle of the American Civil War. By doing so, he elevated his own stature as the central Gettysburg historian of his time and served as an important gatekeeper for those who wished to shape the story of the battlefield in a particular way. Gettysburg gave Bachelder's life a greater meaning and purpose, and made him something of a celebrity among those who had fought there or sought to understand the fighting. What is most revealing about Bachelder's relationship with Gettysburg is that despite all of the data he amassed, all of the veterans he personally walked the field with, three decades of intense study, and more than enough money to accomplish the task, he found he simply could not tell the factual story of Gettysburg either on canvas or in print. In the end, he came to see that truth is a malleable force and history has few absolute conclusions.
Unlike many of his comrades and foes at Gettysburg, Jubal Early was less interested in the martial glory of Valhalla than a larger theme in his postwar quest. That the Valkyries had passed him by seemed not to matter at all. In his efforts to shape the history of the war and of Gettysburg, Early focused not so much on his own stature as on his desire to promote a way of life that had passed. A vehement defender of antebellum Southern culture, Early used his influence over the story of Gettysburg to promote certain ideals, elevating some men to near sainthood while vigorously working to destroy others. That he moved beyond exaggeration and into the realm of fabrication -- as with the "sunrise attack order" -- seemed not to matter as much as the way people would someday come to view the cultural norms of his past.
Contrary to what most visitors to Gettysburg perceive, the life of Joshua Chamberlain after Gettysburg was one of misery and pain. Nearly a year after leading his regiment in its now famous defense of Little Round Top, the former professor personally led an assault on the Confederate works at Petersburg. As he turned to encourage his men, a bullet pierced his right hip, tore a hole through him that nearly killed him and caused permanent leakage in his bladder. He survived the wound that doctors were certain was mortal, only to be shot again the following April. At Appomattox, he was chosen by Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant to preside over the surrender of the Confederate infantry before returning home to life in Maine. He served four one-year terms as governor of his home state, then 13 more as president of Bowdoin College, his alma mater.
In the half century that made up his postwar years, Chamberlain's life was dominated by almost constant pain from repeated bladder infections caused by the Petersburg wound along with recurring bouts of malaria, among other ailments. The second factor, which dominated his writings and his reputation after the Civil War, was Gettysburg. Though he could claim far greater credit and fame for his courageous actions at Petersburg and on the road to Appomattox, Chamberlain's thoughts of war seemed fixed on Gettysburg. As the fame and importance of the battle grew, so did its prominence in his memories. When one of his former students recommended him to the U.S. Army's Record and Pension Office for the Medal of Honor, he cited his entire military career. The law governing the medal, however, required that a single event be the basis of the citation, and since Gettysburg was the most famous battle in which he was engaged, the citation lists his "courage and tenacity" at Gettysburg.
Like the foot doctors who found a connection between their profession and the battle through a mythical shoe factory, people from all walks of life gravitate to the story of Gettysburg and find some aspect of it that is connected to them. Their involvement with the story and the place seems to touch many of them deeply as they pursue the record of a relative, someone from their hometown or any other relationship to this heroic past. Artists visit the field to study the changing styles of sculpture through the years, evident in the Confederate state monuments placed in varying decades. Geologists have studied the ground in search of some connection to their work and the battle's outcome, and musicians compose and perform many styles of music about the events of 1863.
All of them seek some connection with the heroism, chivalry and importance that they associate with the Gettysburg story. They are, in a sense, waiting for the Valkyries to lift them up to Valhalla by association.
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