Last Impressions
A reflection on Andrew Roberts' "Napoleon" and "Churchill" biographies
Culture teaches us that “first impressions matter” — and they certainly do, at least to some extent. One’s attitude, attire, timeliness can inform our judgment of another to either associate with or dissolve any relationship. Yet first impressions can also be fleeting or entirely false. Others, even redeemable.
However, rarely do we say “last impressions matter.” Perhaps it’s a daunting proposition because reflecting on death — memento mori — is intimidating and anxiety-inducing. In the instant death pervades the ‘empty gaps’ in our stream of consciousness, more often than not, we subsequently drown them by endless, smothering content; quarreling; gossiping; or other distracting, coping mechanisms. Even the daily, exhausting grind wears the mind down from such contemplation.
Yet as a people, we care about legacy and last impressions — whether or not someone died a good death, advocated for inalienable principles, reconsidered their life’s course or laid a foundation for meritocracy. Civilizations build statues to honor those who have done so. More often than not, the great figures of the past often considered history’s judgment.
This is especially evident in the lives of two titans: Napoleon Bonaparte and Winston Churchill.
Yours truly spent the past few months reading biographies on them — Napoleon: A Life and Churchill: Walking with Destiny — written by the great British historian Andrew Roberts, who expertly provides massive, in-depth research as engaging, sweeping epics. More importantly, he presents the men as flesh and blood, tapping into their psychology, philosophy, and humor. I cannot recommend them more highly (but be prepared…together, they are more than 1,800 pages).
Of course, Roberts’ account is full of humorous anecdotes, aphorisms of Churchill’s life. In one instance, upon receiving news that Nazi Rudolf Hess parachuted into the United Kingdom, the Prime Minister so eloquently stated: “Hess or no Hess, I’m going to watch the Marx Brothers.”
A man after my own heart. Beyond his taste in movies (Churchill also wrote scripts), the greatest British Prime Minister had many admirable qualities. His humor, for instance, is renown (and even quoted in a homily I heard a few weeks ago), as well as his speech writing and presentation — which even this casual bloke and admirer knew before diving into Roberts’ biography. Certainly I formed a deeper appreciation for his tact and rhetoric, and stalwart defense of the British peoples in their darkest hour.
However, his life is Homeric. It is almost impossible to believe Churchill had time for anything and, seemingly, everything: from being a soldier, father, journalist, politician, painter among other numerous interests. He was also prescient on military weaponry (such as tanks, airplanes, and the atomic bomb), as well as, and more importantly, on the dangers of Nazism and Bolshevism. But as Roberts explains, Churchill’s life is rife with mistakes (much more than the Dardanelles campaign in World War I). He writes, “It must be expected that someone who spent two-thirds of a century in the public eye, taking important decisions on many matters and opining on everything that came into his view, would make mistakes. …Yet set against his failures and mistakes is a far longer and more important list of his successes.”
Churchill was also a dashing adventure-seeker, “physically and morally courageous” as Roberts describes, and someone who was a “remarkably magnanimous statesman, both to defeated enemy nations and to personal opponents.”
Yet, what fascinated me most was his memory and utilization of legacy.
Churchill was a prolific historian — and a prolific writer in general. But his examination of the past proved instrumental during the Second World War. As Roberts mentions in Churchill: Walking with Destiny’s epilogue, Churchill’s capacity to use analogies from Britain’s past served him and his countrymen well because he could “place Britain’s predicament in 1940-41 in its proper historical context, telling the British people that they had been there before in the past, and had ultimately prevailed.”
Put another way, Churchill’s acute knowledge of his country’s history provided the bedrock of the hope and spirit he projected to the British people — which they believed enough to ‘keep calm and carry on’ to survive the Luftwaffe’s bombings and, eventually, win the war. Legacy is a powerful tool, and Churchill for sure is one of the greatest examples of how the past can positively impact the present for a better future.
That reliance on history saved Britain and, ultimately, the free world.
Coincidentally, Churchill was a devotee of Napoleon, despite the latter’s near lifelong, perpetual conflict with England (or what the French emperor referred to as a “nation of shopkeepers”). What the British Prime Minister admired about the man who defined an age in European history was his “dynamism, contagious ambition, and sense of destiny,” as succinctly described by the International Churchill Society. The same description could be applied to Churchill.
But, as Roberts points out, Churchill recognized that Napoleon was not a proto-Hitler telling the House of Commons in 1944 that any correlation “seems an insult to the great Emperor and warrior to compare him in any way with a squalid caucus boss and butcher.” Yet Ridley Scott’s forthcoming biopic has grossly mischaracterized Napoleon as such.
Napoleon, however, is more nuanced than this oversimplification. He was certainly a conqueror, insecure, and micro-managing ruler. Yet, along with studying the classics and his military heroes such as Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, Napoleon was a student of the Enlightenment. A military giant in his own right, Napoleon’s greatest achievements were not on the battlefield, but in statesmanship. As Roberts explains, “The ideas that underpin our modern world—meritocracy, equality before the law, property rights, religious toleration, modern secular education, sound finances and so on—were championed, consolidated, codified and geographically extended by Napoleon.” He synthesized the “best aspects of the Revolution,” bringing a modicum of stability and prestige to a nation hungry for pride — or at least, a less chaotic life. His administrative state and pursuit of meritocracy, Roberts argues, were copied not only in Europe, but around the world (forty countries when the book was published in 2018).
But Roberts also provides anecdotes of Napoleon’s relatability to the men he led in battle. He had the “capacity to make ordinary people feel that they were capable of doing extraordinary, history-making deeds.” Again, this points to Napoleon’s utilization of the past to influence future outcomes.
Much like Churchill, it’s fascinating how Napoleon had a remarkable memory, recognizing soldiers decades after fighting alongside them; and both men felt they would die considerably young (Churchill had several near death experiences, including getting hit by a car in New York, while Napoleon did indeed die at 51 from stomach cancer). Unlike Churchill, however, Napoleon never recovered from his mistakes leading up to the 1812 Russian invasion and Battle of Waterloo — during which he ignored his military maxims, aside from other geopolitical miscalculations.
Nevertheless, their lives had urgency, and that is reflected in their tireless, nearly sleepless actions. To some degree, shouldn’t we all live as so? That the next day is not guaranteed?
Perhaps my admiration for Napoleon is influenced by his own story-telling/propagandist tact; and maybe for his recognition of Christ being no mere man and reconciliation with the Catholic Church (of which I hope to write more on later). But persons often spoke of his hypnotic qualities and genuine curiosity — perhaps he still sparks that influence on nations and history students.
In an era where nuance is discarded, and reductionist, cherry-picked history is a tool for bludgeoning and self-loathing, it’s important to note Napoleon nor Churchill were perfect. In fact, they need prayers. Yet they were great historical figures and left behind a good legacy in various arenas.
If one believes in objective moral truth, legacy is ultimately a moralistic calculation: did this great figure live right and do the right? However, Christ commands us to “Stop judging, that you may not be judged” — and if we are to learn from our forefathers, to not repeat past mistakes, one must, in some respect, judge.
The last impression then, after reading Roberts’ accounts of Napoleon and Churchill, is to remember we are in history — and have the ability to act: whether hailing from a Mediterranean island to English palace halls. If it is courage we seek in these stressful, polarized times, then one only need to study the past. Honing nearly a theologian’s mind, Churchill once said, “We ought to rejoice at the responsibilities with which destiny has honoured us, and be proud that we are guardians of our country in an age when her life is at stake.” This realization has given me comfort.
Ultimately, Napoleon and Churchill teach us you were born for now — and to not be complacent. So yes, remember death. And remember history and true Judgment await your last impression.
Appendix I: There is almost too much to discuss about both Napoleon and Churchill: the latter’s daring escape from a Prisoner of War camp; how Napoleon’s over-protectionist economic system led to his downfall and his often strained relations with the Catholic Church. Both of these biographies are certainly pro-Churchill and pro-Napoleon, but Roberts is honest in his commentary and affirms or discredits criticisms lobbied against both historical figures (for Churchill, Roberts dives into the Prime Minister’s “lifelong belief in the superiority of the British people over all others” and attitudes against Indian self-government). To describe these books in short, no stone is left unturn.
Appendix II: Ridley Scott’s film is what inspired me to read “Napoleon: A Life.” And now, after finishing the book, Joaquin Phoenix may simply be too old to play the French emperor. Phoenix, today is 48; Napoleon was 30 when he became to First Consul in 1799.