“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”
George Orwell, 1984
When I arrived on Princeton’s campus this fall, I was enthralled by the richness of its history and traditions. I was proud to start my journey at such an important American institution, and I cherished the opportunity to contribute to its legacy. During my first week, I found myself in Firestone Library poring over the works of Princeton’s sixth President, John Witherspoon. Over the summer, I had developed a deep interest in the role he played as a mentor to so many prominent Founders, and I wanted to steep myself in his teachings. During my first few weeks at Princeton, I read everything from his Lectures in Moral Philosophy to his sermons “Christian Magnanimity” and “The Dominion of Providence over the Passions of Men.” With each word, I felt a deeper connection to Princeton and its history, and I felt a growing sense of responsibility to continue his legacy.
In the late 1990s, the University honored this legacy by commissioning an 18-foot-tall bronze statue of him to stand outside East Pyne. The statue would be a replica of one that had been installed at the University of Paisley in Scotland, Witherspoon’s home country, and it would signal a bond between the two nations he called home. At its 2001 unveiling, then-Vice President for Public Affairs Robert Durkee said the statue would serve as “a tangible way to remind all who live, work and visit on this campus of the pivotal role Witherspoon played in shaping this University and this nation.”
More than 20 years later, this physical manifestation of Witherspoon’s accomplishments is more important than ever. In our current era of cultural disaffection and self-flagellation, we need reminders of human greatness, and Witherspoon’s statue provides that reminder in great measure. The statue shows us that, despite our fallen nature, we can build things that outlive us, things that immeasurably contribute to those who have yet to be born. In representing the monumental legacy one man can leave, it inspires us to strive to leave a legacy of our own.
To some members of the Princeton community, however, Witherspoon’s accomplishments are overshadowed by his moral failings, which included owning slaves, and his legacy cannot withstand the pressures of contemporary standards for remembrance. He is, in their view, wholly unworthy of praise. These members of the community conclude that his statue should be torn down or “contextualized” to comport with our modern moral scruples. Although I agree that it is commendable, and necessary, to discuss the full story of Witherspoon’s life and legacy, it is condemnable to remove his statue and deprive future Princetonians of a tangible discussion point. Taking down the statue will shut down conversation entirely, including open dialogue about both the failings and accomplishments of great historical figures like Witherspoon. It is perfectly reasonable to criticize John Witherspoon for his participation in such a destructive institution. However, it is also necessary to revere him for the monumental impact he left on Princeton and the United States.
As the statue’s sculptor Alexander “Sandy” Stoddart expressed in a 2021 interview, “the dead live in companionship with the yet to be born,” so it is up to us to maintain the dialogue between ourselves and the past for the benefit of the future. By creating monuments of those who came before us, we create impetuses for thought and reflection, tangible markers to spark interest, reverence, and debate. Just as bronze is covered over time by layers of green patina, the legacies of past figures are layered upon by evolving contributions and discussions of future generations. As each generation contemplates the measure of a person’s legacy, that legacy is strengthened and carried into the future.
However, this can only be achieved if each generation stops and looks to those who came before. These retrospective moments will necessarily involved a discussion of the sins of past generations, including those as destructive as slavery. However, these are discussions that must be had, and they must be had with humility. Just as Witherspoon taught so many in the founding generation during his life, his legacy can give us profound insights after his death. Nothing can be learned through destruction, even of things which prove to be disconcerting for some.
In a 1772 address, Witherspoon wrote that the reputation of this college “should be decided by the conduct of those in general who have come out” of it, “for a tree is known by its fruits.” A tree is indeed known by its fruits, and the fruits of John Witherspoon’s tenure at the College of New Jersey were extraordinary. Even if the Princeton administration removes his statue, it can never erase these contributions, which are embedded in our national fabric. It can never erase the students he taught or the documents he signed. It can never erase James Madison, Aaron Burr, and Philip Freneau, and it can never erase the Declaration of Independence and Articles of Confederation. Apart from persisting in our nation, his legacy persists in the college he helped to strengthen and the students who today call it their alma mater.
If a tree is entirely uprooted, it will cease to produce good fruits – or any fruits. If Princeton is deprived of its own history, it will sacrifice its identity and cease to serve its function as an institution. It will no longer be in “the nation’s service and the service of humanity”; it will be in service of Orwell’s “endless present,” a vain existence in which the past is completely irredeemable. Statues, in their permanence, play a crucial role in preventing this uprooting from happening. Ultimately, an institution which hates its history hates itself. Bronze outlives the hubris of modernity, and it forces us to remember those who planted the trees of the past which give us the fruits of the present. It forces us to have gratitude for those who built the paths upon which we now walk.
When we one day exist in the pages of history, will we be remembered as sinless, or will we be criticized in the same way we now criticize our ancestors? To be intellectually honest is to recognize the truth in the latter. In order for us to properly learn from human experience, we must humble ourselves before the past and recognize our own capacity to do wrong. We must recognize the flaws inherent to human nature. As Witherspoon wrote, “a cool and candid attention, either to the past history, or present state of the world… ought to humble us in the dust.” Just as those in past generations achieved greatness, so can we. However, just as past generations sinned deeply, we too will inevitably do so. Thus, an attitude of generational humility is greatly needed. If we are to be worthy of commemoration in bronze, we must honor the monuments that exist today. We should let John Witherspoon’s statue continue turning green. We should allow future Princetonians to contemplate his contributions, both positive and negative, to the University and the nation, not deprive them of this opportunity.
The above is an opinion contribution and reflects the author’s views alone.
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