London, November 8, 1861
It may be my predilection that biasses my judgment, but I think I see in my father (John Quincy Adams) the only picture of a full grown statesman that the history of the United States has yet produced. By this I mean that in him were united more of all the elements necessary to complete the character than in any other man. I weigh very deliberately the substance of what I affirm. Neither am I disposed to detract from the merit of the many distinguished persons who have likewise run a brilliant career in America. In single points they may have shown a superiority. The mind of Jefferson, or Hamilton, or Webster may when directed to a special object have given indications of more positive power. Marshall may have developed a more disciplined professional intellect. All this may indeed be true. But that does not touch the question. Compare the figures from the foundation to the apex, look at them all round and you will not fail to note deficiencies of a most striking kind in those cases which you will not see in him. Read the writings of Hamilton. You see ability, sagacity and penetration, but you will find it hard to keep awake. Webster is strong in logic and forcible in exposition, but very imperfect in his bases of reasoning. Calhoun is subtle and keen in ratiocination, but never true to any consistent theory of morals. All of them are equally bold in resources for illustration and the philosophy of generalization.
The first and greatest qualification of a statesman in my estimation, is the mastery of the whole theory of morals which makes the foundation of all human society. The great and everlasting question of the right and wrong of every act whether of individual men or of collective bodies. The next is the application of the knowledge thus gained to the events of his time in a continuous and systematic way. It is in this last particular that the greatest number of failures are observed to occur. Many men never acquire sufficient certainty of purpose to be able to guide their steps at all. They then become the mere sport of fortune.
Today they shine because they have caught at a good opportunity. Tomorrow, the light goes out, and they are found mired at the bottom of a ditch. These are the men of temporary celebrity — the Charles Townshends, the John Randolphs, the George Grenvilles, the Harrison Gray Otises of their day. Every civilised nation is full of them. Other men, more favored by nature or education, prove their capacity to direct their course, at the expense of their fidelity to their convictions. They sacrifice their consistency for the sake of power, and surrender their future fame in exchange for the applause of their own day. The number of these is Legion. They crowd the records of all governments. The feebleness of perception and the deliberate abandonment of moral principle in action are the two prevailing characteristics of public men.
In my opinion no man who has lived in America had so thoroughly constructed a foundation for his public life as your grandfather. His action always was deducible from certain maxims deeply graven on his mind. This it was that made him fail so much as a party-man. No person can ever be a thorough partisan for a long period without sacrifice of his moral identity. The skill consists in knowing exactly where to draw the line, and it is precisely here that it seems to me appears the remarkable superiority of your grandfather over every man of his time. He leans on nothing external. He derives support from every thing he can seize. But if circumstances force it out of his hands, he is still found standing firm and alone. . . .
