THE PROPOSITION OF THIS work is that Franklin D. Roosevelt as war leader was a deeply divided man—divided between the man of principle, of ideals, of faith, crusading for a distant vision, on the one hand; and, on the other, the man of Realpolitik, of prudence, of narrow, manageable, short-run goals, intent always on protecting his power and authority in a world of shifting moods and capricious fortune. This dualism cleft not only Roosevelt, but also his advisers, separating Henry Stimson and others who acted consciously on the basis of the “righteousness” of their cause from those who followed the ancient practices of the Prince. And it divided the American people themselves, who were vacillating between the evangelical moods of idealism, sentimentalism, and utopianism of one era and older traditions of national self-regard, protectiveness, and prudence of another.
This dualism between the prophet and the prince was not clear-cut; nothing could be neat or tidy in the complexity of Roosevelt’s mind and heart or in the fuzzy ideology and volatile politics of Americans. Nor is it the only key to understanding Roosevelt’s war leadership. Several subthemes run through his war administration.
One such theme is the origin of the Cold War. While the roots of post-World War II hostility between Russia and the West are of course multifold, lying deep in Russian, European, and American history, I have concluded that the decisive turn toward the Cold War came during the war, at the very time when Anglo-American-Soviet relations were, on the surface, almost euphoric—indeed, partly because they did seem euphoric.
Another theme is the transformation of the presidency. It was during World War II, in Roosevelt’s third term, rather than in the earlier New Deal years, that the foundations of modern presidential government were laid. The courts sustained presidential curtailment of liberties, such as those of the Japanese-Americans. Congress was surly and prickly on minor issues, generally acquiescent on the big. Under the pressure of war, the presidential staff proliferated; the “presidential press” had a wider role; the bureaucracy was refashioned for war.
A third theme is the alteration in American society. War is the forcing house of social change; World War II cut deep into the bone and marrow of American life. The vast migration of whites and blacks, the growth of a new culture of war at home and overseas, the creation of novel and ominous war industries, especially the atomic and electronic—these and other developments set off revolutions in the interstices of American society.
But always one must return to the division in the war strategy of Franklin Roosevelt and in the moods and practices of the American people, for that division informs all the lesser issues of the war. It was because Roosevelt acted both as a soldier bent on a military victory at minimum cost to American lives and as an ideologue bent on achieving the Four Freedoms for peoples throughout the world that his grand strategy was flawed by contradictions that would poison American relations with Russia and with Asia. It was in part because he ran the White House as a personal agency that subsequent Chief Executives had to deal with the acute problem of how the White House could master the bureaucratic giants springing up on the banks of the Potomac. It was in part because federal power during the war, especially over such matters as race relations, could not channel the fast-running social and economic currents that the war seemed to release, and bring them into balance with crucial sectors of life that burst out of control.
None of this, however, need diminish the stature of Roosevelt the man. He picked up Woodrow Wilson’s fallen banner, fashioned new symbols and programs to realize old ideals of peace and democracy, overcame his enemies with sword and pen, and died in a final exhausting effort to build a world citadel of freedom. He deserves renewed attention today especially from those who reject the old ways of princes and demand that people and nations base their relations on ideals of love and faith. He was indeed, in all the symbolic and ironic senses of the term, a soldier of freedom.
J.M.B.