Courage is the most theatrical of all the virtues.

It is, therefore, virtue in its most instantly recognizable form. At one time courage was believed to tower so majestically over all other candidates for the name “virtue” that it was deemed to be the only virtue. Hence, men (vir) and only men could show courage, and then only on the battlefield.

While we now recognize that there are many virtues other than courage, we are still saddled to a limited understanding of it. There is a less theatrical but no less important species of courage that we may identify as “intellectual courage.”

This aspect of courage, also referred to as the “courage of one's convictions,” has been, unfortunately, eclipsed by political correctness.

According to the canons of politically correct, one must be forever open-minded. Having any conviction at all is now considered an instance of closed-mindedness. It takes a great deal of character nowadays to show intellectual courage since society popularly regards it as a vice. Yet intellectual courage always needed strength of character to oppose popular conventions.

In 1858, Abraham Lincoln delivered a historical address now known as the “house divided” speech. On the issue of slavery, Lincoln was convinced that it was inherently wrong. His chief adversary on the subject, particularly in debates, was Stephen A. Douglas, who took the “open-minded” or “pro-choice” view on slavery. “Let the voters decide,” was his rallying cry. The Illinois’ senator's position, in effect, may be encapsulated as follows: “Let us not decide whether slavery is right or wrong, but let us decide that not deciding is right.”

Lincoln could not abide moral neutrality on an issue so explosive that it was already threatening to tear the nation apart. In denouncing Douglas’ indifference to the immoral essence of slavery, he said that “his avowed mission is impressing the ‘public heart’ to care nothing about it.” For Lincoln, it was inconceivable that a human being could advocate passion about not caring and apathy about caring.

Douglas was passionate about politics but unmoved by morality.

Yet this curious indifference to the moral order had been enshrined in 1858 within the Nebraska bill: “It being the true intent and meaning of this act not to legislate slavery in any Territory or state, not to exclude it therefrom; but to leave the people thereof perfectly free to form and regulate their institutions.” This, for Douglas and his followers, constituted the “sacred right of self-government.”

Lincoln understood only too well that the reference to being “perfectly free” was a caricature of freedom. There would be freedom neither for the slave nor for anyone to object to his enslavement. Lincoln's masterfully succinct phrase exposed this duplicity: “That if any one man, chose to enslave another, no third man shall be allowed to object.” Here “freedom” is transparently a mockery of itself, merely the prerogative of those in power.

Lincoln wanted people to be free, not politics to be free to deny people freedom. The rift between moral realism and the politics of convenience was clearly evident, and Lincoln decided to stand firmly by the former.

Lincoln fully realized the power of his opponents.

His biographer, William Herndon, reports how he had said to the future president after hearing the first paragraph of the “house divided” speech: “It is true, but is it wise or politic to say?” In response to this comment, Lincoln said: “That expression is a truth of all human experience … ‘a house divided against itself cannot stand’ … The proposition also is true, and has been for 6,000 years … I do not believe I would be right in changing or omitting it. I would rather be defeated with this expression in the speech, and uphold and discuss it before the people, than be victorious without it.”

The man who spent his early years reading the Bible in log cabins in Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois was on the side of the angels. We read in Matthew 12:25, “No city or house divided against itself will stand”; in Mark 3:24, “And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand”; and in Luke 11:17, “A divided household falls.”

Before delivering his speech, Lincoln read it to a dozen or so of his friends. Herndon tells us that “some condemned it and not one endorsed it … Each man attacked it in his criticism.”

Lincoln was open to criticism. Indeed, he went out of his way to invite it. Yet the courage of his convictions prevailed. He turned to his friends and said: “The time has come where these sentiments should be uttered; and if it is decreed that I should go down because of this speech, then let me go down linked to the truth — let me die in advocacy of what is just and right.”

It is not the moment but history that fully vindicates the virtuous.

Lincoln's intellectual courage is a legacy that we must honor by its imitation. Rescuing a child from a burning building is indeed a courageous act. Yet it presupposes the intellectual conviction that a live child is better than a dead one. Behind the theatrical display of courage is the courage of the heart and mind that stands firm in the face of fierce opposition, committing itself, quietly and unreservedly, to what is right.

Donald DeMarco teaches philosophy at Holy Apostles College in Cromwell, Connecticut.