The Revolutionary Pragmatism of Ulysses S. Grant
Ulysses S. Grant, the commanding general of the Union Army during the American Civil War and the eighteenth president of the United States, made this remarkable statement about the right of revolution during a period of significant political upheaval and international observation of American governance. The quote reflects Grant’s measured consideration of what he witnessed throughout his military and political career—a recognition that governments derive their legitimacy from the consent of the governed, and that oppressed peoples possess not merely a theoretical right but a practical entitlement to seek liberation. Grant’s pronouncement stands out as particularly striking because it came from a man whose entire military career was devoted to preserving the Union against those who claimed precisely this right of revolution during the Civil War. Yet Grant’s philosophy was nuanced enough to acknowledge that while the right existed, its successful exercise depended upon strength, capability, and circumstance. This apparent contradiction reveals the complexity of Grant’s thinking and his evolution as both a military and political leader.
The context for Grant’s reflections on revolution must be understood against the backdrop of his presidency from 1869 to 1877, a period marked by the turbulent Reconstruction of the South, ongoing tensions with Native American tribes, and Grant’s careful observation of revolutionary movements abroad. During his tenure, Grant witnessed Latin American revolutions, pondered the nature of European political upheaval, and grappled with questions about federal authority and state sovereignty that extended beyond the domestic question of slavery versus freedom. His administration also dealt with Cuba’s struggle for independence from Spain, a situation that forced Grant to navigate the tensions between American sympathy for liberation movements and the diplomatic complexities of maintaining international relations. Furthermore, Grant’s later years included extensive travels throughout Europe and Asia, where he observed firsthand various political systems and revolutionary sentiments, further tempering and informing his philosophical positions. When Grant articulated his views on the right of revolution, he was speaking not as an idealistic revolutionary but as a pragmatic statesman who had seen the human costs of civil war and the difficult realities of establishing stable governance in its aftermath.
Before becoming a household name as a general and president, Hiram Ulysses Grant (born in 1822 in Ohio) was an unremarkable military officer whose early career showed little promise of future greatness. His name was famously misrecorded as Ulysses S. Grant when he entered West Point, and he accepted the mistake rather than correct it—a decision reflective of his characteristically low-key and practical nature. Grant’s early military experience in the Mexican-American War proved formative; he witnessed combat and developed tactical understanding, yet he remained deeply conflicted about the morality of that war, which he later described as one of conquest. His personal struggles were equally pronounced: Grant struggled with alcoholism throughout his life, a condition exacerbated by periods of illness, failure in business ventures, and emotional turmoil. Before the Civil War erupted, Grant had failed at farming and business, and was working as a clerk in his father’s leather shop in Galena, Illinois, when the war began. This trajectory of apparent mediocrity followed by extraordinary success shaped Grant’s understanding of human nature, capability, and the unpredictable forces that determine historical outcomes. His humility about his own abilities and his recognition that circumstances beyond individual control could elevate or diminish one’s role would inform his later philosophical reflections on power and governance.
What many people do not realize about Grant is that despite his reputation as a military man who relentlessly pursued victory, he was fundamentally a person who preferred peace and sought to minimize unnecessary suffering. His personal correspondence reveals a man of surprising literary cultivation, someone who read extensively and reflected deeply on the philosophical implications of war and governance. Grant was also remarkably free from the racial prejudices that characterized many of his contemporaries, though his support for voting rights and civil equality for formerly enslaved people developed gradually and evolved significantly during the Civil War. Lesser known is Grant’s genuine respect for his opponents and his ability to work alongside those with whom he had fundamental disagreements. After the war, Grant advocated for conciliatory treatment of the defeated South and opposed the harsher measures some Republicans wanted to impose during Reconstruction. Additionally, Grant was an accomplished horseman and reportedly loved animals more than most people—his fondness for horses was legendary, and he preferred their company to much of the political society he was forced to navigate. His memoirs, written while dying of throat cancer and completed just days before his death, are considered masterpieces of American literature, displaying a clarity of thought and humility that earned the admiration of critics and readers alike.
The statement about the right of revolution must be read within Grant’s broader philosophy of natural rights and legitimate government, which drew from both American founding principles and his observation of actual human behavior across different societies and systems. Grant believed that governments existed to serve people, and that the measure of a government’s legitimacy was ultimately its acceptance by those governed. However, his crucial addition—that successful revolution required not merely the right but the actual “strength” to accomplish it—reflects his hardened realism about the gap between theoretical rights and practical capabilities. This was not cynicism but rather honest assessment based on his experience. Grant had seen brave men and desperate causes fail because they lacked the resources, organization, or strategic capacity to prevail. He also recognized that revolution, even when justified, carried immense human costs that must not be minimized or ignored. His perspective thus occupies an interesting middle ground: he rejected the notion that governments could indefinitely suppress their people, yet he also understood that the mere assertion of a right to revolution did