Does it make sense to speak of a public philosophy named Lincolnism? If it does, then how can we explain why such a principled alternative to “non-foundationalism and strategic-interest politics” (p. 202) failed to survive even into Reconstruction? And what can we learn from studying this ephemeral phenomenon? Eric Sands addresses these questions as part of an effort to develop the field of American political development (hereafter APD) by exploring American public philosophy. Sands joins other APD scholars in seeking “to reorient the study of politics” away from “purely empirical based accounts of the contemporary political system” and back to “the historical roots of American politics and the development of the American political system over time” (p. 3). But Sands's plea to account for “politics in a broader context” should not be read as an attempt on his part to shirk the duties of “‘modern’ political science practices” (p. 3). While insisting that any analysis “that neglects history is radically incomplete,” APD scholars are “motivated by the same inquisitive instincts as mainstream political science” (p. 4). For Sands, this means developing concepts, such as “public philosophy,” and testing hypotheses. He regards the period of Reconstruction as providing a way to “test” the “hypothesis” that “there may be periods in which no public philosophy dominates or in which public philosophy politics are rejected in favor of strategic interest considerations” (p. 12).

Eager to study the “role of ideas in politics” (p. 12) in the most systematic way possible, Sands insists on being clear about his use of the key concept “public philosophy.” This leads him to rely rather heavily on aspects of a model developed by fellow political scientist James Ceaser's in “What is the Public Philosophy?” (in Public Philosophy and Political Science: Crisis and Reflection, ed. E. Robert Statham Jr., 2002, pp. 3–26]). According to Sands, Ceaser's approach to “public philosophy” provides a shared vocabulary that APD scholars might use when analyzing the search for a “better” form of government as opposed to political philosophy's search for the “best.” Because he is primarily interested in acquiring concepts for tracking down the “mystery of Lincolnism,” Sands offers only a sketch of the foundational and political elements of Ceaser's model (pp. 10–12). The foundational or grounding elements of the model describe “a standard of right that serves as an authorizing or interpretive force in politics to advance the public good” (p. 9), including the role of “nature,” the use of “narrative,” “shared sentiments,” and “lessons” drawn from “experience” (p. 10). The political elements concern “political opinions and beliefs” (p. 9), concerning the “ends of society,” the “bonds that constitute the American people,” the “roles of government and civil society,” a “theory of governance,” and “America's role in the world” (p. 11). We learn from Sands that Ceaser uses these two sets of elements to classify “ten possible public philosophies,” including “Southern Confederates” and “Darwinist capitalists” (p. 11), but not Lincolnism. Foregrounding its foundational elements, Sands proposes to apply Ceaser's “model” to the Civil War and early, middle, and late Reconstruction, on the way to testing his hypothesis.

Because Ceaser does not include Lincolnism on his list of public philosophies, Sands seeks first to establish Lincolnism as a public philosophy by using Ceaser's foundational elements to organize a discussion of selected texts written on Lincoln and by Lincoln. He then poses the question of why this moment in history was so short lived. Sands isolates three main reasons: the assassination (“In assassinating President Lincoln, Booth not only destroyed the body of the president but also destroyed the mind that produced the Lincolnian public philosophy” [p. 52]), the successor (“Lincoln needed a disciple; instead he got Andrew Johnson” [p. 65]), and the rise of science (“nature and natural rights were … undermined from within by a man named Charles Darwin” [p. 71]).

But at this point, the argument is just picking up steam because Sands is well positioned to test his hypothesized defeat of public philosophy at the hands of strategic interests. Still using Ceaser's typology to analyze the foundational or grounding elements—“nature” (p. 82), “narrative” (p. 90), “sentiment” (p. 95) and learning a “lesson from experience” (p. 98)—Sands tells the story of Radical Republicans trying and failing to build a public philosophy. Sands turns next to the Moderate Republicans, who rejected this high-minded approach to political life in favor of non-foundationalism and the pursuit of strategic interests. Whereas the Radical Republicans moved too far afield from Lincolnism to remain in touch with the American public, Sands argues, the Moderate Republicans, who were closer to what Lincoln might have envisioned for Reconstruction, suffered from a “lack of authority or public support” (p. 130) due to the absence of a public philosophy.

Sands continues exploring the role of ideas alongside strategic interests in party politics during earlier and later Reconstruction by turning to the Democratic Party. He brings back Ceaser's foundational elements to analyze “Purists” (p. 140) attempting and failing to build a public philosophy in opposition to the Radical Republican version by abandoning a “grounding in nature for a stronger emphasis on narrative” (p. 147). Their story sought to cast the Democratic Party as victors, “the true defenders of the Union against overwhelming opposition and hostility” (p. 152). But like the Radical Republicans, this fledgling public philosophy failed to gain traction with the majority of the American public. Sands then moves ahead into later years of Reconstruction to consider the competition between the “Legitimists” (p. 153) in the Democratic Party and the Moderate Republicans in the world of strategic interests and non-foundationalism. Here, he argues that turning away from public philosophy succeeded in undermining Lincolnism as a public philosophy but also set the stage for the re-emergence of its original “victory” narrative, this time “buttressed with the creditability of Social Darwinism” (p. 157). After hinting of the emergence of the Gilded Age, which by the way signals a return to one of Ceaser's ten public philosophies, Sands devotes the rest of his book to considering the political consequences of this moment in time between the Southern Confederacy's and Darwinist capitalism's public philosophies. Here, Sands details “the triumph of the politics of strategic-interest over the politics of public philosophy” (p. 187). By his account, “the freedmen and progress in civil rights suffered grievously for this victory” (p. 187). Although he discusses the strengths and weaknesses of pursuing a public philosophy, there is little doubt that Sands mourns the passing of Lincolnism. He writes in conclusion, “Thus were the aspirations of Reconstruction sacrificed on the altar of Herbert Spencer and the ascendency of strategic-interest politics” (p. 203).

This lively attempt to deepen our understanding of the role of ideas in political party competition during Reconstruction invites both methodological and more substantive criticism. Three issues emerge: the success of Sands's noble effort to place the role of ideas on the APD research agenda, the internal coherence of the claim, and the contribution of this study to theory-building in political science. Sands's effort to be systematic and rigorous while explaining the politics of Reconstruction narrows his conceptual vocabulary to the elements of the model he applies, but he works with this language in flexible ways that avoid shallow analysis. He seems to realize that he is engaged more in hypothesis construction than actual hypothesis testing. But regardless of his intention, this work might have benefitted from a more thorough presentation of the model. Is there, for example, a tension between the foundational and political elements of Ceaser's model that might have suggested more detailed hypothesized relations for his study? Furthermore, Sands's study may carry important tensions of its own. The texts on and by Lincoln he presents, sometimes forcefully, defend an exceptional public philosophy, a “Second Founding,” that rises above strategic interests, non-foundationalism, and science. And yet, the model he applies throughout the study in the name of science is designed to compare and contrast a wide variety of public philosophies, including the Darwinist capitalism Sands associates with the demise of public philosophy. And so, one wonders if, for Sands, “public philosophy” sometimes really signifies Lincolnism, which is perhaps even a standard by which he might have evaluated Ceaser's other public philosophies. If this is the case, then Sands could have returned to the model with important suggestions, for example, about the relation between its foundational and political elements, on the way to developing an alternative theory. As it stands, there is a subtle tension between the author's spirited defense of a perspective on Lincoln marked by familiar dualisms—e.g., mind/body, foundational/non-foundational, principles/interests—and his desire to apply, somewhat uncritically, a model designed to advance political science by explaining a wide variety of political phenomena. Nevertheless, this book stands out as an important effort to develop the field of American political development by experimenting with a shared vocabulary while illustrating the role of ideas during political transitions.