The Rhetorical Endurance of Pericles and Lincoln

Written by Karolina Moss | Winter 2021 |

Introduction

On November 19, 1863, a crowd gathered in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, to hear Edward Everett, the featured speaker of the cemetery dedication ceremony and one of the most celebrated orators of his time. A former president of Harvard and an expert in Greek antiquity, Everett delivered a two-hour oration steeped in classical reference, philosophical reflections, and rhetorical flourish. According to Garry Wills in his Pulitzer Prize-winning study Lincoln at Gettysburg: The Words That Remade America, Everett shaped his address to mirror the structure and substance of epitaphios logos—the ceremonial Athenian funeral oration best exemplified by Pericles—influential Athenian statesman, orator, and general during Athen's Golden Age.^[1] Consciously modeling his oration on the ancient Athenian funeral speeches, Everett aimed to uphold the classical tradition of public remembrance.^[2] Yet, it was not his address that endured in public memory, but that of Abraham Lincoln, whose two-minute speech captured, with unmatched rhetorical clarity, the moral weight of the war and the democratic purpose of the Union.

In the tradition of Athenian funeral oratory, epainesis refers to the formal praise of the dead, while paranesis offers moral instruction to the living. This structure is outlined in Simon Stow's "Pericles at Gettysburg and Ground Zero: Tragedy, Patriotism, and Public Mourning," which studies the rhetorical structure and function of epitaphios logos, tracing how this classical form resurfaces in American public memory.^[3] Though separated by centuries and cultural contexts, both speeches elevate loss into a vision of civic purpose, using form and language to reaffirm democratic ideals. The enduring power of Pericles' Funeral Oration and Lincoln's Gettysburg Address lies in their rhetorical strategies—particularly their use of contrast, elevation of civic ideals, and sacred language—which transform public mourning into political meaning. The discussion proceeds in three parts: a close reading of Pericles' oration, followed by a rhetorical analysis of Lincoln's address, and finally, a comparative section tracing their shared strategies, cultural framing, and enduring legacies.

Pericles' Funeral Oration: Rhetorical Analysis

Pericles, the architect of Athens' Golden Age, was a man of striking contradictions. Stephen V. Tracy notes in Pericles: A Sourcebook and Reader that he "came from old aristocratic stock but became the champion of the people, the acknowledged leader of the democracy."^[4] This dual identity—aristocrat by birth, democrat by conviction—made him uniquely suited to deliver the Funeral Oration, a speech that honored the fallen while affirming the values of a city both elite and egalitarian.

Pericles' Funeral Oration, delivered in 431 BCE and recorded by Thucydides in The History of the Peloponnesian War rhetorically transforms civic grief into democratic purpose.^[5] In a moment of national vulnerability, Pericles not only consoles Athens; he affirms its identity, values, and future. While fulfilling the ceremonial functions of praise and exhortation, the speech strategically guides its audience from mourning to renewed commitment.

Pericles begins with rhetorical humility, disarming the audience and grounding himself in tradition. As recorded in Thucydides' recount—and made widely accessible through Robert B. Strassler's annotated edition The Landmark Thucydides—Pericles opens by stating, "I could have wished that the reputations of many brave men were not to be imperiled in the mouth of a single individual," immediately lowering his rhetorical profile and aligning himself with collective memory rather than personal authority.^[6] In The Invention of Athens: The Funeral Oration in the Classical City, Nicole Loraux informs that this self-effacement builds ethos; he is not an orator seeking glory but a citizen performing a civic duty (patrios nomos).^[7] It also distances him from potential accusations of politicizing the war dead, making the rest of the speech more persuasive.

Strikingly, Pericles delays both grief and blame. Instead of mourning or denouncing Sparta, he opens with a celebration of Athenian heritage: "I shall begin with our ancestors," he declares, establishing continuity between the present and a storied democratic past.8 In doing so, he activates the powerful myth of autochthony—the idea that Athenians are literally born from the soil of their land.^[8] The dead are more than their citizenry; they are heirs to an unbroken line of civic greatness.

Pericles pivots to praise the politeia—Athens' constitution and its entire mode of civic life.^[9] "We are a pattern to others, rather than imitators of others," he states, making a bold claim for Athenian exceptionalism.^[10] In this section, rhetorical technique and ideological content intertwine. James A. Herrick explains in The History and Theory of Rhetoric: An Introduction that effective persuasion often depends less on argument and more on appeals to culturally embedded values and shared assumptions.^[11] Pericles draws on this technique by invoking a cluster of elevated terms that construct a sacred civic vocabulary affirming Athens' moral identity and the necessity of its defense. One such term is aretē (virtue or excellence), the Greek ideal of moral and civic greatness.^[12] Pericles alludes to this when he claims that Athenians "cultivate refinement without extravagance, and knowledge without effeminacy."^[13] Here, virtue is the duality of bravery in war and balanced excellence in character, intellect, and conduct—a distinctly Athenian way of life worthy of admiration and protection.

Another key term is eleutheria (freedom), which Pericles evokes in his praise of Athenian democracy: "Our constitution does not copy the laws of neighboring states; we are rather a pattern to others than imitators ourselves."^[14] By emphasizing political autonomy and individual liberty, he frames Athens as a uniquely free society where the people rule and participate, reinforcing the idea that freedom is central to Athenian identity.

Nomos (law or custom) also appears in the speech's fabric, particularly when Pericles asserts that Athenian laws "afford equal justice to all."^[15] Rather than rule by force or privilege, Athens is governed by shared laws that ensure fairness and civic order. In this way, Pericles positions nomos as the ethical structure that binds democracy together.

Finally, eugenia (noble birth) is subtly invoked through his praise of the fallen, not for their ancestry but for their actions: "thus choosing to die resisting" made them worthy of their city.^[16] Pericles redefines eugeneia as a moral achievement rather than a hereditary status by tying nobility to public sacrifice rather than lineage. Through this layered use of civic vocabulary — aretē, eleutheria, nomos, and eugeneia—Pericles does more than honor the dead; he also affirms the values that justify their sacrifice and inspire the living.

Pericles builds towards one of the oration's most effective moves: contrasting the logos (word) of the speaker with the ergon (deed) of the dead.^[17] He is acutely aware of the limits of rhetoric. He reminds the audience that "not contented with ideas derived only from words … you must yourselves realize the power of Athens," emphasizing that rhetoric is a poor substitute for action.^[18] Yet, by saying so, he paradoxically elevates the power of his own words. The dead, he argues, have consecrated themselves through their sacrifice; the speaker's task is to echo that consecration. This theme—the inadequacy yet necessity of speech—will resurface centuries later in Lincoln's Gettysburg Address.

Equally notable is Pericles' treatment of civic luxury. At first glance, it seems oddly placed: in the middle of a funeral oration, he praises Athens for its refinement, openness to foreign trade, and everyday pleasures. "We celebrate games and sacrifices all the year round,"^[19] he says, noting that the "fruits of other countries are as familiar a luxury as those of his own."^[20] But this passage is doing rhetorical work. It reminds listeners of what the fallen died to preserve. By subtly evoking the contrast between Athenian comfort and the harshness of Spartan society— never named but always present—Pericles frames the stakes of the war not only in terms of honor but of civilization itself.

Throughout the speech, antithesis strengthens the structure and rhythm. As Wills notes in Lincoln at Gettysburg, several polarities in Pericles' rhetoric—life versus death, private grief versus public honor, speech versus action—would echo centuries later in American civic oratory.^[21] For example, in acknowledging the fallen, Pericles observes: "For heroes have the whole earth for their tomb; and in lands far from their own, where the column with its epitaph declares it, there it is enshrined in every breast a record unwritten with no monument to preserve it, except that of the heart."^[22] Here, physical death is set against the immortality of memory—death versus life—suggesting that heroic sacrifice transcends mortality and lives in the moral consciousness of the city.

Similarly, Pericles juxtaposes private grief and public honor when he addresses the families of the fallen: "Comfort, therefore, not condolence, is what I have to offer … bear up in the hope of having in their stead … [who] will be to the state at once a reinforcement and a security."^[23] In his framing, grief becomes a duty—to preserve, reproduce, and replenish the city. Personal loss is thus redirected into civic renewal, preserving the intimacy of mourning while transforming it into a national purpose.

The polarity of speech versus action emerges when Pericles expresses hesitation in giving the speech at all: "For it is hard to speak properly upon a subject where it is even difficult to convince your hearers that you are speaking the truth."^[24] The act of speaking is positioned as inferior to the actions of the dead, reinforcing the Athenian belief that deeds, not words, earn glory. Yet, ironically, through speech, Pericles enshrines those very deeds, resolving the tension into a ceremonial affirmation of shared values.

By holding opposites in tension, Pericles creates energy that builds toward action without overtly calling for it. The antithesis here is not stylistic—it is civic. It enables the audience to feel the stakes of democratic life as something deeply moral, emotional, and embodied. Finally, Pericles minimizes tychē—the role of chance—in war. While Greek literature often attributes events to fate, Pericles focuses on proairesis, which is voluntary choice.^[25] He tells his audience that the fallen "chose to die resisting, rather than to live submitting … [and] fled only from dishonor, but met danger face to face."^[26] Their deaths were not accidental or meaningless— they were freely chosen, deliberate acts of devotion to the city. This framing magnifies their heroism and subtly calls the living to their own agency. If dying for Athens is a choice, so too is living for it. In this way, Pericles transforms civic sacrifice into the highest expression of democratic freedom.

What began as a funeral became a quiet call to arms, not through incitement but elevation. “Take these men as your model,” Pericles urges, his language restrained but resolute.28 The brilliance of the oration lies in its cumulative power. Each rhetorical move prepares the audience emotionally and intellectually to see themselves as stewards of Athens' legacy.

Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address: Rhetorical Analysis

In stark contrast to Pericles, an aristocrat educated in the heart of Athenian political life, Abraham Lincoln emerged from the margins of American society. As biographer James Morgan writes in Abraham Lincoln: The Boy and The Man, Lincoln "was born to poverty and ignorance," with "a father [who] could not read and could barely write" and "a mother [who] could both read and write, but knew little of books or the world."^[27] That Lincoln would one day deliver a speech as enduring as Pericles'—with fewer words and simpler language—is a testament to his rhetorical brilliance and the democratic ideals he came to represent.

Delivered on November 19, 1863, at the dedication of the Soldiers' National Cemetery, Lincoln's Gettysburg Address is a speech of remarkable restraint and rhetorical concentration. Though only 272 words long, it performs the work of both lament and exhortation. Like Pericles, nearly 2,400 years earlier, Lincoln employs epainesis and parainesis to convert mourning into meaning and loss into civic renewal.^[28] Where Pericles relied on breadth and philosophical grandeur, Lincoln achieves gravity through compression, biblical cadence, and the moral weight of silence.

Lincoln begins with a reckoning in time. "Fourscore and seven years ago,"^[29] he says, recalling the year 1776. The phrase is widely recognized as a deliberate reference to Psalm 90:10 (KJV): "The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years …"^[30] As Lois J. Einhorn notes in Abraham Lincoln, the Orator, Lincoln's invocation of biblical temporality places the nation beyond the span of a single lifetime, linking its endurance to divine oversight and sacred duty.^[31] Through such an allusion, Lincoln casts the nation's struggle as covenantal.

The religious tenor continues in words like "conceived," "brought forth," "hallow," and "perish" —terms that appear frequently in the language of the Bible and carry spiritual weight. Einhorn explains that Lincoln's use of "conceived" and "dedicated" reiterates the speech's central themes of divinely inspired birth and purpose, drawing on a sacred register familiar to his 19th-century audience.^[32] "Conceived in liberty" evokes both creation and covenant, framing the nation's founding as an act of sacred intention. Similarly, the phrase "brought forth upon this continent" echoes biblical language and the Exodus story, suggesting liberation from bondage and the emergence of a chosen people. When Lincoln declares, "We cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground," he again draws on religious vocabulary to elevate the battlefield into a sacred space, already sanctified by the sacrifice of the fallen.

Finally, the phrase "shall not perish from the earth" echoes John 3:16—"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life," offering a vision of national resurrection and immortality.^[33] These scriptural liturgy inflections are not decorative. Wills explains that they elevate the speech from policy into liturgy, charging political ideals with spiritual consequences.^[34] Lincoln does not announce a doctrine; he recites a creed.

Like Pericles, Lincoln's speech is also built on antithesis: past and future, word and deed, death and renewal. It follows a tripartite arc of genesis, sacrifice, and rebirth. The nation is "brought forth," the soldiers give "the last full measure of devotion," and the people must ensure "a new birth of freedom."^[35] The structure seemingly parallels the Christian Paschal narrative— death yielding redemption—and reflects the classical logic of civic regeneration in Pericles' epitaphios logos. The theological restraint throughout the speech does not obscure its spiritual resonance: Lincoln's America is both a republic and a moral project.

Lincoln's rhetorical ethos mirrors Pericles's by minimizing his personal presence. Lincoln avoids the pronoun "I," presenting himself as a custodian rather than a prophet. He claims no authority beyond that of shared memory. "The world will little note nor long remember what we say here," he says, "but it can never forget what they did here."^[36] This contrast between logos and ergon—word and deed—recalls Pericles' own declaration that no speech can match the valor of action. Lincoln's humility is a form of authority. It exalts the dead while deferring to the living.

In his epainesis, Lincoln does not catalog names or feats. He does not celebrate glory. Instead, he abstracts the sacrifice. "These honored dead," he says, "gave the last full measure of devotion."^[37] The phrase renders the battlefield sacred not by blood, but by purpose. The dead are remembered not for who they were but for what they served. Einhorn notes that such abstraction in Lincoln's rhetoric invites collective identification and avoids division.^[38] In this, his praise becomes democratic—it belongs to no one and, consequently, to all.

After commemorating the fallen, Lincoln turns to instruction: parainesis. "It is for us the living," he says, "to be dedicated to the unfinished work."^[39] The repetition of "dedicated" becomes a moral incantation, guiding the audience from grief to resolve. The culminating tricolon—"government of the people, by the people, for the people"—condenses the American political experiment into its clearest expression. Einhorn describes it as "the most powerful prolepsis in American rhetoric, fusing origin, structure, and aspiration."^[40] Lincoln gives the audience a cause and a vocabulary for its defense.

His rhetorical devices—anaphora, parallelism, and antithesis—are tightly woven. They do not decorate; they direct: "That from these honored dead…that we were highly resolve…that this nation…"^[41] Each clause lifts the audience toward participation. Einhorn argues that Lincoln's style is choreography, not ornamentation, and the result is a speech that is more than just heard— it's inhabited.^[42]

The absence of detail—no enemy, no condemnation, no blame—is not omission but precision. Lincoln's silence creates space for reflection. The phrase "our fathers" connects the present moment to the Revolutionary past, invoking lineage rather than leadership. Like the Athenians' reverence for progonoi—ancestors or forefathers, Lincoln's audience is called to remember their inherited charge.^[43] The speech's brevity is its discipline: the compression lends the speech permanence. There is nothing wasted. Every word bears weight.

Comparison of Pericles' and Lincoln's Rhetoric

Though separated by nearly two and a half millennia, Pericles' Funeral Oration and Lincoln's Gettysburg Address speak in rhetorical harmony. Each arises from a moment of national trauma, and both transform grief into a call for civic renewal. They differ in context, scale, and theology but converge in structure and purpose. Through epainesis and parainesis, the suppression of particulars, and mythic language that frames democracy as sacred, Pericles and Lincoln offer enduring rhetorical blueprints for democratic endurance.

Both speeches follow the classical form of the Athenian epitaphios logos, structured around praise for the dead and exhortation to the living. Pericles devotes most of his oration to the greatness of Athens—its constitution, customs, and character—before calling the living to emulate the fallen. Lincoln, though far more concise, mirrors this arc. He begins by affirming the nation's founding ("Four score and seven years ago"), then honors those who "gave the last full measure of devotion," before directing his audience toward "the unfinished work."^[44] 

A central rhetorical strategy for both is the balance of logos (word) and ergon (deed). Pericles asserts that "even the best speech cannot make the coward brave," signaling that true glory lies in action. Lincoln echoes this logic, saying, "The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here."^[45] This is not modesty but strategic humility—a denial of eloquence that enhances it. By downplaying their own rhetorical power, both orators elevate the moral significance of sacrifice.

Each also suppresses the political and personal specifics of the war. No names of the dead are given, nor are enemies or grievances explicitly mentioned. This rhetorical restraint allows the fallen to stand as symbols of civic virtue rather than casualties of a particular moment. Nicole Loraux writes that the purpose of the Athenian funeral oration is to "ignore individuals" to eternalize the city.^[46] Lincoln's reference to "these honored dead" achieves a similar effect— abstracting the soldiers into a collective ideal that transcends party, geography, or name.

This abstraction supports a moral framing of death. Pericles calls the fallen "worthy of their city," asserting that they died not by fate but by choice, "judging it more noble to die than to yield."^[47] Lincoln likewise says that the dead "gave" themselves—implying agency and intention. Scholar James Hurt interprets Lincoln's language as redefining death as the renewal of democratic ideals, placing the fallen within a redemptive political theology.^[48] In both speeches, death is not presented as tragic because it ends life but sacred because it preserves liberty.

One of their most striking parallels lies in their use of birth imagery. Pericles invokes autochthony: "For this offering of their lives, made in common by them all, they each of them individually received that renown which never grows old."^[49] This myth roots the Athenian civic identity in ancestral soil and continuity. Lincoln reframes the concept of a democratic age: the nation is "conceived in liberty" and must undergo "a new birth of freedom." Both men embed politics in mythic renewal structures; in each case, sacrifice is sanctified by origin and legacy.

Stylistically, Pericles and Lincoln diverge but still share rhetorical DNA. Pericles speaks in long, ceremonial clauses, layering abstraction and idealized contrasts. Lincoln is disciplined and compressed, using biblical cadence and triadic phrasing. Yet both deploy antithesis as a primary structuring device: speech versus action, private grief versus public duty, death versus legacy. Lincoln's balance and rhythm give his speech a classical elegance beneath its modern restraint.^[50] 

Their treatment of grief also aligns. Pericles addresses the families of the dead, urging them to bear their sorrow with dignity and continue the civic project: "You are still of an age to beget children must bear up in the hope of having others in their stead."^[51] His words emphasize continuity over lament. Though speaking to a national audience, Lincoln performs a similar transformation of private loss into public responsibility. Neither offers comfort; both offer commitment. Instead of being an end, mourning is a form of national renewal.

Finally, both orations fuse sacred and civic lexicons. Pericles elevates Athens as exceptional—"a pattern to others rather than imitators"—worthy of sacrifice and imitation.^[52] Lincoln's closing line, "government of the people, by the people, for the people," is a democratic doxology.^[53] Like a benediction, it sanctifies the democratic ideal—not simply as a political structure but as a moral vocation.

Conclusion

Pericles' Funeral Oration and Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address stand as tributes to the fallen as well as enduring testaments to the moral and rhetorical power of democratic speech. In each, the orator speaks to the grief of the moment as well as to the responsibilities it inaugurates. Through formal symmetry, the suppression of personal detail, and appeals to shared ideals, both speeches consecrate loss while redirecting the living toward civic action. In both cases, the dead become models of democratic virtue—not because of who they were, but because of the sacrifices they enabled.

Yet, the legacy of these orations is shaped not only by their historical context but by their rhetorical craft. In the years following Pericles' speech, Athens descended into a prolonged and ultimately catastrophic war. Thucydides reflects, later in his History of the Peloponnesian War, that the idealized vision Pericles offered was soon overshadowed by factionalism, demagoguery, and imperial overreach.^[54] The speech thus takes a tragic retrospective quality—it is both the pinnacle of Athenian civic confidence and the prelude to its unraveling.

By contrast, Lincoln delivered his address at the midpoint of a war whose outcome remained uncertain. Yet the Union would ultimately prevail, and Lincoln's words would define the moral purpose of the Civil War. The vision of "a new birth of freedom" did not immediately materialize in the aftermath of the Appomattox, but the Gettysburg Address endured—less because of what it described than because of how it was said. In remaking the nation's self-understanding, Lincoln performed a revolution in thought made possible through rhetorical compression, elevated abstraction, and moral clarity.

Even Edward Everett, the day after delivering his speech, recognized Lincoln's words' extraordinary force. In a gracious letter, he wrote, "I should be glad if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion in my two hours as you did in two minutes."^[55] The compliment is more than generous—it affirms that true rhetorical power comes from precision, structure, and restraint, not simply length or learning.

Ultimately, the resonance of both orations lies less in what they said and more in what their rhetoric continues to enable. Their form is as enduring as their message. They are not bound to the deaths they commemorate but to the democratic possibilities they imagine. Whether in ancient Athens or nineteenth-century America, both speeches remind the living that democracy is not a guarantee, but a charge—one sustained not merely through policy or politics, but through memory, speech, and the moral courage to live as citizens of the dead.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Dodge, Daniel Kilham. Abraham Lincoln, Master of Words. New York: Macmillan, 1924.

Einhorn, Lois J. Abraham Lincoln, the Orator: Penetrating the Lincoln Legend. Westport, Conn: Greenwood Press, 1992.

Herrick, James A. The History and Theory of Rhetoric: An Introduction. 2nd ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2001.

Loraux, Nicole. The Invention of Athens: The Funeral Oration in the Classical City. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1986.

Morgan, James. Abraham Lincoln, the Boy and the Man. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1908. Nevins, Allan, John Dos Passos, and United States. Civil War Centennial Commission.

Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address: Commemorative Papers. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1964.

Stow, Simon. “Pericles at Gettysburg and Ground Zero: Tragedy, Patriotism, and Public

          Mourning.” The American Political Science Review 101, no. 2 (2007): 195–208. http:// www.jstor.org/stable/27644440           .

The Holy Bible: King James Version. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Thucydides, R. W. (Richard Winn) Livingstone, and Richard Crawley. The History of the          Peloponnesian War. New York: Oxford University Press, 1961.

Thucydides, Robert B. Strassler, and Richard Crawley. The Landmark Thucydides: 

          Comprehensive Guide to the Peloponnesian War. New York: Free Press, 1996. Tracy, Stephen V. Pericles: A Sourcebook and Reader. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009.

Wills, Garry. Lincoln at Gettysburg: The Words That Remade America. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992.

^[1] Wills, Garry. Lincoln at Gettysburg : The Words That Remade America. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992., 49.

^[2] ibid.

^[3] Stow, Simon. “Pericles at Gettysburg and Ground Zero: Tragedy, Patriotism, and Public Mourning.” The American Political Science Review 101, no. 2 (2007): 195–208. http://www.jstor.org/ stable/27644440.       

^[4] Tracy, Stephen V. Pericles : A Sourcebook and Reader. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009., 14.

^[5]  Thucydides., R. W. (Richard Winn) Livingstone, and Richard Crawley. The History of the Peloponnesian War. New York: Oxford University Press, 1961.

^[6] Thucydides., Robert B Strassler, and Richard Crawley. The Landmark Thucydides : A Comprehensive Guide to the Peloponnesian War. New York: Free Press, 1996., 111.

^[7] Loraux, Nicole. The Invention of Athens : The Funeral Oration in the Classical City. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1986., 13        8 Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 111.

^[8] Loraux, The Invention of Athens., 12.

^[9] Loraux, The Invention of Athens, 7.

^[10] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 111.

^[11] Herrick, James A. The History and Theory of Rhetoric : An Introduction. 2nd ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2001., 35.

^[12] Ibid., 35.

^[13] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 113.

^[14] Ibid., 112. 

^[15] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 112.

^[16] Ibid., 115.

^[17] Herrick, The History and Theory of Rhetoric, 35.

^[18] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.

^[19] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 112.

^[20] Ibid., 112.

^[21] Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg., 56.

^[22] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.

^[23] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 117.

^[24] Ibid., 111

^[25] Loraux, The Invention of Athens, 24.

^[26] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.        

^[27] Morgan, James. Abraham Lincoln, the Boy and the Man. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1908., 1

^[28] Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg, 59

^[29] Nevins, Allan, John Dos Passos, and United States. Civil War Centennial Commission. Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address; Commemorative Papers. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1964., 1

^[30]  Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg, 96.

^[31] Einhorn, Abraham Lincoln, the Orator, 96

^[32] ibid., 98.

^[33] The Holy Bible: King James Version (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), John 3:16.

^[34] Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg., 58.

^[35] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address., 1.

^[36] ibid. 

^[37] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address, 1.

^[38] Einhorn, Abraham Lincoln, the Orator, 40

^[39] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address, 1.

^[40] Einhorn, Abraham Lincoln, the Orator, 109

^[41] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address., 1.

^[42] Einhorn, Abraham Lincoln, the Orator, 39.

^[43] Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg, 53.

^[44] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address., 1.

^[45] ibid.

^[46] Nicole Loraux, qtd. in Garry Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg, 53.

^[47] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.

^[48] James Hurt, as cited in Garry Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg, 62.

^[49] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.

^[50]  Lane Cooper, as cited in Garry Wills, Lincoln at Gettysburg., 78.

^[51] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 115.

^[52] Thucydides, The Landmark Thucydides, 112.

^[53] Nevins, Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address., 1.

^[54] Thucydides., R. W. (Richard Winn) Livingstone, and Richard Crawley. The History of the Peloponnesian War., 367.

^[55] Daniel Kilham Dodge, Abraham Lincoln, Master of Words (New York: Macmillan, 1924), 113.