Monday, February 24, 2025

Art: Abraham Lincoln and the Nerds Who Built America

 


If you think a bunch of science guys and Honest Abe sitting around a table sounds like a recipe for a riveting piece of art, you’d be mostly wrong—but here we are. Hanging solemnly in the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) is The Founders’ Portrait, a painting by Albert Herter, a guy whose resume includes murals, portraits, and the noble duty of making dead historical figures look way more interesting than they actually were. It’s a grand, stately piece depicting Lincoln signing the NAS charter while being glared at by the finest scientific minds of 1863, presumably debating whether they should start working on germ theory or just go home and die of dysentery.

Albert Herter, A Man Who Painted Like It Paid the Bills

Albert Herter (1871–1950) was basically the artistic equivalent of a history teacher with a dramatic streak. He was an old-school painter, known for lush, romanticized scenes of Important People Doing Important Things. The kind of guy who looked at a blank canvas and thought, This needs some powdered wigs, a few waistcoats, and the weight of historical destiny.

But Herter wasn’t just a guy who painted politicians looking pensive—he had serious chops. His works graced grand civic spaces, including state capitals, railway stations, and even the walls of the Waldorf Astoria (back when staying there didn’t mean remortgaging your house). His style? Rich, theatrical, and deeply devoted to making historical moments look like Shakespearean tragedies—because what’s the point of painting history if everyone doesn’t look one emotional breakdown away from changing the course of civilization?

Lincoln, Science, and a War-Torn America

Now, why was Lincoln even signing off on a National Academy of Sciences in the middle of the Civil War? Because, believe it or not, science mattered—even back when leeches were still considered cutting-edge medical tech. In 1863, Lincoln greenlit the NAS, giving America’s brightest minds a clubhouse where they could tinker, theorize, and make sure the Union Army had better cannons than the Confederacy.

The timing? Not an accident. The war wasn’t just a battlefield clash; it was an arms race. The Union needed innovation, and Lincoln—being the 19th-century’s undisputed MVP of multitasking—figured, “Hey, let’s throw some scientific brainpower at this thing.” And thus, the NAS was born, a government-sanctioned think tank before “think tanks” became synonymous with overpaid consultants and vague policy papers.

More Than Just Old Guys in Fancy Coats

Herter’s painting captures this moment with all the reverence you’d expect. Lincoln sits at a desk, surrounded by bearded intellectuals who look like they’d rather be testing steam engines than posing for a portrait. The NAS founders—guys like Joseph Henry and Alexander Dallas Bache—peer on with expressions ranging from “Yes, this is a monumental day for science” to “Can we wrap this up? I left my Bunsen burner on.”

And Lincoln? The man of the hour? He looks characteristically thoughtful, probably wondering if this signing is as historically significant as abolishing slavery or if it’ll just be another piece of paper that future historians debate about on C-SPAN. But here’s the thing—this moment was significant. It was the official marriage of American politics and science, an acknowledgment that progress and policy need to share a bed (preferably one with clean data sheets).

Still Hanging, Still Watching

Today, the painting looms over the NAS like a reminder that, once upon a time, America valued scientists enough to put them in fancy artwork instead of conspiracy theory YouTube videos. It’s a time capsule of an era when presidents actually consulted experts, and scientific progress was a patriotic duty rather than an internet debate.

Take a moment to appreciate the irony: Lincoln gave science a seat at the table, and a century and a half later, half the country still doesn’t believe in climate change.

If Lincoln saw what we did with the whole “science” thing, do you think he’d sign that charter again—or just go back to reading Shakespeare?

#HistoryInPaint #AbeAndTheBrainTrust #ScientificRevolution #ArtistsWhoPaidRent #GermTheoryMatters #WhereIsMyFlyingCar #HonestAbeWouldBeExhausted

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