History often tempts us to view people one-dimensionally: Hero or villain. And while a person’s legacy may ultimately be one or the other, the story usually is not so simplistic. Often good gives way to bad; honor gives way to shame; single decisions can form a whole legacy. Benedict Arnold, perhaps the most
famous traitor of all time, is a case in point.
Arnold grew up in Connecticut and became a successful pharmacist. When the Stamp Act was imposed on the colonies in 1765, he joined the Sons of Liberty in opposition to British tyranny. He had a hot temper and little patience or sympathy for those with whom he disagreed, especially politically. And he harshly criticized those who didn’t do what he thought was right, e.g., “take immediate vengeance on [the] miscreants” responsible for the Boston Massacre. He was difficult and made enemies easily, but his passion and energy for the cause of independence were undeniable.
He eventually joined the Revolutionary War effort as a captain and rapidly worked his way up the ranks, receiving important commissions from General Washington. Arnold distinguished himself in battle for the American cause, even being gravely injured at the Battle of Saratoga. But he also began to grow in resentment as he was passed over for promotions to which he aspired, became disillusioned with the politics of the Continental Congress, faced personal financial challenges, and became biter over the lack of recognition and remuneration he had received for his service. His life became, in the words of Augustine, incurvatus in se—curved in upon itself.
Despite his beginnings as a defender of liberty, it turned out that Arnold’s true cause was himself. No longer the means to personal glory, Arnold convinced himself that the American experiment with independence was doomed to failure. He felt that the British had a higher regard for his abilities than his own country. And so, in May 1779, Arnold began to plot with the British his treasonous plan to take command of West Point and then surrender it to the British. Of course, we know today that the plot was foiled, and that Arnold lived out the remainder of his days in infamy.
It is tempting to look at Benedict Arnold and say, “There was a wretched man deserving only of my disdain.” But that would miss the lesson of history. We all have the tendency to live incurvatus in se—it is our nature. The proper response to Benedict Arnold is a sad but humble acknowledgment that, “there, but for the grace of God, go I.”
