President Joe Biden addresses the nation from the Oval Office of the White House in Washington, on July 24, about his decision to drop his Democratic presidential re-election bid.Evan Vucci/The Associated Press
There’s a song midway through the second act of the hip-hop historical musical Hamilton called One Last Time.
It includes just two characters: George Washington, nearing the end of his second term as president of an infant America, and Alexander Hamilton, his treasury secretary, confidante and designated wordsmith.
The original – indispensable, indelible – Broadway cast features Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda as the title character, and he plays him as electrified ambition on legs. Christopher Jackson’s Washington is warmly growly, a man who can see each present moment in the pages of a history book that won’t be written for 100 years.
The scene begins with Washington summoning Hamilton to tell him that Thomas Jefferson has resigned as secretary of state. Washington wants Hamilton to write a speech, but it takes him a few tries to get Hamilton to shut up long enough to explain.
Finally, he manages to make Hamilton understand: Jefferson resigned so he could run for president, and Washington is stepping aside rather than challenging him in the election of 1796.
“I’m sorry, what?” Hamilton says, gaping at him.
Here, Mr. Jackson’s soaring voice picks up an aching, insistent melody – it’s the sound of someone who knows you won’t like something that has to happen anyway.
“One last time / Relax, have a drink with me / One last time / Let’s take a break tonight / And then we’ll teach ‘em how to say goodbye.”
Hamilton argues, “Mr. President, they will say you’re weak.” Washington replies, “No, they will see we’re strong.”
Hamilton tries again: “Your position is so unique.” But Washington won’t budge: “So I’ll use it to move them along.”
Finally, Hamilton blurts out a question of such pure, unguarded lamentation that he sounds like a homesick little kid: “Why do you have to say goodbye?”
Washington’s reply is carved, ever so gently, into stone.
“If I say goodbye, the nation learns to move on,” he sings. “It outlives me when I’m gone.”
Finally, Hamilton stops arguing. There is nothing more to say. Washington has laid it out: This isn’t about me. The whole point is that this is about something beyond me, and in order for that thing to flourish, I have to go.
Probably you can see why this scene has been whirling around in my head for the past three weeks or so.
To state the obvious: Joe Biden is not George Washington. Joe Biden most especially is not a fictionalized hip-hop/Broadway George Washington – a fact underlined years ago when the Hamilton cast performed at the Obama White House and Mr. Biden exhibited exactly the facial expression and body language you would expect of a 70-something white dude.
But you don’t need to canonize Mr. Biden to recognize that his decision to withdraw from the presidential race was bad for him – particularly in its torturous, humiliating prelude – and good for some cause larger than him.
That cause could be seen as a sweeping, noble thing like giving democracy a fighting chance with a new Democratic candidate better equipped to compete against an encroaching autocracy so cocky that it doesn’t even bother to whisper about its plans.
It could be something a tad greasier, like trying to prevent your party from becoming political roadkill. It could be the basic emotional expediency of being worn down by a parade of fellow Democrats lobbying you in private and then not-so-private ways.
But the decision was Mr. Biden’s to make and no one could have turfed him if he refused to go. And at a certain point – and almost certainly for a complicated mix of reasons – he decided that he could not have what he wanted because it would be too costly to others.
“I revere this office, but I love my country more,” he said from behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office on Wednesday evening, speaking for the first time publicly since he announced that he would bow out.
He went on, “I believe my record as President, my leadership in the world, my vision for America’s future all merited a second term. But nothing – nothing – could come in the way of saving our democracy. That includes personal ambition. So I decided the best way forward is to pass the torch to a new generation.”
If Donald Trump wanted something for himself that would be bad for someone else, where do you suppose he would draw the line? He lost an election and tried to stage an insurrection while clinging to the Resolute Desk with his fingernails, so this question is not so much a thought experiment as a history quiz with a known answer.
However Mr. Biden arrived at his decision to drop out, he showed us that something mattered more than what he wanted – no matter how badly the Scranton kid with a stutter wanted it.
Sometimes, you say goodbye because you know there’s something bigger that needs to outlive you. That argument rests on the idea that the something bigger exists, and reminding everyone that it does was the quiet gift Mr. Biden imparted.
Given how long American politics has revolved around one huge, fragile tangerine ego, simply hearing someone talk about a larger cause that’s worthy of self-sacrifice feels – well, revolutionary.