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Just as he can call forth strengths that people would be reluctant to entrust to anyone else, the inspirational statesman is capable of reconciling deep differences. In 1968, Robert Kennedy—who evoked, partly because of his brother's legacy, even deeper feelings than J.F.K. himself—was the only political figure who had strong followings among two otherwise hostile groups, the blacks and lower-middle-class whites. Many of Kennedy's blue-collar supporters subsequently voted for George Wallace.
But unless the leader with power and grace makes himself a dictator, he is usually doomed to a relatively short career in power. Nothing is so fatiguing as greatness—to the nongreat. People become numbed by excitement and sacrifice, grow weary of the grand view from the mountaintop, and long for a return to normalcy. When people give total trust to one man, they willingly suspend disbelief; it involves a "rediscovery of innocence," as Yale Political Scientist David Apter puts it. Eventually cynicism, otherwise known as political realism, returns, and the leader who had beguiled a nation is rejected. The classic case occurred when, after the perils of World War II, Britain turned out Winston Churchill in favor of the dull, bureaucratic, but quintessentially normal regime of Clement Attlee.
The dramatic leader either evokes the hope of unborn glory or creates the living illusion of a grandeur that is dead. De Gaulle was twice called to take charge of his country at moments of extreme crisis; but his reliance on a rhetoric that recalled France's past grandeur was no substitute for the reconstruction of its social system. With his unique sense of history, De Gaulle seems to have accepted the inevitability of his most recent severance from power. "It must be understood, and I do understand," he reportedly wrote to a friend, "that the march toward and on the heights cannot be endured without some respite. We are now, therefore, on the road-down." Richard Nixon's election victory last year was based in part on his shrewdness in recognizing a national yearning for political respite and a cool, low-keyed leader—a "peer group" figure rather than a pop hero.
Eloquence is not enough to uphold a charismatic leader indefinitely. That is especially so when the foe of a nation is not visible and external but a host of interior and undramatic "enemies": outdated or inadequate institutions, a national sense of malaise, economic or racial turmoil. In a world where many complex problems are capable of technical solution, the need may be for lesser mortals who understand the issues and are capable of applying the painstaking energy needed to solve them. Does this mean that the charismatic leader is obsolete? Hardly. Almost without exception, powerful leaders are the product of great national crises, and sometimes the solution to them; needless to say, the world is not through with crises. Somehow, the most efficient and businesslike leadership is not enough in moments of major tribulations.