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He did himself damage, at any rate. When Truman was succeeded by Eisenhower in 1953, Acheson left office under a dark cloud. In time it lifted. His Republican successor, John Foster Dulles, preached a tougher anti-Communist line but practiced much the same policy. Conservatives took another look at the man they had pummeled, and the apologies drifted in. "I was always a conservative," said Acheson. "I sought to meet the Soviet menace and help create some order out of the chaos of the world. I was seeking stability and never had much use for revolution." When John Kennedy was elected President, Publisher Henry Luce urged him to appoint Acheson as Secretary of State. "An interesting idea," replied Kennedy, "but it's too late."
Hawkish Advice. Kennedy did seek Acheson's advice at critical times. During the Cuban missile crisis, Acheson urged the President to bomb the Soviet installations and was miffed when J.F.K. refused. He also gave hawkish advice to Lyndon Johnson on Viet Nam. But when he realized in early 1968 that the war was costing more than it was worth, he shocked the President by telling him that he was being "led down the garden path by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They don't know what they are talking about." Nixon also sought his advice, though in the heat of partisan politics in 1952 he had referred to Acheson's "College of Cowardly Communist Containment." On Acheson's death, the President had kinder words: "I shall greatly miss both his wise counsel and his penetrating wit."
In the erratic politics of America, it is perhaps unsurprising that the man who was vilified for being soft on Communism should later be condemned for being too hard on it. In fact, Acheson's position did not change over the years. A master of Realpolitik, he viewed the world in classic diplomatic terms: a balance must be struck among contending powers. There was no room for morality as such in diplomacy; it spoiled the game and led to fanaticism. All his career he scorned the liberal habit of trying to "exorcise evil spirits by moral incantation." His worst enemies were ideologues, whether of the left or right. He dismissed Henry Wallace, the presidential candidate of the Communist-backed Progressive Party, as a "man who soared into abstractions, trailing a cloud of aphorisms." He branded Joe McCarthy a "primitive" and the "most unlovely character in our political history since Aaron Burr."
Toward the end of his life, Acheson worried about the march of egalitarianism. "It would not be unfair to say that the century of the common man has come into its own. Wherever you look, you'll find governments which are not outstanding in nature. I see grave problems coming from this." A thoroughgoing elitist, he believed that the best should rule, or at least tend to such complicated matters as foreign affairs; accurately, he ranked himself among their number. At a time when Secretaries of State are more self-effacing and less powerful, it is hard to recall the domination that Acheson exercised over foreign policy. For good or ill, he is not replaceable.