Lincoln made mistakes. Roosevelt made mistakes. Eisenhower made

The Fallibility of Greatness and the Wisdom of Imperfection

Hear now the words of Rudy Giuliani, spoken not in pride but in remembrance: “Lincoln made mistakes. Roosevelt made mistakes. Eisenhower made mistakes. The Battle of the Bulge was the biggest intelligence failure in American military history, much bigger than any in Vietnam or now. We didn’t know that the Soviets were moving 400,000 or 500,000 troops. We missed it.” These words are not merely a lament of failure—they are a hymn to the eternal truth that even the greatest among us stumble, and that the measure of greatness is not in avoiding error, but in rising after it.

In every age, men and nations strive for perfection, yet perfection is a mirage shimmering on the horizon of human effort. Even the noblest leaders, those crowned by history with glory, walked paths lined with mistakes. Abraham Lincoln, whose heart bled for union and liberty, faltered in judgment, endured defeats, and doubted his own strength. Franklin Roosevelt, though triumphant in war and recovery, faced fierce criticism and error in policy. Dwight Eisenhower, the general of victory, oversaw the Battle of the Bulge, where a misreading of enemy intent led to one of the most harrowing ambushes in modern warfare. These are not tales of shame, but of humanity—reminders that wisdom grows only in the soil of imperfection.

The Battle of the Bulge stands as a stark monument to this truth. In the cold winter of 1944, when the Allies believed victory near, the German forces, cunning and desperate, struck with sudden fury through the Ardennes forest. Eisenhower’s intelligence divisions, blinded by overconfidence, dismissed reports of German movements. When the attack came, it fell like a storm upon the unprepared, engulfing thousands in chaos and loss. Yet from that ruin rose resilience: soldiers fought back with valor, and from the snows of that battlefield came the renewed resolve that hastened final victory. Even failure, when met with courage, can become a teacher greater than success.

This was not the first, nor the last, time that ignorance disguised as certainty betrayed those who lead. The ancient Greeks called it hubris—the arrogance that blinds the wise and precedes the fall. From the generals of Rome to the kings of Europe, from the deserts of Egypt to the jungles of Vietnam, every age bears witness to this truth: when power grows sure of itself, it loses sight of the unseen. It forgets that the unseen often decides the outcome of history. Giuliani’s words, though rooted in military failure, echo a deeper truth that reaches beyond war: to be human is to misjudge, to miss, to learn too late—and yet, to endure.

But here lies the divine paradox: mistakes are the forge of greatness. Without them, no nation grows wise; without them, no leader learns humility. When Lincoln erred, he learned compassion. When Roosevelt faltered, he learned persistence. When Eisenhower failed, he learned vigilance. Their missteps became their monuments. For it is not the perfect who build legacies, but the imperfect who refuse to surrender to defeat. Each mistake, faced honestly, becomes a rung in the ladder of wisdom.

Let none, then, fear error. Fear only blindness—the refusal to see, the pride that silences truth. In the realms of war, leadership, and the soul, the same rule governs all: acknowledge what you missed, and begin again with clearer eyes. To learn from failure is to rise higher than success ever could. The wise man, said the ancients, does not seek to avoid error, but to transmute it into understanding. Thus do empires endure, and souls ascend.

So take this lesson, passed down from the halls of history to the hearth of the heart: Be humble in victory, and honest in failure. When your plans collapse, do not despair—examine them. When your sight fails, do not curse the darkness—light a lamp of truth. For the same fate that humbled Eisenhower, that tested Lincoln and Roosevelt, will one day test you. And if you face your mistakes with courage and wisdom, they shall become your teachers, your strength, and your immortality.

For history does not remember the flawless—it remembers the steadfast. And those who rise after their fall, who learn after their blindness, who face the cost of failure with honor—these are the true victors in the long story of humankind.