the seal of nature. This is the only seal that is beyond imitation. All
else can be mimicked. We have seen how ghastly one or two persons
appeared when they attempted to look like Lincoln. The imitation took on
the appearance of pale, dull putty. The notion that Lincoln's
personality could be imitated with success was quite in keeping with
that other notion that the great President was, in spite of everything,
just one of the common people. But Lincoln as he appears in popular
histories, and Lincoln as he was known to his associates and those who
came into personal contact with him, are two different persons. Perhaps
no one has summed up the matter with such concision and force as Don
Piatt, who knew him well:--
"With all his awkwardness of manner and utter disregard of social
conventionalities that seemed to invite familiarity, there was something
about Abraham Lincoln that enforced respect. No man presumed on the
apparent invitation to be other than respectful. I was told at
Springfield that this accompanied him through life. Among his rough
associates, when young, he was leader, looked up to and obeyed, because
they felt of his muscle and its readiness in use. Among his associates
at the bar it was attributed to his wit, which kept his duller
associates at a distance. But the fact was that this power came from a
sense of reserve force of intellectual ability that no one took account
of save in its results. Through one of those manifestations of nature
that produce a Shakespeare at long intervals, a giant had been born to
the poor whites of Kentucky and the sense of superiority possessed
Lincoln at all times. Seward, Chase, and Stanton, great as they were,
felt their inferiority to their master."
_Law and Authority_
We are beginning to feel the reality of that power that lies above
appearance and formula, that power manifested in Job and Isaiah, which
we accept as inspiration in religion, intuition in philosophy, and
illumination in art, producing saints in one age and mystical scientists
in another.
We float through the ether on a revolving miracle called the earth,
returning again and again to attain the same figure on the dial of time.
The things done by human automatons count for nothing in the course of
destiny.
We think we are wise when we invent a new name for an old truth; and
vanity aims to confine the infinite within the limits of a stopper
bottle or a glass showcase, or attain inspiration by means of a ouija
board.
Can any one conceive what would have happened to this country had
Lincoln made use of such a contrivance to direct the course of his
actions? This scourge of dead agnostics seems like an ironical stroke of
nature to discount their disbelief. Not only does this clumsy instrument
make wits like Mark Twain "talk like poor Pol," but it makes
philosophers reason like first-grade pupils at our common schools.
Immortality is destined to have the last word even though it be
pronounced in the most fantastic manner.
Lincoln believed in law, order, and authority. He believed in the
mission of the churches. He was a regular worshipper in Dr. Gurley's
Presbyterian congregation at the Capital. He was a praying president,
like George Washington, and, while he was not a member of any church, he
was convinced that all the churches were necessary. He was not a
free-thinker, as that term is commonly used. Loose reasoning and vague,
uncertain doctrines he could not abide. He demanded proofs and would not
accept a man's word merely from sentimental motives. No one ever induced
him to "side-track" from the main line of argument and reason. His
attitude in the matter of inspiration and spiritual direction may be
summed up in a few words spoken at the time a delegation of Chicago
ministers came to him, urging him in God's name to free the slaves
without further delay. His reply was that when the Almighty wanted him
to free the slaves He would deal directly with Lincoln himself instead
of indirectly through Chicago.
A vacillating President would have been influenced by such a request at
such a time, but the President had faith in his own illuminations and
awaited orders from a Supreme source. Had he been influenced by advice
given by all sorts of people who called at the White House on all sorts
of missions, possessing no authority themselves, what turmoil and chaos
would have resulted to the army and the Nation!
Practical mystic that he was, he did not seek, nor wish for, advice from
people in matters which concerned his own judgment alone. It is true
that on several occasions he was approached by persons who came with
messages of various kinds assumed to be spiritual, but Lincoln received
them with a neutral politeness, sometimes mingled with a grim humour, as
when Robert Dale Owen read to him a long manuscript presumed to be
highly inspirational and illuminating, and Lincoln replied, "Well, for
those who like that sort of thing that is the thing they would like."
_Lincoln as Critic_
Nothing escaped Lincoln's powers of philosophical and metaphysical
analysis. He did not read the Bible and Shakespeare merely for pleasure,
as people read novels. He could give excellent reasons for everything he
did. Even in his most listless moods he never lost his firm grip on
affairs, both general and individual. When he read a book it was because
there was something in it which helped him to penetrate deeper into the
recesses of life and character. He would study a passage or a chapter
until he had assimilated its wisdom and its mystical import.
Lincoln was a natural critic. When Walt Whitman's "Leaves O' Grass" was
first published a copy of the book was read and discussed by several of
his friends in Springfield. Lincoln at once recognised the fact that a
new poetic genius had appeared and he did not permit adverse opinions to
influence his judgment. He cared nothing for the romantic in itself. He
cared only for those phases of literature which induce serious
philosophical or spiritual thought. While his partner read Carlyle, he
read Shakespeare.
In the Spring of 1862 the President spent several days at Fortress
Monroe awaiting military operations upon the Peninsula. As a portion of
the Cabinet were with him, that was temporarily the seat of government,
and he bore with him constantly the burden of public affairs. His
favourite diversion was reading Shakespeare. One day--it chanced to be
the day before the capture of Norfolk--as he sat reading alone, he
called to his side Colonel Le Grand B. Cannon. "You have been writing
long enough, Colonel," he said, "come in here; I want to read you a
passage in _Hamlet_." He read the discussion on ambition between Hamlet
and his courtiers, and the soliloquy in which conscience debates of a
future state.
_His Style_
"No criticism of Mr. Lincoln," says the _Spectator_, "can be in any
sense adequate which does not deal with his astonishing power over
words. It is not too much to say of him that he is among the greatest
masters of prose ever produced by the English race. Self-educated, or
rather not educated at all in the ordinary sense, he contrived to obtain
an insight and power in the handling and mechanism of letters such as
has been given to but few men in his, or, indeed, in any age. That the
gift of oratory should be a natural gift is understandable enough, for
the methods of the orator, like those of the poet, are primarily
sensuous and may well be instinctive.... Mr. Lincoln did not get his
ability to handle prose through his gift of speech. It is in his conduct
of the pedestrian portions of composition that Mr. Lincoln's genius for
prose style is exhibited." Lincoln avoided the superfluous in writing as
in speaking, and style came after the matter of his thought, not as a
conscious effort while he was uttering his thoughts. He was not
consciously a literary artist. When, in his famous inaugural address, he
made "pray" rhyme with "away," it sounded like a false note struck in
the movement of a great symphony. That blemish remains like a flaw in a
diamond which cannot be removed, but the miracle remains that this
master of men and moods accomplished in his speeches and letters what no
one else accomplished in his time.
_Lincoln's Serenity_
"Lincoln," says the same writer in the _Spectator_, "saw things as a
disillusioned man sees them, and yet, in the bad sense, he never
suffered any disillusionment. For suffusing and combining his other
qualities was a serenity of mind which affected the whole man. He viewed
the world too much as a whole to be greatly troubled or perplexed over
its accidents. To this serenity of mind was due an almost total absence
of indignation in the ordinary sense."
This is true, because, as Walt Whitman says, "The foundations of his
character, more than any man's in history, were mystic and spiritual."
"Lincoln was, before all things, a gentleman," says the _Spectator_,
"and the good taste inseparable from that character made it impossible
for him to be spoiled by power and position. This grace and strength of
character is never better shown than in the letters to his generals,
victorious or defeated. If a general had to be reprimanded he did it as
only the most perfect gentleman could do it."
Nevertheless, the invulnerable President did show his anger or
indignation on some few occasions. And justly so. As a rule he did not
consider it worth his while to permit himself to be moved by the sayings
and doings of any one. The foolish are unworthy of indignation; they
must be dealt with quietly but effectively; while the others must be
managed with gentle firmness backed by the fundamentally drastic. Fuss
and fury were unknown to this pioneer politician, philosophical
statesman, and mystical leader.
No man can be serene who doubts himself. Lincoln, when in doubt as to
the actions of others, did not grope in the darkness, but waited. His
invincible trust in Providence held him aloof from the petty
circumstances and daily routine of intrigue, and his imagination soared
in the empyrean while those around him flattered themselves that he was
being influenced or led by their counsels and their interests.
He treated people who bedevilled him with importunities and all sorts of
advice as the wise parent treats a child who asks for the impossible--he
knew that a little waiting would wear them out and they would end by
forgetting. Often, in place of a flat refusal, he would turn away the
office-seeker by a sudden, adroit stroke of his humour, thus sending the
man and his friends away smiling good-humouredly at Lincoln's inimitable
tact.
_The Romance of His Character_
There is a "romance of character" that accompanies people of exceptional
achievements, as Emerson has so justly said, and Lincoln possessed it
without being in the slightest degree conscious of the fact. This is one
reason why his life surpasses in interest any book of fiction ever
written. He united all the realism of pioneer life with the romance of
the inexplicable and the fascination of the unexpected.
Those who come to Lincoln in search of the shifting romance of
bohemianism will be disappointed, for the romance of change and
vacillation is the kind that leads to the poorhouse or the hospital.
This romance of character, belonging, as it did, to the temperament of
the man, was hidden from the multitude, but all could readily see the
romance of the progressive events of his life. Lincoln was at times
awed, but not alarmed, by the turn of affairs which placed him at the
head of the nation. He realised the tremendous responsibility without
regrets or fear. He was fully conscious of his mission but quite
unconscious of the romantic elements which enveloped it, for Lincoln's
life included both the "romance of character" and the romance of
experience. Without the first, the second would have unfitted him for
the heavy responsibilities of his high office later on. He did not seek
experience for the sake of experience, like so many in our day who are
under the illusion that truth and wisdom arrive perforce. He forced
nothing. He followed a natural course of events, dealing with each
according to the light of his own judgment, asking for no advice.
Neither the romance of character nor the romance of experience comes to
those who seek them. Self-consciousness dissipates romantic mystery.
_President by the Grace of God_
Lincoln lived long enough to become convinced that everything exists for
a purpose. He saw that the Rebellion had to be, and that in the seeming
confusion of sentiments and interests the Divine ruled over all persons
and parties.
Events had to follow as ordained by the spiritual Power that lies behind
appearance. Lincoln worked in the light; Czar Nicholas of Russia lived
in the dark. He could not tell why he occupied the Russian throne.
Lincoln knew why he occupied the White House. The Kaiser was not able to
see why will, energy, and money should not rule the world.
Never were the lessons taught by Lincoln's career so much needed as now,
when a ruthless autocracy is seeking to get rid of all moral
responsibility, while, on the other hand, thousands are awakening to the
necessity of a new order, of fostering the mystical renaissance.
_Science and the Mystical_
Quintilian said:--
"No man can become a perfect orator without a knowledge of geometry. It
is not without reason that the greatest men have bestowed extreme
attention on this science."
Locke, the philosopher, gives the reason:--
"Geometry develops the habit of pursuing long trains of ideas which will
remain with the student who will be enabled to pierce through the mazes
of sophism and discover a latent truth, when persons who have not this
habit will never find it."
Lincoln was passionately fond of geometry. His oratory was based on
logic, but his logic came from the mystical absolute, a geometric
science of the soul which he alone could appropriate through his
perception of fundamental principles of universal law. He could perceive
that an idea is a personal conception of a mathematical truth, as
distinguished from mere beliefs, notions, and sentiments. Others turned
politics into the art of influencing crowds through their sentimental
opinions; Lincoln engaged in trying to make them think logically. While
others gave vague reasons for their political views he gave reasons
based on law which he explained with simple force and lucid phraseology.
He never attempted to tell all he knew. The practical mystic never does.
He knew how he acquired his knowledge, but his reticence was as
pronounced as his gift of expression. It was this quality of reticence
that kept him from taking counsel from all sorts of statesmen and
explaining the inexplicable. There was not a man among them that could
have understood. In this, Lincoln was a mystic, full-fledged, initiated,
as by centuries of experience. His innate wisdom told him exactly how
much the people could understand, how much politicians could digest, and
how much statesmen could divine. Not only did he hold the allegiance of
the Whigs, but he gained the allegiance of the Abolitionists. This,
indeed, was intellect illumined.
_The Old and the New_
How old yet new are nature's moods and manifestations! How mysteriously
the souvenirs of the past are revived and quickened in new forms, faces,
and phenomena! The seasons come and go with varying moods and seem new,
but they are older than the formulas of civilisation; strangers bring
with them new influences, but we discover in them something familiar
from the vague and shadowy past. Every single thing is related to every
other thing, and illuminated minds are the periods that separate the
cycles, but not the laws, of human progress. The form is new; the
principle remains unchangeable. Solomon was unique in his glory, but
Athens had a Pericles, Rome a Cæsar, Europe a Bonaparte, and the new
world a Lincoln.
Real genius is elemental. It influences humanity as much as heat and
cold, rain and sunshine. People who offer the greatest opposition to it
are those who fall before its onward march. Indeed, it seems to be, from
all historical accounts, a sort of car of Juggernaut to those who
wilfully oppose it. And this is not surprising since it is the greatest
power of which man has any personal knowledge, supported by all the
forces of the material and the spiritual.
_Destiny versus Will_
Great men float into power on mystical waves moved by the force of
destiny. The greater the mind the greater the fixture of force behind
it.
Between George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, Presidents came and went
as figureheads of parties or props to some ephemeral political scaffold.
The majority were stopgaps. They, like the majority of politicians and
many others, put their trust in Will and Desire. They could not
understand that a man is not great because of his will, but because of
his innate knowledge. Washington realised his destiny and understood.
Lincoln realised what he was and what he would become long before his
nomination for the Presidency, but he was wholly unconscious of any Will
to Power. The born statesman is aware of his invincible, hidden
knowledge, and he places Will in the second rank. He knows it counts for
nothing in the fundamental issues.
Lincoln discerned, at an early age, the difference between desire and
destiny. He saw the dangerous illusions under which the
Will-to-Power-politicians and others laboured and how vain were their
hopes.
Will and Ambition are characteristics of men who mistake the material
for the permanent. Bonaparte and Bismarck exercised their Will for the
possession of the material and both failed. The Hohenzollerns and their
henchmen have failed in the same exercise. This exercise is indulged in
by people who believe that to become intensely individualistic means the
development of powerful personality. They talk of their rights as if
their desires gave them the privilege of robbing their neighbours. And
what some are doing publicly others are doing privately.
The motives for this desire for material domination vary with the
individual. With one, it is to get even with a group; with another, it
is to get even with a party; with others, it is to appear in public, to
be frequently named and sometimes applauded. Compromise and subterfuge
are ingredients inseparable from the illusions of the Will. While
Lincoln often assisted his friends, he refused to hedge or trim in order
to please. Destiny behind him was invulnerable, his own sense of justice
inexorable. While others were working for the good of their city, state,
or section, he was thinking of the good of the whole country, with all
humanity behind it. Destiny created the man and the crisis at the same
time, as always happens. The one could not exist without the other.
Destiny is the collective conscience acting through elective genius. For
this reason Lincoln was not only the man of his time but the man whose
example will exert the greatest influence on future eras.
_James Jacquess Practical Mystic_
In the hubbub and confusion created by the upheaval which began in 1914
it is of vital importance for thinking people of the English-speaking
countries to know what went on in the inner circles at Washington during
that year of trial, 1864, when the destiny of the Union seemed to be
hanging in the balance. It is time to know the truth about Lincoln's
supernaturalism. Your favourite historian avoids the subject. He will
not touch on a matter so dangerous to his neutral agnosticism. He avoids
the details of the supernatural events of that wonderful time. He will
discuss anything but that; he knows that once thinking people become
acquainted with the facts they will begin to form their own conclusions.
In Lincoln's day agnosticism had not taken root in the intellectual soil
of this country. The negative writings of Darwin and Spencer were
unknown among politicians and statesmen, and the churches still believed
that "spirit" ruled matter and that Providence was directing the affairs
of the nation.
In Lincoln's time agnostic ministers were unknown. All believed in a
positive religion. The Union was saved from disruption because Lincoln
and his aids were firm believers in a higher Power and a higher destiny.
Doubt, cynicism, and scepticism would have handed the country over to
universal chaos. The downfall of the Union would have meant the end of
the British Empire and to-day Kaiserism would be in supreme command of
the remnant of Anglo-Saxon civilisation.
It is the fashion to read romantic novels, but the story of the Jacquess
peace mission is more fascinating than any novel because it is fact
instead of fiction and because its basic element is the supernatural.
James Jacquess was, himself, a practical mystic of no uncertain power
but whose great gifts were overshadowed by the personality of Lincoln,
his revered chief. Before the Civil War Jacquess was a mathematician, a
Greek and Latin scholar, a college president, and one of the most
forcible Methodist preachers of the age. His field of work was the
country around Springfield, where Lincoln often heard him preach. Long
before Jacquess received the mystical command to undertake his peace
mission to the Rebel headquarters at Richmond, Lincoln knew and
respected him as a sincere and earnest patriot. Jacquess was Colonel of
an Illinois regiment during the war, and had already taken a valiant
part in some of the most terrible battles.
Colonel Jacquess was inspired to act as he did without, at first,
consulting any one. He conceived the idea of going to Richmond,
interviewing the Confederate leaders, and so gaining some definite
information that would eventually lead to peace, through victory, for
the Union. His mission was a secret, known only to a limited circle,
including the President, General Rosecrans, General Garfield (who later
became President), and James R. Gilmore, the friend of Lincoln.
Mr. Gilmore, in his "Personal Recollections of Lincoln," devotes many
pages to this peace mission, with all the details, from its inception by
Colonel Jacquess to its final wonderful results.
General Garfield, writing to Mr. Gilmore from his military headquarters
on June 17th, 1863, said:--
"Colonel Jacquess has gone on his peace mission. The President approved
it, though, of course, he did not make it an official matter. There are
some very curious facts relating to his mission which I hope to tell you
some day. It will be sufficient for me to say that enough of the
mysterious is in it to give me an almost superstitious feeling of faith,
and certainly a great interest, in his work. He is most solemnly in
earnest and has great confidence in his mission."
Colonel Jacquess succeeded in gaining a respectful hearing before the
highest authorities at Richmond without being shot as a spy--more than
one of his friends having predicted such a fate for him.
He returned to the North determined to await patiently for another
opportunity to try again. In 1864, after conferring with Mr. Gilmore and
the President, it was decided that a second mission should be set on
foot, this time in company with his friend Gilmore, whom a special
Providence had chosen to record all the incidents and events of that
unprecedented undertaking.
On this occasion Colonel Jacquess learned all that he had hoped to
learn, and more, from the lips of Jefferson Davis, President of the
Southern Confederacy; and when Jacquess and Gilmore returned Lincoln
requested Mr. Gilmore to prepare a detailed account of the astounding
revelation for the _Atlantic Monthly_.
This vivid recital of the facts was published and it created a sensation
from one end of the country to the other. It turned the tide in favour
of Lincoln's election for a second term and saved the Union. This, in
brief, was the work of Jacquess, the mystic, whose name to-day is only
known to the more serious students of Lincoln's life and work. Had the
President been less a practical mystic than he was he would have
forbidden Colonel Jacquess to undertake a journey full of risks and
peril, and one that ordinary business men would have called an insane
adventure.
_Images and Dreams_
Noah Brooks, in his Life of Lincoln, gives the following account of a
vision which the President described to him:--