Much has been said and written, since Mr. Lincoln’s death, in regard
to his religious experience and character. Two or three stories have
been published, bearing upon this point, which I have never been able
to trace to a reliable source; and I feel impelled to state my belief
that the facts in the case--if there were such--have received in some
way an unwarranted embellishment. Of all men in the world, the late
President was the most unaffected and truthful. He rarely or never
used language loosely or carelessly, or for the sake of compliment.
He was the most indifferent to the effect he was producing, either
upon official representatives or the common people, of any man ever in
public position.
In the ordinary acceptation of the term, I would scarcely have called
Mr. Lincoln a _religious_ man,--and yet I believe him to have been a
sincere _Christian_. A constitutional tendency to dwell upon sacred
things, an emotional nature which finds ready expression in religious
conversation and revival meetings, the culture and development of the
devotional element till the expression of such thought and experience
becomes habitual, were not among his characteristics. Doubtless he
felt as deeply upon the great questions of the soul and eternity as
any other thoughtful man; but the very tenderness and humility of his
nature would not permit the exposure of his inmost convictions, except
upon the rarest occasions, and to his most intimate friends. And yet,
aside from emotional expression, I believe no man had a more abiding
sense of his dependence upon God, or faith in the Divine government,
and in the power and ultimate triumph of Truth and Right in the world.
The Rev. J. P. Thompson, of New York, in an admirable discourse upon
the life and character of the departed President, very justly observed:
“It is not necessary to appeal to apocryphal stories--which illustrate
as much the assurance of his visitors as the simplicity of his
faith--for proof of Mr. Lincoln’s Christian character.” If his daily
life and various public addresses and writings do not show this, surely
nothing can demonstrate it.
Fortunately there is sufficient material before the public, upon which
to form a judgment in this respect, without resorting to apocryphal
resources.
The Rev. Mr. Willets, of Brooklyn, gave me an account of a conversation
with Mr. Lincoln, on the part of a lady of his acquaintance, connected
with the “Christian Commission,” who in the prosecution of her duties
had several interviews with him. The President, it seemed, had been
much impressed with the devotion and earnestness of purpose manifested
by the lady, and on one occasion, after she had discharged the object
of her visit, he said to her: “Mrs. ----, I have formed a high opinion
of your Christian character, and now, as we are alone, I have a mind
to ask you to give me, in brief, your idea of what constitutes a
true religious experience.” The lady replied at some length, stating
that, in her judgment, it consisted of a conviction of one’s own
sinfulness and weakness, and personal need of the Saviour for strength
and support; that views of mere doctrine might and would differ, but
when one was really brought to feel his need of Divine help, and to
seek the aid of the Holy Spirit for strength and guidance, it was
satisfactory evidence of his having been born again. This was the
substance of her reply. When she had concluded, Mr. Lincoln was very
thoughtful for a few moments. He at length said, very earnestly, “If
what you have told me is really a correct view of this great subject,
I think I can say with sincerity, that I hope I am a Christian. I had
lived,” he continued, “until my boy Willie died, without realizing
fully these things. That blow overwhelmed me. It showed me my weakness
as I had never felt it before, and if I can take what you have stated
as a _test_, I think I can safely say that I know something of that
_change_ of which you speak; and I will further add, that it has been
my intention for some time, at a suitable opportunity, to make a public
religious profession.”
Mr. Noah Brooks, in some “reminiscences,” already quoted from in these
pages, gives the following upon this subject:--
“Just after the last Presidential election he said, ‘Being only mortal,
after all, I should have been a little mortified if I had been beaten
in this canvass; but that sting would have been more than compensated
by the thought that the people had notified me that all my official
responsibilities were soon to be lifted off my back.’ In reply to the
remark that he might remember that in all these cares he was daily
remembered by those who prayed, not to be heard of men, as no man had
ever before been remembered, he caught at the homely phrase, and said,
‘Yes, I like that phrase, “not to be heard of men,” and guess it is
generally true, as you say; at least, I have been told so, and I have
been a good deal helped by just that thought.’ Then he solemnly and
slowly added: ‘I should be the most presumptuous blockhead upon this
footstool, if I for one day thought that I could discharge the duties
which have come upon me since I came into this place, without the aid
and enlightenment of One who is stronger and wiser than all others.’”
“At another time he said cheerfully, ‘I am very sure that if I do
not go away from here a wiser man, I shall go away a better man, for
having learned here what a very poor sort of a man I am.’ Afterwards,
referring to what he called a change of heart, he said he did not
remember any precise time when he passed through any special change
of purpose, or of heart; but he would say, that his own election to
office, and the crisis immediately following, influentially determined
him in what he called ‘a process of crystallization,’ then going on in
his mind. Reticent as he was, and shy of discoursing much of his own
mental exercises, these few utterances now have a value with those who
knew him, which his dying words would scarcely have possessed.”
“On Thursday of a certain week, two ladies, from Tennessee, came before
the President, asking the release of their husbands, held as prisoners
of war at Johnson’s Island. They were put off until Friday, when they
came again, and were again put off until Saturday. At each of the
interviews one of the ladies urged that her husband was a religious
man. On Saturday, when the President ordered the release of the
prisoner, he said to this lady,--‘You say your husband is a religious
man; tell him, when you meet him, that I say I am not much of a judge
of religion, but that in my opinion the religion which sets men to
rebel and fight against their government, because, as they think, that
government does not sufficiently help _some_ men to eat their bread
in the sweat of _other_ men’s faces, is not the sort of religion upon
which people can get to heaven.’”
“On an occasion I shall never forget,” says the Hon. H. C. Deming, of
Connecticut, “the conversation turned upon religious subjects, and Mr.
Lincoln made this impressive remark: ‘I have never united myself to any
church, because I have found difficulty in giving my assent, without
mental reservation, to the long, complicated statements of Christian
doctrine which characterize their Articles of Belief and Confessions
of Faith. When any church will inscribe over its altar, as its sole
qualification for membership,’ he continued, ‘the Saviour’s condensed
statement of the substance of both Law and Gospel, “Thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all
thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself,” that church will I join with
all my heart and all my soul.’”
At a dinner-party in Washington, composed mainly of opponents of the
war and the administration, Mr. Lincoln’s course and policy was, as
usual with this class, the subject of vehement denunciation. This had
gone on for some time, when one of the company, who had taken no part
in the discussion, asked the privilege of saying a few words.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “you may talk as you please about Mr. Lincoln’s
capacity; I don’t believe him to be the ablest statesman in America, by
any means, and I voted against him on both occasions of his candidacy.
But I happened to see, or, rather, to hear something, the other day,
that convinced me that, however deficient he may be in the head, he
is all right in the heart. I was up at the White House, having called
to see the President on business. I was shown into the office of his
private secretary, and told that Mr. Lincoln was busy just then, but
would be disengaged in a short time. While waiting, I heard a very
earnest prayer being uttered in a loud female voice in the adjoining
room. I inquired what it meant, and was told that an old Quaker lady,
a friend of the President’s, had called that afternoon and taken tea
at the White House, and that she was then praying with Mr. Lincoln.
After the lapse of a few minutes the prayer ceased, and the President,
accompanied by a Quakeress not less than eighty years old, entered the
room where I was sitting. I made up my mind then, gentlemen, that Mr.
Lincoln was not a bad man; and I don’t think it will be easy to efface
the impression that the scene I witnessed and the voice I heard made on
my mind!”
Nothing has been given to the public since Mr. Lincoln’s death, more
interesting and valuable than the following, from the pen of Dr.
Holland:--[8]
“At the time of the nominations at Chicago, Mr. Newton Bateman,
Superintendent of Public Instruction for the State of Illinois,
occupied a room adjoining and opening into the Executive Chamber
at Springfield. Frequently this door was open during Mr. Lincoln’s
receptions, and throughout the seven months or more of his occupation,
he saw him nearly every day. Often when Mr. Lincoln was tired, he
closed the door against all intruders, and called Mr. Bateman into his
room for a quiet talk. On one of these occasions Mr. Lincoln took up a
book containing a careful canvass of the city of Springfield in which
he lived, showing the candidate for whom each citizen had declared
it his intention to vote in the approaching election. Mr. Lincoln’s
friends had, doubtless at his own request, placed the result of the
canvass in his hands. This was towards the close of October, and only
a few days before election. Calling Mr. Bateman to a seat by his side,
having previously locked all the doors, he said: ‘Let us look over this
book; I wish particularly to see how the ministers of Springfield are
going to vote.’ The leaves were turned, one by one, and as the names
were examined Mr. Lincoln frequently asked if this one and that were
not a minister, or an elder, or a member of such or such church, and
sadly expressed his surprise on receiving an affirmative answer. In
that manner they went through the book, and then he closed it and sat
silently for some minutes, regarding a memorandum in pencil which
lay before him. At length he turned to Mr. Bateman, with a face full
of sadness, and said: ‘Here are twenty-three ministers, of different
denominations, and all of them are against me but three; and here are a
great many prominent members of the churches, a very large majority are
against me. Mr. Bateman, I am not a Christian,--God knows I would be
one,--but I have carefully read the Bible, and I do not so understand
this book;’ and he drew forth a pocket New Testament. ‘These men well
know,’ he continued, ‘that I am for freedom in the Territories, freedom
everywhere as free as the Constitution and the laws will permit, and
that my opponents are for slavery. They _know_ this, and yet, with this
book in their hands, in the light of which human bondage cannot live a
moment, they are going to vote against me; I do not understand it at
all.’
“Here Mr. Lincoln paused,--paused for long minutes,--his features
surcharged with emotion. Then he rose and walked up and down the
reception-room in the effort to retain or regain his self-possession.
Stopping at last, he said, with a trembling voice and his cheeks wet
with tears: ‘I know there is a God, and that He hates injustice and
slavery. I see the storm coming, and I know that his hand is in it.
If He has a place and work for me--and I think He has--I believe I
am ready. I am nothing, but Truth is everything. I know I am right,
because I know that liberty is right, for Christ teaches it, and
Christ is God. I have told them that a house divided against itself
cannot stand; and Christ and Reason say the same; and they will find it
so.’
“‘Douglas don’t care whether slavery is voted up or down, but God
cares, and humanity cares, and I care; and with God’s help I shall
not fail. I may not see the end; but it will come, and I shall be
vindicated; and these men will find that they have not read their
Bibles right.’
“Much of this was uttered as if he was speaking to himself, and with a
sad, earnest solemnity of manner impossible to be described. After a
pause, he resumed: ‘Doesn’t it appear strange that men can ignore the
moral aspect of this contest? A revelation could not make it plainer
to me that slavery or the Government must be destroyed. The future
would be something awful, as I look at it, but for this rock on which
I stand,’ (alluding to the Testament which he still held in his hand,)
‘especially with the knowledge of how these ministers are going to
vote. It seems as if God had borne with this thing [slavery] until the
very teachers of religion had come to defend it from the Bible, and
to claim for it a divine character and sanction; and now the cup of
iniquity is full, and the vials of wrath will be poured out.’ After
this the conversation was continued for a long time. Everything he
said was of a peculiarly deep, tender, and religious tone, and all
was tinged with a touching melancholy. He repeatedly referred to his
conviction that the day of wrath was at hand, and that he was to be an
actor in the terrible struggle which would issue in the overthrow of
slavery, though he might not live to see the end.
“After further reference to a belief in Divine Providence, and the
fact of God in history, the conversation turned upon prayer. He freely
stated his belief in the duty, privilege, and efficacy of prayer, and
intimated, in no unmistakable terms, that he had sought in that way the
Divine guidance and favor. The effect of this conversation upon the
mind of Mr. Bateman, a Christian gentleman whom Mr. Lincoln profoundly
respected, was to convince him that Mr. Lincoln had, in his quiet way,
found a path to the Christian stand-point--that he had found God,
and rested on the eternal truth of God. As the two men were about to
separate, Mr. Bateman remarked: ‘I have not supposed that you were
accustomed to think so much upon this class of subjects; certainly your
friends generally are ignorant of the sentiments you have expressed to
me.’ He replied quickly: ‘I know they are, but I think more on these
subjects than upon all others, and I have done so for years; and I am
willing you should know it.’”
Schuyler Colfax once said to me that “Mr. Lincoln had two ruling
ideas, or principles, which governed his life. The first was hatred
of slavery, which he inherited in part from his parents; the other
was sympathy with the lowly born and humble, and the desire to lift
them up.” I know of no better epitaph for his tombstone than this,
save that suggested by Theodore Tilton, the editor of the New York
“Independent,”--“He bound the nation, and unbound the slave.”