BEFORE Mr. Lincoln surrenders himself completely to the public--for it
is apparent he is fast approaching the great crisis of his career--it
may not be entirely inappropriate to take a nearer and more personal
view of him. A knowledge of his personal views and actions, a glimpse
through the doorway of his home, and a more thorough acquaintance with
his marked and strong points as they developed, will aid us greatly in
forming our general estimate of the man. When Mr. Lincoln entered the
domain of investigation he was a severe and persistent thinker, and had
wonderful endurance; hence he was abstracted, and for that reason at
times was somewhat unsocial, reticent, and uncommunicative. After his
marriage it cannot be said that he liked the society of ladies; in fact,
it was just what he did not like, though one of his biographers says
otherwise. Lincoln had none of the tender ways that please a woman, and
he could not, it seemed, by any positive act of his own make her happy.
If his wife was happy, she was naturally happy, or made herself so in
spite of countless drawbacks. He was, however, a good husband in his own
peculiar way, and in his own way only.
If exhausted from severe and long-continued thought, he had to touch the
earth again to renew his strength. When this weariness set in he would
stop thought, and get down and play with a little dog or kitten to
recover; and when the recovery came he would push it aside to play
with its own tail. He treated men and women in much the same way. For
fashionable society he had a marked dislike, although he appreciated
its value in promoting the welfare of a man ambitious to succeed in
politics. If he was invited out to dine or to mingle in some social
gathering, and came in contact with the ladies, he treated them with
becoming politeness; but the consciousness of his shortcomings as a
society man rendered him unusually diffident, and at the very first
opportunity he would have the men separated from their ladies and
crowded close around him in one corner of the parlor, listening to one
of his characteristic stories. That a lady * as proud and as ambitious
to exercise the rights of supremacy in society as Mary Todd should
repent of her marriage to the man I have just described surely need
occasion no surprise in the mind of anyone. Both she and the man whose
hand she accepted acted along the lines of human conduct, and both
reaped the bitter harvest of conjugal infelicity.
* Mrs. Lincoln was decidedly pro-slavery in her views. One
day she was invited to take a ride with a neighboring
family, some of whose members still reside in Springfield.
"If ever my husband dies," she ejaculated during the ride,
"his spirit will never find me living outside the limits of
a slave State."
In dealing with Mr. Lincoln's home life perhaps I am revealing an
element of his character that has heretofore been kept from the world;
but in doing so I feel sure I am treading on no person's toes, for all
the actors in this domestic drama are dead, and the world seems ready to
hear the facts. As his married life, in the opinion of all his friends,
exerted a peculiar influence over Mr. Lincoln's political career there
can be no impropriety, I apprehend, in throwing the light on it now.
Mrs. Lincoln's disposition and nature have been dwelt upon in another
chapter, and enough has been told to show that one of her greatest
misfortunes was her inability to control her temper. Admit that, and
everything can be explained. However cold and abstracted her husband
may have appeared to others, however impressive, when aroused, may have
seemed his indignation in public, he never gave vent to his feelings at
home. He always meekly accepted as final the authority of his wife in
all matters of domestic concern.*
* One day a man making some improvements in Lincoln's yard
suggested to Mrs. Lincoln the propriety of cutting down one
of the trees, to which she willingly assented. Before doing
so, however, the man came down to our office and consulted
Lincoln himself about it. "What did Mrs. Lincoln say?"
enquired the latter. "She consented to have it taken away."
"Then, in God's name," exclaimed Lincoln, "cut it down to
the roots!"
This may explain somewhat the statement of Judge Davis that, "as a
general rule, when all the lawyers of a Saturday evening would go home
and see their families and friends, Lincoln would find some excuse
and refuse to go. We said nothing, but it seemed to us all he was not
domestically happy." He exercised no government of any kind over his
household. His children did much as they pleased. Many of their antics
he approved, and he restrained them in nothing. He never reproved them
or gave them a fatherly frown. He was the most indulgent parent I have
ever known. He was in the habit, when at home on Sunday, of bringing
his two boys, Willie and Thomas--or "Tad"--down to the office to remain
while his wife attended church. He seldom accompanied her there. The
boys were absolutely unrestrained in their amusement. If they pulled
down all the books from the shelves, bent the points of all the pens,
overturned inkstands, scattered law-papers over the floor, or threw
the pencils into the spittoon, it never disturbed the serenity of their
father's good-nature. Frequently absorbed in thought, he never observed
their mischievous but destructive pranks--as his unfortunate partner
did, who thought much, but said nothing--and, even if brought to his
attention, he virtually encouraged their repetition by declining to show
any substantial evidence of parental disapproval. After church was over
the boys and their father, climbing down the office stairs, ruefully
turned their steps homeward. They mingled with the throngs of
well-dressed people returning from church, the majority of whom might
well have wondered if the trio they passed were going to a fireside
where love and white-winged peace reigned supreme. A near relative of
Mrs. Lincoln, in explanation of the unhappy condition of things in that
lady's household, offered this suggestion: "Mrs. Lincoln came of the
best stock, and was raised like a lady. Her husband was her opposite,
in origin, in education, in breeding, in everything; and it is therefore
quite natural that she should complain if he answered the door-bell
himself instead of sending the servant to do so; neither is she to be
condemned if, as you say, she raised 'merry war' because he persisted
in using his own knife in the butter, instead of the silver-handled one
intended for that purpose." * Such want of social polish on the part of
her husband of course gave Mrs. Lincoln great offense, and therefore
in commenting on it she cared neither for time nor place. Her frequent
outbursts of temper precipitated many an embarrassment from which
Lincoln with great difficulty' extricated himself.
* A lady relative who lived for two years with the Lincolns
told me that Mr. Lincoln was in the habit of lying on the
floor with the back of a chair for a pillow when he read.
One evening, when in this position in the hall, a knock was
heard at the front door and although in his shirt-sleeves he
answered the call. Two ladies were at the door whom he
invited into the parlor, notifying them in his open familiar
way, that he would "trot the women folks out." Mrs. Lincoln
from an adjoining room witnessed the ladies' entrance and
overheard her husband's jocose expression. Her indignation
was so instantaneous she made the situation exceedingly
interesting for him, and he was glad to retreat from the
mansion. He did not return till very late at night and then
slipped quietly in at a rear door.
[Illustration: Lincoln Home in Springfield 162]
Mrs. Lincoln, on account of her peculiar nature, could not long retain
a servant in her employ. The sea was never so placid but that a breeze
would ruffle its waters. She loved show and attention, and if, when
she glorified her family descent or indulged in one of her strange
outbreaks, the servant could simulate absolute obsequiousness or had
tact enough to encourage her social pretensions, Mrs. Lincoln was for
the time her firmest friend. One servant, who adjusted herself to suit
the lady's capricious ways, lived with the family for several years. She
told me that at the time of the debate between Douglas and Lincoln she
often heard the latter's wife boast that she would yet be mistress of
the White House. The secret of her ability to endure the eccentricities
of her mistress came out in the admission that Mr. Lincoln gave her an
extra dollar each week on condition that she would brave whatever storms
might arise, and suffer whatever might befall her, without complaint. It
was a rather severe condition, but she lived rigidly up to her part of
the contract. The money was paid secretly and without the knowledge of
Mrs. Lincoln. Frequently, after tempestuous scenes between the mistress
and her servant, Lincoln at the first opportunity would place his hand
encouragingly on the latter's shoulder with the admonition, "Mary, keep
up your courage." It may not be without interest to add that the servant
afterwards married a man who enlisted in the army. In the spring of 1865
his wife managed to reach Washington to secure her husband's release
from the service. After some effort she succeeded in obtaining an
interview with the President. He was glad to see her, gave her a basket
of fruit, and directed her to call the next day and obtain a pass
through the lines and money to buy clothes for herself and children.
That night he was assassinated.
The following letter to the editor of a newspaper in Springfield will
serve as a specimen of the perplexities which frequently beset Mr.
Lincoln when his wife came in contact with others. What in this instance
she said to the paper carrier we do not know; we can only intelligently
infer. I have no personal recollection of the incident, although I knew
the man to whom it was addressed quite well. The letter only recently
came to light. I insert it without further comment.
[Private.]
"Springfield, Ill., February 20, 1857.
"John E. Rosette, Esq.
"Dear Sir:--Your note about the little paragraph in the Republican was
received yesterday, since which time I have been too unwell to notice
it. I had not supposed you wrote or approved it. The whole originated
in mistake. You know by the conversation with me that I thought the
establishment of the paper unfortunate, but I always expected to throw
no obstacle in its way, and to patronize it to the extent of taking and
paying for one copy. When the paper was brought to my house, my wife
said to me, 'Now are you going to take another worthless little paper?'
I said to her _evasively_, 'I have not directed the paper to be left.'
From this, in my absence, she sent the message to the carrier. This is
the whole story.
"Yours truly,
"A. Lincoln."
A man once called at the house to learn why Mrs. Lincoln had so
unceremoniously discharged his niece from her employ. Mrs. Lincoln
met him at the door, and being somewhat wrought up, gave vent to her
feelings, resorting to such violent gestures and emphatic language that
the man was glad to beat a hasty retreat. He at once started out to find
Lincoln, determined to exact from him proper satisfaction for his wife's
action. Lincoln was entertaining a crowd in a store at the time. The
man, still laboring under some agitation, called him to the door
and made the demand. Lincoln listened for a moment to his story. "My
friend," he interrupted, "I regret to hear this, but let me ask you in
all candor, can't you endure for a few moments what I have had as my
daily portion for the last fifteen years?" These words were spoken so
mournfully and with such a look of distress that the man was completely
disarmed. It was a case that appealed to his feelings. Grasping the
unfortunate husband's hand, he expressed in no uncertain terms his
sympathy, and even apologized for having approached him. He said no more
about the infuriated wife, and Lincoln afterward had no better friend in
Springfield.
Mr. Lincoln never had a confidant, and therefore never unbosomed himself
to others. He never spoke of his trials to me or, so far as I knew, to
any of his friends. It was a great burden to carry, but he bore it
sadly enough and without a murmur. I could always realize when he was
in distress, without being told. He was not exactly an early riser, that
is, he never usually appeared at the office till about nine o'clock
in the morning. I usually preceded him an hour. Sometimes, however, he
would come down as early as seven o'clock--in fact, on one occasion I
remember he came down before daylight. If, on arriving at the office,
I found him in, I knew instantly that a breeze had sprung up over the
domestic sea, and that the waters were troubled. He would either be
lying on the lounge looking skyward, or doubled up in a chair with his
feet resting on the sill of a back window. He would not look up on my
entering, and only answered my "Good morning" with a grunt. I at once
busied myself with pen and paper, or ran through the leaves of some
book; but the evidence of his melancholy and distress was so plain,
and his silence so significant, that I would grow restless myself, and
finding some excuse to go to the courthouse or elsewhere, would leave
the room.
The door of the office opening into a narrow hallway was half glass,
with a curtain on it working on brass rings strung on wire. As I passed
out on these occasions I would draw the curtain across the glass, and
before I reached the bottom of the stairs I could hear the key turn in
the lock, and Lincoln was alone in his gloom. An hour in the clerk's
office at the court-house, an hour longer in a neighboring store having
passed, I would return. By that time either a client had dropped in and
Lincoln was propounding the law, or else the cloud of despondency had
passed away, and he was busy in the recital of an Indiana story to
whistle off the recollections of the morning's gloom. Noon having
arrived I would depart homeward for my dinner. Returning within an hour,
I would find him still in the office,--although his house stood but
a few squares away,--lunching on a slice of cheese and a handful of
crackers which, in my absence, he had brought up from a store below.
Separating for the day at five or six o'clock in the evening, I would
still leave him behind, either sitting on a box at the foot of the
stairway, entertaining a few loungers, or killing time in the same way
on the court-house steps. A light in the office after dark attested his
presence there till late along in the night, when, after all the world
had gone to sleep, the tall form of the man destined to be the nation's
President could have been seen strolling along in the shadows of trees
and buildings, and quietly slipping in through the door of a modest
frame house, which it pleased the world, in a conventional way, to call
his home.
Some persons may insist that this picture is too highly colored. If so,
I can only answer, they do not know the facts. The majority of those who
have a personal knowledge of them are persistent in their silence. If
their lips could be opened and all could be known, my conclusions
and statements, to say the least of them, would be found to be fair,
reasonable, and true. A few words more as to Lincoln's domestic history,
and I pass to a different phase of his life. One of his warmest and
closest friends, who still survives, maintains the theory that,
after all, Lincoln's political ascendancy and final elevation to the
Presidency were due more to the influence of his wife than to any other
person or cause. "The fact," insists this friend, "that Mary Todd, by
her turbulent nature and unfortunate manner, prevented her husband
from becoming a domestic man, operated largely in his favor; for he
was thereby kept out in the world of business and politics. Instead of
spending his evenings at home, reading the papers and warming his toes
at his own fireside, he was constantly out with the common people, was
mingling with the politicians, discussing public questions with the
farmers who thronged the offices in the court-house and state house, and
exchanging views with the loungers who surrounded the stove of winter
evenings in the village store. The result of this continuous contact
with the world was, that he was more thoroughly known than any other
man in his community. His wife, therefore, was one of the unintentional
means of his promotion. If, on the other hand, he had married some
less ambitious but more domestic woman, some honest farmer's quiet
daughter,--one who would have looked up to and worshipped him because
he uplifted her,--the result might have been different. For, although
it doubtless would have been her pride to see that he had clean clothes
whenever he needed them; that his slippers were always in their place;
that he was warmly clad and had plenty to eat; and, although the
privilege of ministering to his every wish and whim might have been to
her a pleasure rather than a duty; yet I fear he would have been buried
in the pleasures of a loving home, and the country would never have had
Abraham Lincoln for its President."
In her domestic troubles I have always sympathized with Mrs. Lincoln.
The world does not know what she bore, or how ill-adapted she was to
bear it. Her fearless, witty, and austere nature shrank instinctively
from association with the calm, imperturbable, and simple ways of her
thoughtful and absent-minded husband. Besides, who knows but she may
have acted out in her conduct toward her husband the laws of human
revenge? The picture of that eventful evening in 1841, when she stood at
the Edwards mansion clad in her bridal robes, the feast prepared and
the guests gathered, and when the bridegroom came not, may have been
constantly before her, and prompted her to a course of action which kept
in the background the better elements of her nature. In marrying Lincoln
she did not look so far into the future as Mary Owens, who declined his
proposal because "he was deficient in those little links which make up
the chain of woman's happiness." *
* Mrs. Lincoln died at the residence of her sister Mrs.
Ninian W. Edwards, in Springfield, July 16, 1882. Her
physician during her last illness says this of her: "In the
late years of her life certain mental peculiarities were
developed which finally culminated in a slight apoplexy,
producing paralysis, of which she died. Among the
peculiarities alluded to, one of the most singular was the
habit she had during the last year or so of her life of
immuring herself in a perfectly dark room and, for light,
using a small candle-light, even when the sun was shining
bright out-of-doors. No urging would induce her to go out
into the fresh air. Another peculiarity was the accumulation
of large quantities of silks and dress goods in trunks and
by the cart-load, which she never used and which accumulated
until it was really feared that the floor of the store-room
would give way. She was bright and sparkling in
conversation, and her memory remained singularly good up to
the very close of her life. Her face was animated and
pleasing; and to me she was always an interesting woman; and
while the whole world was finding fault with her temper and
disposition, it was clear to me that the trouble was really
a cerebral disease."--Dr. Thomas W. Dresser, letter, January
3, 1889, MS.
By reason of his practical turn of mind Mr. Lincoln never speculated any
more in the scientific and philosophical than he did in the financial
world. He never undertook to fathom the intricacies of psychology
and metaphysics.* Investigation into first causes, abstruse mental
phenomena, the science of being, he brushed aside as trash--mere
scientific absurdities. He discovered through experience that his
mind, like the minds of other men, had its limitations, and hence he
economized his forces and his time by applying his powers in the field
of the practical. Scientifically regarded he was a realist as opposed to
an idealist, a sensationist as opposed to an intuitionist, a materialist
as opposed to a spiritualist.
* "He was contemplative rather than speculative. He wanted
something solid to rest upon, and hence his bias for
mathematics and the physical sciences. He bestowed more
attention on them than upon metaphysical speculations. I
have heard him descant upon the problem whether a ball
discharged from a gun in a horizontal position would be
longer in reaching the ground than one dropped at the
instant of discharge from the muzzle. He said it always
appeared to him that they would both reach the ground at the
same time, even before he had read the philosophical
explanation."--Joseph Gillespie, letter, December 8, 1866,
MS.
There was more or less superstition in his nature, and, although he may
not have believed implicitly in the signs of his many dreams, he was
constantly endeavoring to unravel them. His mind was readily impressed
with some of the most absurd superstitions. His visit to the Voodoo
fortune-teller in New Orleans in 1831; his faith in the virtues of the
mad-stone, when he took his son Robert to Terre Haute, Indiana, to
be cured of the bite of a rabid dog; and the strange double image of
himself which he told his secretary, John Hay, he saw reflected in a
mirror just after his election in 1860, strongly attest his inclination
to superstition. He held most firmly to the doctrine of fatalism all his
life. His wife, after his death, told me what I already knew, that "his
only philosophy was, what is to be will be, and no prayers of ours can
reverse the decree." He always contended that he was doomed to a sad
fate, and he repeatedly said to me when we were alone in our office:
"I am sure I shall meet with some terrible end." In proof of his strong
leaning towards fatalism he once quoted the case of Brutus and Caesar,
arguing that the former was forced by laws and conditions over which he
had no control to kill the latter, and, _vice versa_, that the
latter was specially created to be disposed of by the former. This
superstitious view of life ran through his being like the thin blue vein
through the whitest marble, giving the eye rest from the weariness of
continued unvarying color.*
* I have heard him frequently quote the couplet,
"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will."
For many years I subscribed for and kept on our office table the
_Westminster and Edinburgh Review_ and a number of other English
periodicals. Besides them I purchased the works of Spencer, Darwin, and
the utterances of other English scientists, all of which I devoured with
great relish. I endeavored, but had little success in inducing Lincoln
to read them. Occasionally he would snatch one up and peruse it for a
little while, but he soon threw it down with the suggestion that it was
entirely too heavy for an ordinary mind to digest.*
* In 1856 I purchased in New York a life of Edmund Burke. I
have forgotten now who the author was, but I remember I read
it through in a short time. One morning Lincoln came into
the office and, seeing the book in my hands, enquired what I
was reading. I told him, at the same time observing that it
was an excellent work and handing the book over to him.
Taking it in his hand he threw himself down on the office
sofa and hastily ran over its pages, reading a little here
and there. At last he closed and threw it on the table with
the exclamation, "No, I've read enough of it. It's like all
the others. Biographies as generally written are not only
misleading, but false. The author of this life of Burke
makes a wonderful hero out of his subject. He magnifies his
perfections--if he had any--and suppresses his
imperfections. He is so faithful in his zeal and so lavish
in praise of his every act that one is almost driven to
believe that Burke never made a mistake or a failure in his
life." He lapsed into a brown study, but presently broke out
again, "Billy, I've wondered why book-publishers and
merchants don't have blank biographies on their shelves,
always ready for an emergency; so that, if a man happens to
die, his heirs or his friends, if they wish to perpetuate
his memory, can purchase one already written, but with
blanks. These blanks they can at their pleasure fill up with
rosy sentences full of high-sounding praise. In most
instances they commemorate a lie, and cheat posterity out of
the truth. History," he concluded, "is not history unless it
is the truth." This emphatic avowal of sentiment from Mr.
Lincoln not only fixes his estimate of ordinary biography,
but is my vindication in advance if assailed for telling the
truth.
A gentleman in Springfield gave him a book called, I believe, "Vestiges
of Creation," which interested him so much that he read it through.
The volume was published in Edinburgh, and undertook to demonstrate
the doctrine of development or evolution. The treatise interested him
greatly, and he was deeply impressed with the notion of the so-called
"universal law"--evolution; he did not extend greatly his researches,
but by continued thinking in a single channel seemed to grow into a
warm advocate of the new doctrine. Beyond what I have stated he made
no further investigation into the realm of philosophy. "There are no
accidents," he said one day, "in my philosophy. Every effect must have
its cause. The past is the cause of the present, and the present will
be the cause of the future. All these are links in the endless chain
stretching from the finite to the infinite." From what has been said
it would follow logically that he did not believe, except in a very
restricted sense, in the freedom of the will. We often argued the
question, I taking the opposite view; he changed the expression, calling
it the freedom of the mind, and insisted that man always acted from
a motive. I once contended that man was free and could act without a
motive. He smiled at my philosophy, and answered that it was "impossible,
because the motive was born before the man."
The foregoing thoughts are prefatory to the much-mooted question of
Mr. Lincoln's religious belief. For what I have heretofore said on this
subject, both in public lectures and in letters which have frequently
found their way into the newspapers, I have been freely and sometimes
bitterly assailed, but I do not intend now to reopen the discussion or
to answer the many persons who have risen up and asked to measure swords
with me. I merely purpose to state the bare facts, expressing no
opinion of my own, and allowing each and every one to put his or her
construction on them.
Inasmuch as he was so often a candidate for public office Mr. Lincoln
said as little about his religious opinions as possible, especially if
he failed to coincide with the orthodox world. In illustration of his
religious code I once heard him say that it was like that of an old man
named Glenn, in Indiana, whom he heard speak at a church meeting, and
who said: "When I do good I feel good, when I do bad I feel bad, and
that's my religion." In 1834, while still living in New Salem and before
he became a lawyer, he was surrounded by a class of people exceedingly
liberal in matters of religion. Volney's "Ruins" and Paine's "Age of
Reason" passed from hand to hand, and furnished food for the evening's
discussion in the tavern and village store. Lincoln read both these
books and thus assimilated them into his own being. He prepared an
extended essay--called by many, a book--in which he made an argument
against Christianity, striving to prove that the Bible was not inspired,
and therefore not God's revelation, and that Jesus Christ was not the
son of God. The manuscript containing these audacious and comprehensive
propositions he intended to have published or given a wide circulation
in some other way. He carried it to the store, where it was read and
freely discussed. His friend and employer, Samuel Hill, was among the
listeners, and, seriously questioning the propriety of a promising
young man like Lincoln fathering such unpopular notions, he snatched the
manuscript from his hands and thrust it into the stove. The book went up
in flames, and Lincoln's political future was secure. But his infidelity
and his sceptical views were not diminished. He soon removed to
Springfield, where he attracted considerable notice by his rank
doctrine. Much of what he then said may properly be credited to the
impetuosity and exuberance of youth. One of his closest friends, whose
name is withheld, narrating scenes and reviewing discussions that in
1838 took place in the office of the county clerk, says: "Sometimes
Lincoln bordered on atheism. He went far that way, and shocked me. I was
then a young man, and believed what my good mother told me.... He would
come into the clerk's office where I and some young men were writing and
staying, and would bring the Bible with him; would read a chapter and
argue against it.... Lincoln was enthusiastic in his infidelity. As
he grew older he grew more discreet; didn't talk much before strangers
about his religion; but to friends, close and bosom ones, he was always
open and avowed, fair and honest; to strangers, he held them off from
policy." John T. Stuart, who was Lincoln's first partner, substantially
endorses the above. "He was an avowed and open infidel," declares
Stuart, "and sometimes bordered on atheism;.... went further against
Christian beliefs and doctrines and principles than any man I ever
heard; he shocked me. I don't remember the exact line of his argument;
suppose it was against the inherent defects, so-called, of the Bible,
and on grounds of reason. Lincoln always denied that Jesus was the
Christ of God--denied that Jesus was the son of God as understood and
maintained by the Christian Church." David Davis tells us this: "The
idea that Lincoln talked to a stranger about his religion or religious
views, or made such speeches and remarks about it as are published,
is to me absurd. I knew the man so well; he was the most reticent,
secretive man I ever saw or expect to see. He had no faith, in the
Christian sense of the term--had faith in laws, principles, causes and
effects." Another man * testifies as follows: "Mr. Lincoln told me
that he was a kind of immortalist; that he never could bring himself to
believe in eternal punishment; that man lived but a little while here;
and that if eternal punishment were man's doom, he should spend that
little life in vigilant and ceaseless preparation by never-ending
prayer." Another intimate friend** furnishes this: "In my intercourse
with Mr. Lincoln I learned that he believed in a Creator of all things,
who had neither beginning nor end, possessing all power and wisdom,
established a principle in obedience to which worlds move and are
upheld, and animal and vegetable life come into existence. A reason he
gave for his belief was that in view of the order and harmony of all
nature which we behold, it would have been more miraculous to have come
about by chance than to have been created and arranged by some great
thinking power."
* William H. Hannah.
** I. W. Keys.
As to the Christian theory that Christ is God or equal to the Creator,
he said that it had better be taken for granted; for by the test
of reason we might become infidels on that subject, for evidence of
Christ's divinity came to us in a somewhat doubtful shape; but that the
system of Christianity was an ingenious one at least, and perhaps was
calculated to do good." Jesse W. Fell, to whom Lincoln first confided
the details of his biography, furnishes a more elaborate account of
the latter's religious views than anyone else. In a statement made
September 22, 1870, Fell says: "If there were any traits of character
that stood out in bold relief in the person of Mr. Lincoln they were
those of truth and candor. He was utterly incapable of insincerity or
professing views on this or any other subject he did not entertain.
Knowing such to be his true character, that insincerity, much more
duplicity, were traits wholly foreign to his nature, many of his
old friends were not a little surprised at finding in some of the
biographies of this great man statements concerning his religious
opinions so utterly at variance with his known sentiments. True, he may
have changed or modified these sentiments* after his removal from among
us, though this is hardly reconcilable with the history of the man, and
his entire devotion to public matters during his four years' residence
at the national capital.
* "Executive Mansion, Washington, May 27, 1865.
"Friend Herndon: "Mr. Lincoln did not to my knowledge in any
way change his religious ideas, opinions, or beliefs from
the time he left Springfield to the day of his death. I do
not know just what they were, never having heard him explain
them in detail; but I am very sure he gave no outward
indication of his mind having undergone any change in that
regard while here. \
"Yours truly,
"Jno. G. Nicolay."
It is possible, however, that this may be the proper solution of this
conflict of opinions; or it may be that, with no intention on the part
of any one to mislead the public mind, those who have represented him
as believing in the popular theological views of the times may have
misapprehended him, as experience shows to be quite common where no
special effort has been made to attain critical accuracy on a subject
of this nature. This is the more probable from the well-known fact, that
Mr. Lincoln seldom communicated to any one his views on this subject;
but be this as it may, I have no hesitation whatever in saying that
whilst he held many opinions in common with the great mass of Christian
believers, he did not believe in what are regarded as the orthodox or
evangelical views of Christianity.
"On the innate depravity of man, the character and office of the great
Head of the Church, the atonement, the infallibility of the written
revelation, the performance of miracles, the nature and design of
present and future rewards and punishments (as they are popularly
called), and many other subjects he held opinions utterly at variance
with what are usually taught in the Church. I should say that his
expressed views on these and kindred topics were such as, in the
estimation of most believers, would place him outside the Christian
pale. Yet, to my mind, such was not the true position, since his
principles and practices and the spirit of his whole life were of the
very kind we universally agree to call Christian; and I think this
conclusion is in no wise affected by the circumstance that he never
attached himself to any religious society whatever.
"His religious views were eminently practical, and are summed up, as
I think, in these two propositions: the Fatherhood of God, and the
brotherhood of man. He fully believed in a superintending and overruling
Providence that guides and controls the operations of the world, but
maintained that law and order, and not their violation or suspension,
are the appointed means by which this Providence is exercised.*
* "A convention of preachers held, I think, at Philadelphia,
passed a resolution asking him to recommend to Congress an
amendment to the Constitution directly recognizing the
existence of God. The first draft of his message prepared
after this resolution was sent him did contain a paragraph
calling the attention of Congress to the subject. When I
assisted him in reading the proof he struck it out,
remarking that he had not made up his mind as to its
propriety."--MS. letter, John D. Defrees, December 4, 1866.
"I will not attempt any specification of either his belief or disbelief
on various religious topics, as derived from conversations with him at
different times during a considerable period; but as conveying a general
view of his religious or theological opinions, will state the following
facts. Some eight or ten years prior to his death, in conversing with
him upon this subject, the writer took occasion to refer, in terms
of approbation, to the sermons and writings generally of Dr. W. E.
Channing; and, finding he was considerably interested in the statement
I made of the opinions held by that author, I proposed to present him
(Lincoln) a copy of Channing's entire works, which I soon after did.
Subsequently the contents of these volumes, together with the writings
of Theodore Parker, furnished him, as he informed me, by his friend
and law partner, William H. Herndon, became naturally the topics of
conversation with us; and, though far from believing there was an entire
harmony of views on his part with either of those authors, yet they were
generally much admired and approved by him.
"No religious views with him seemed to find any favor except of the
practical and rationalistic order; and if, from my recollections on
this subject, I was called upon to designate an author whose views
most nearly represented Mr. Lincoln's on this subject, I would say that
author was Theodore Parker." The last witness to testify before this
case is submitted to the reader is no less a person than Mrs. Lincoln
herself. In a statement made at a time and under circumstances detailed
in a subsequent chapter she said this: "Mr. Lincoln had no faith and no
hope in the usual acceptation of those words. He never joined a Church;
but still, as I believe, he was a religious man by nature. He first
seemed to think about the subject when our boy Willie died, and then
more than ever about the time he went to Gettysburg; but it was a kind
of poetry in his nature, and he was never a technical Christian."
No man had a stronger or firmer faith in Providence--God--than Mr.
Lincoln, but the continued use by him late in life of the word God must
not be interpreted to mean that he believed in a personal God. In 1854
he asked me to erase the word God from a speech which I had written and
read to him for criticism because my language indicated a personal God,
whereas he insisted no such personality ever existed.
My own testimony, however, in regard to Mr. Lincoln's religious views
may perhaps invite discussion. The world has always insisted on making
an orthodox Christian of him, and to analyze his sayings or sound his
beliefs is but to break the idol. It only remains to say that, whether
orthodox or not, he believed in God and immortality; and even if he
questioned the existence of future eternal punishment he hoped to find
a rest from trouble and a heaven beyond the grave. If at any time in his
life he was sceptical of the divine origin of the Bible he ought not for
that reason to be condemned; for he accepted the practical precepts of
that great book as binding alike upon his head and his conscience. The
benevolence of his impulses, the seriousness of his convictions, and the
nobility of his character are evidences unimpeachable that his soul
was ever filled with the exalted purity and sublime faith of natural
religion.