WHY DID LINCOLN NEVER JOIN THE CHURCH?

Mr. Thomas Lewis, attorney in Springfield with an office on the same floor and an elder in the First Presbyterian Church, informs us that there was some real expectation that Lincoln would have united with that church in Springfield after his views had been modified through the influence of Dr. Smith. He says that Lincoln attended with considerable regularity a series of revival meetings in progress in the church, but was out of town when application was made for church membership and the officers of the church were disappointed that he did not then unite.

Rev. Dr. Phineas D. Gurley, of Washington, tells of conversations with Lincoln concerning religion and of some expressed desires on the part of Lincoln for church fellowship. His feeling of support in prayer was manifest in his coming to the mid-week prayer service, where, however, as Dr. Gurley affirms, he commonly sat in the pastor's room with an open door, hearing the prayers that were offered but preferring not to attract attention by his visible presence.

The best statement, and one that has been accepted as truly representative of Lincoln's feeling with regard to church membership, is one that comes to us on thoroughly good authority and from the period immediately following Lincoln's death.

Hon. Henry C. Deming, member of Congress from Connecticut, in a memorial address given before the Legislature of Connecticut, June 8, 1865, related that he had asked Mr. Lincoln why he never united with a church, and Mr. Lincoln answered:

"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 altars, as its sole qualification for membership, 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" (p. 42).

To his Washington pastor, Rev. Phineas D. Gurley, he said that he could not accept, perhaps, all the doctrines of his Confession of Faith, "but," said he, "if all that I am asked to respond to is what our Lord said were the two great commandments, to love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and mind and soul and strength, and my neighbor as myself, why, I aim to do that."

Mr. Henry B. Rankin, who wrote his Reminiscences in 1916, states that he was a boy in Lincoln's office and his parents knew Lincoln intimately during his years of struggle in New Salem. Mr. Rankin's recollection of a conversation which Lincoln had with Mr. Rankin's mother indicates that Lincoln had some such feeling as far back as his New Salem days. The Rankin family were warm friends of Peter Cartwright, whom they called Uncle Peter, and also of Mr. Lincoln. Mrs. Rankin asked him concerning the rumor that he was an infidel, and Lincoln denied it; but being pressed to explain why he did not then confess his Christian faith, he gave to her much the answer which in later years he gave to Mr. Deming and to Dr. Gurley (Reminiscences of Lincoln, pp. 324-26).

I think, then, we are compelled to accept this threefold testimony as establishing beyond any reasonable doubt the answer that Lincoln himself gave to the question, why he did not unite with the Church. It is a great pity that he was not brought into contact with some form of organized Christianity, orthodox and constructive in its essential teachings, but with conditions of church membership as broad as those of entrance into the kingdom of heaven. Churches have learned a little better than they understood in 1846 that a church creed should be a testimony and not a test; that it is entirely consistent with the organization and ideal of a thoroughly orthodox church to receive into its membership any and every person who loves God and his fellow-man even though he doubts thirty-eight of the thirty-nine articles of the creed and is more or less uncertain about the other one.

But we cannot consider the question of Lincoln's possible church membership and his failure to acquire it without asking whether the fault was wholly that of the churches. Other men beside Abraham Lincoln were more liberal than the churches, including old Mentor Graham, but were able to find a home there; though Graham was ultimately turned out of the so-called "hardshell" church for his warm advocacy of the principles of temperance. Some share of the responsibility for his failure to unite with the Church must belong to Lincoln himself.

It is a hazardous thing to suggest any element short of perfection in the life or thought of any popular hero. Nevertheless let us remind ourselves that Lincoln had the defects of his qualities.

Lincoln lacked some of the finer feelings. He combined a deep personal sympathy for anything which he could visualize with a rather strange mental obtuseness toward things remote or abstract. Darwin, who was born in the same year, had an early love of poetry and music. How these tastes became atrophied in his concentration of thought upon matters relating to the natural sciences was confessed and mourned by him, and has often been commented upon by others. The time came to him when music and poetry gave him physical nausea. Lincoln never had an appreciation or love of anything very fine either in poetry or music. At a time when he was being considered for President he could sit in a stage coach playing "Yankee Doodle" on the mouth-organ[55] and playing it badly, but he had no fine musical or poetic taste.

Not long before his assassination his sister-in-law, Mrs. Edwards, visited at the White House, and he accompanied her one evening to the conservatory. She greatly admired the rare exotics which she there beheld for the first time, and Lincoln vainly strove to share her enthusiasm but confessed to her that something had been left out of his nature. Such things seemed to make no appeal to him.

Of Lincoln's lack in matters involving the finer feelings we have abundant testimony not only in the pages of Lamon and Herndon, but in other intimate sketches of his life in Illinois, as, for example, in Whitney's With Lincoln on the Circuit,[56] and especially in his article in the Arena in April, 1898. There were aspects of religion which did not make as strong an appeal to Abraham Lincoln as they would have made but for this blind spot in his nature.

It is not the purpose of this book to go in any detail into Mr. Lincoln's love affairs; but if any further illustration were desired of this point of which we are speaking, it could be found very painfully in his relations with Miss Owens, and his letter to Mrs. Browning.

Reference has been made to a certain lack of good taste which Lincoln sometimes manifested, and of which the reminiscences of Lamon, Herndon, Whitney, and others of his associates have given us sufficient example. But it was not always so with Lincoln. There was in him an innate courtesy, an intuitive sympathy, an ability to adapt himself to another's point of view, which gave him the essential quality of a gentleman. Fred Douglass said of him that Mr. Lincoln was the only white man with whom he ever talked for an hour who did not in some way remind him that he was a negro. That same fine feeling showed itself in many ways.

It should be remembered, too, when his uncouthness of apparel is recalled, that while he was always a careless man in his dress, the period in which he lived was one in which people of the regions where he formed his lifelong habits were not given to fastidious dress. He dressed much as other men dressed. The shawl which he wore was such a shawl as the author's father wore; such as many men wore. It was a mark of good breeding rather than the reverse, and some men wore the shawl very effectively for purposes of display. The author himself has often carried with him in long rides in the southern mountains what was called a "saddle-shawl" not unlike that of Lincoln; and he now owns such a shawl, bequeathed to him by one of Lincoln's contemporaries, and of the same color and approximately the same size that Lincoln used.

Mrs. Jane Martin Johns of Decatur, died recently at the age of ninety-two. Her mind was clear and her memory precise. She has left this, among other memories of Lincoln, as a reminder that he was a gentleman, and that at times he showed the finest discrimination and good taste:

"When I first knew Mr. Lincoln, he was forty years old; had been a member of the state legislature and of congress; had traveled the circuit with men of culture and refinement; had met great statesmen and elegant gentlemen; and the ungainliness of the pioneer, if he ever had it, had worn off and his manner was that of a gentleman of the old school, unaffected, unostentatious, who arose at once when a lady entered the room, and whose courtly manners would put to shame the easy-going indifference to etiquette which marks the twentieth century gentleman.

"His dress, like his manner, was suited to the occasion, but was evidently a subject to which he gave little thought. It was certainly unmarked by any notable peculiarity. It was the fashion of the day for men to wear large shawls and Mr. Lincoln's shawl, very large, very soft, and very fine, is the only article of his dress that has left the faintest impression on my memory. He wore it folded lengthwise (three and one-half yards long) in scarf fashion over his shoulders, caught together under the chin with an immense safety-pin. One end of the shawl was thrown across his breast and over the shoulder, as he walked up the steps of the Macon House one day in December, 1849.

"Court was in session in Decatur, Judge David Davis presiding. The hotel, where I was living temporarily, was kept by David Krone and his good lady, whose popularity extended over the fourteen counties of the Eighth Judicial District.

"Court week was always anticipated with great interest by the people of the county seat. It was customary for the entire bar of the district to follow the court from county to county, every man either seeking new business, or as counsel in cases already on the docket. The date of their arrival at any particular county seat could not be definitely fixed, as the judge held court at his pleasure, usually trying to finish all the business ahead before he migrated to the next station.

"He was followed by a curious crowd. Lawyers, clients, witnesses, itinerant peddlers, showmen, and gamblers filled the towns to overflowing. It was no unusual thing for men who had no business in the court, to follow from town to town merely seeking entertainment. Social events of any moment were wont to be arranged for court week, as the harvest time when strangers could be taken in. Taverns were crowded and the hospitality of the people was taxed to the utmost limit.

"To the men of the town, who always crowded the court house, the examination of witnesses and the speeches of the lawyers furnished an intellectual treat, for there were giants at that bar. There was David Davis, the companionable judge, who knew the law and who loved a laugh. And there were Stephen Logan the scholarly, and Stuart the shrewd and kindly, Swett the clever, and Browning the handsome, and Lamon the amusing, and Weldon and Gridley and Parks and Harmon and Ficklin and Linder and Whitney and Oliver L. Davis, and the best beloved Abraham Lincoln. Some of them traveled to only two or three counties, but Judge Davis, Mr. Lincoln and Leonard Swett went the whole circuit; Davis because he had to, Lincoln because he loved it, and Swett because he loved their company.

"The Macon House was an oasis in the wilderness of miserable inns at which they were usually compelled to 'put in.' In Decatur they found clean beds, good bread and an abundance of the good things of the season, administered by a genial landlady who greeted them all as friends.

"It was in court week that my piano, after a long journey by steamer down the Ohio and up the Wabash to Crawfordsville, Ind., and thence by wagon, arrived in Decatur. The wagon was backed up to the steps at the front door of the Macon House and the question of how to unload it and get it into the house was a puzzling one. Not a man except the landlord was to be found, but he soon solved the problem. "Court will soon adjourn and there will be plenty of men," and almost as he spoke the crowd began to appear. They gathered curiously around the wagon that blocked the entrance. Landlord Krone explained:

"'There is a piano in that box that this woman here wants someone to help unload. Who will lend a hand?'

"A tall gentleman stepped forward and, throwing off a big gray Scotch shawl, exclaimed, 'Come on, Swett, you are the next biggest man.'

"That was my first meeting with Abraham Lincoln.

"After a few moments' consultation with the driver of the wagon, Mr. Lincoln went into the basement where Mr. Krone had a carpenter shop, and returned with two heavy timbers across his shoulders. With them he established communication between the wagon and the front door steps. The piano was unloaded with the assistance of Mr. Linder and Mr. Swett, amid jokes and jeers galore, most of the jeers coming from little Judge Logan.

"Before the legs had been screwed into place, dinner was announced, and the men hurried to the back porch where two tin wash basins, a long roller towel and a coarse comb, fastened to the wall by a long string, afforded toilet accommodations for all guests. When dinner was served, 'Mother Krone' placed a roast of beef in front of Dr. Trowbridge to be carved and exclaimed, 'Men, if you can't get your teeth through this beef you will have to fall back on the sausage. I agreed to try roasting it without parboiling it, and I am afraid it will be tougher than it was yesterday, and that was bad enough.'

"The beef, however, proved to be tender and juicy and was highly praised by the guests. I recall this incident because Mr. Lincoln once reminded me of it, saying that 'that was the time he learned that roast beef ought not to be boiled.'

"After dinner, Mr. Lincoln superintended the setting up of the piano, even to seeing that it stood squarely in the center of the wall space allotted it, and then received my thanks with a polite bow and asked: 'Are you expecting to follow the court and give concerts?' The immense relief expressed on his countenance, when he was assured that he would not be called upon to repeat the performance was very laughable.

"'Then may we have one tune before we go?' he asked, and I played 'Rosin the Bow,' with variations.

"Someone shouted, 'Come on, boys, the judge will be waiting,' and after I had assured them that if they desired it, I would give my 'first and only concert on this circuit' when they returned to the hotel in the evening, the crowd dispersed.

"Here I wish to note that in the crowd that had assembled to watch the unloading of the piano, the members of the bar, Mr. Lincoln's friends and equals, always addressed him as 'Mr. Lincoln,' while to the rabble and hangers-on he was often 'Abe.'

"The piano was a 'Gilbert,' made in Boston, and its fame extended far and wide. It was visited by people from all over the state, stage coach passengers frequently 'holding the stage' while they went down to the other tavern (the Harrell House was the stage office) to see and hear the novel instrument.

"That evening a notable crowd assembled in the parlor of the Macon House. Judge Davis, who did not put up with Landlord Krone but was the guest of Mrs. A. A. Powers, came in after supper; and practically all of the bar of the Eighth Judicial District was present at what I suppose we would now call a recital. I found that Mr. Charles Brown, a wealthy landowner and stock dealer of McLean County, not only sang but played a little and I called on him for assistance.

"The program, as I remember it, will illustrate the style of music in vogue at that period.

"For show pieces, I played the 'Battle of Prague' and the 'Carnival of Venice,' then followed with 'Washington's March,' 'Come Haste to the Wedding,' and 'Woodup Quick Step' to convince the audience that I did know a tune or two. For tragedy, I sang Henry Russel's 'Maniac' and 'The Ship on Fire,' and then made their blood run cold with the wild wail of the 'Irish Mother's Lament.' For comic, we sang 'The Widdy McGee' and 'I Won't Be a Nun,' topping off with 'Old Dan Tucker,' 'Lucy Long,' and 'Jim Crow,' the crowd joining in the chorus. These were followed by more serious music. Mr. Brown and Mr. Swett joined me in the duet 'Moonlight, Music, Love, and Flowers,' 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep,' 'Pilgrim Fathers,' 'Bonaparte's Grave,' and 'Kathleen Mavourneen.' Each and all met with applause.

"As a finale, I sang 'He Doeth All Things Well,' after which Mr. Lincoln, in a very grave manner, thanked me for the evening's entertainment, and said: 'Don't let us spoil that song by any other music tonight.' Many times afterwards I sang that song for Mr. Lincoln and for Governor Oglesby, with whom it was also a favorite."

Another limitation must be found in Lincoln's morbid cautiousness. Herndon tells us that his very walk gave the impression of craftiness; that it was not the product of deceit, but only of a caution so excessive that it became something more than second nature. He was secretive to a marked degree. When he seemed to be confidential it was in minor matters, or matters on which he had already made up his mind and intended soon to make a public statement. Whatever may be the true story of his engagement to Mary Todd and of those stormy and obscure months between "that fatal first of January, 1840," and the date of their wedding, November 4, 1842, Lincoln's letters to Speed show an excess of caution that was positively abnormal. That it was a mark of insanity has been vigorously denied and with much apparent reason; but if it was not the mark of acute mental aberration, it was the manifestation of a permanent mental trait. Such a nature, which debated like Hamlet the question of suicide and actually printed a brief article which was later cut from the files of the Springfield paper—probably by Lincoln himself—which lingered shivering on the brink of matrimony like the "timorous mortal" of whom Lincoln was taught to sing, must have hesitated long before coming to such a confident poise between alternating faith and doubt as that he could have stood before the altar of a Presbyterian church in Springfield or in Washington and taken upon him the vows of church membership.

Different writers have attempted to account for Lincoln's failure to affiliate with the church wholly on the basis of his being greater than the churches. I quote from one of these characteristic addresses, and one that is in many respects excellent:

"Perhaps his religious nature was so broad that it could not be compassed within the limits of any particular creed or system of doctrines. Perhaps he saw the soul of truth so clearly that he could not accept any one of them as a complete and final revelation of truth. Perhaps he so clearly realized that all religious creeds and systems have their roots in human nature that he could look upon the Christian system as the only deposit of truth committed to the children of men. Perhaps his conception of Deity was so vast that he could not see all the Divine attributes manifest in the historic Christ. Perhaps he felt that some of the doctrines of Christianity, as they were formulated and preached in his day, would be a hindrance rather than a help to his religious faith, so clear was his vision of the things which are unseen and eternal, and so close was his relation to the Author of his being. Perhaps he felt no need of a daysman or mediator, because he himself knew the Lord face to face."—Milton R. Scott: Lincoln, Was He an Inspired Prophet?, pp. 55-57.

There is a measure of truth in this presentation of one side of the case, but it is not the whole truth. Lincoln did not possess this supposed clarity of vision of all spiritual truth. Some things he saw clearly, but his faith and vision had each of them marked and undeniable limitations.

In his widely popular and in many respects excellent oration on Lincoln, Bishop Fowler said:

"Let us analyze Mr. Lincoln if we are able. This task is difficult on account of his symmetry. He was so much like a sphere that he projected farthest in every direction. His comprehension is to us impossible on account of his immensity, for a man can be comprehended only by his peers" (p. 28).

He found the same difficulty in estimating Grant. "It is difficult to analyze General Grant, because he is so simple and complete. Like Lincoln, he is like a sphere; approached from any side he seems to project farthest toward you. Try to divide, and each section is like all the rest. Cut him through, and he is all the way through alike" (p. 127).

I do not think that this is correct concerning Grant, and it certainly is not true concerning Lincoln. He was not a sphere; he was angular or he was nothing.[57] In endeavoring to assess his religious convictions, we are liable to encounter contradictions. But there is a certain inconsistent consistency in those contradictions. There are certain kinds of contradictions which we do not encounter, and certain which, encountering, may be interpreted in the light of certain underlying agreements.

For instance, the Calvinism which he inherited and heard through his childhood and which he accepted in a kind of semi-fatalistic philosophy might seem the reverse of scientific. But the natural science which Lincoln learned from Vestiges of Creation, while it would have been repudiated by every Baptist preacher whom Lincoln ever heard in his youth, was capable of being grafted upon that very root.

I suggest one more limitation in the character of Abraham Lincoln, which had its possible relation to his hypothetical church membership. He was possessed in marked degree of the obstinacy of irresolution. That genial good-nature of his had behind it stubbornness, irony, and a sullen but mighty temper which rarely broke the bounds of self-control, but sometimes manifested itself on very slight provocation. Just when men thought they had discovered in Abraham Lincoln a nose of wax which they could shape to their own liking, they encountered in him a wholly unexpected element of passive inertia and of active obstinacy. When he did not know what to do, he would not do anything. It was this quality in him which enabled him to rule a rampant Cabinet and which justified the qualities set forth in such books as Major Putnam's Abraham Lincoln the Leader, Richard Watson Gilder's Lincoln the Leader, and Alonzo Rothschild's Lincoln, Master of Men. It was this which enabled Herndon to write of him: "I know Abraham Lincoln better than he knows himself.... You and I must keep the people right; God will keep Lincoln right."

Those do greatly err who see in Lincoln only genial good humor and teachableness; there was a point at which his good humor became withering scorn or towering passion and his gentle and tractable disposition became adamantine inertia. His successor, Andrew Johnson, quoted as characterizing himself the lines from Sir Walter Scott:

Lincoln might with much more appropriateness have quoted it of himself.

Mary Todd Lincoln united with the First Presbyterian Church of Springfield on April 13, 1852, upon profession of her faith. The church records contain no record of her dismissal, but only the word "Deceased" without a date. She remained a member until her death, though, after her return to Springfield in an unhappy state of mind, she was not a very active one. The only other Lincoln record on the books of this church is the baptism of Thomas Lincoln—"Tad," "son of Abraham and Mary"—on April 4, 1855. The records of the financial secretary, not very complete, show Abraham Lincoln to have been a pew-holder from 1852 to 1861, and he departed for Washington with his pew rent paid to the date of his departure. This is all that is to be learned from the church records in Springfield.

Mary Todd Lincoln was a member in good and regular standing of the Episcopal Church when she united with the Presbyterian, but she united on profession of her faith. She affirmed that she did not believe that she had ever previously been converted. This statement is one of several indications that she, and with her her husband, came into a new religious experience after the death of Willie in Washington, as earlier he had been profoundly impressed after the death of Eddie in Springfield.

We learn through sources outside the records, but wholly credible sources, that her uniting with the Presbyterian Church was preceded by a revival in the church, and she and her husband attended the revival meetings regularly. Not only so, but many of Lincoln's associates, including Major Stuart and other influential men of Springfield, were present almost every night and were deeply interested. The letter of Thomas Lewis, already cited, refers to the general expectation that Lincoln would have united with the church with his wife. A similar and wholly independent report comes to us[58] from Lincoln's associates outside the church. They, also, expected him to go in with his wife. But Lincoln was not fully persuaded. The logic of Dr. Smith demolished all the arguments of the infidels and did it over again:

But doubts, though logically answered, still rose in Lincoln's mind. On the other hand, and more important, Lincoln did not find himself able to accept the rigid Calvinism of the Presbyterian Church of that day. The evangelist made strong appeals, and Lincoln was not unmoved. But he said to his friends that "he couldn't quite see it."

Lincoln was a man of mighty courage when his convictions were assured. But he was also a man of more than normal caution. He could meet an issue which he was fully convinced was right with all needful heroism. But he was capable of evading an issue about which he was uncertain.

We know what Lincoln did just after his State Fair speech in Springfield on October 3, 1854. He was roused "as never before," to quote his own words, by the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, and he came out in a four hours' speech following Douglas, and committed himself unqualifiedly to the anti-Nebraska program. The Abolitionists were overjoyed, and Lovejoy wanted him to address that body that very night. Lincoln was in a quandary. To offend the Abolitionists meant political death, for they were now strong and growing stronger; but, on the other hand, to become an Abolitionist meant political death also at that stage of the fight. Herndon, who was himself an Abolitionist, and not much given to compromise, fully realized that Lincoln was in grave political danger.[59] With Herndon's approval, Lincoln took Bob in his buggy and drove off out into the country till the crisis was over.[60]

We know something also, though probably not the whole truth, about Lincoln's wavering indecision with respect to his marriage to Mary Todd. Whether he ran away from his own wedding, as he ran away from the offer of the leadership of the Abolition movement, and if so, whether he was sane or insane at the time, are questions which I prefer not, at this time, to undertake to answer. But that incident may be cited as another reminder that Lincoln had times of great mental uncertainty, and that at such times he sometimes did unexpected things.

It is my firm conviction that, after the death of Eddie, Lincoln was profoundly stirred in his own spiritual life; that the arguments of Dr. Smith went far toward answering the arguments of Paine, Volney, and his freethinking friends; that bereavement and spiritual comfort had done their work of grace; that the desire for a home more truly united in its religious relations and spiritual sympathies made a strong appeal to him; and that the atmosphere of the revival seemed to make it easy and natural for him to enter the church with Mrs. Lincoln. But, though a Calvinist in his early training, he was not ready to accept Calvinism as a complete and articulated system as presented in the Westminster Confession and in the preaching of Dr. Smith.

He wavered. Whether he left town to avoid pressure to attend the meeting of the Session at which his wife made her application for church membership, we do not know. It is not improbable. Certainly if his absence had been unavoidable he could have joined at the next opportunity. I think that he did not join because he was still in some measure of intellectual uncertainty with reference to doctrinal matters. I am only sorry that someone did not tell him that these were no sufficient reasons for his declining to unite with the church.

It would be possible to carry this study further, but it is not necessary. An explanation of Lincoln's failure to unite with a Christian church in that time of bitter sectarianism when to have joined one church would have made him a target for criticism from others and when his mind was intent rather upon the application of his Christian principles than the proclamation of his religious opinions, is partly to be attributed to the faults of the churches; but a portion of the explanation is to be found also in qualities inherent in the life of Abraham Lincoln.