References to Jackson’s religious views and his church affiliations may seem discordant with the familiar picture of a swearing, gambling, brawling frontiersman; but the rough, free-and-easy side of Jackson’s life has been somewhat over-emphasized in popular history to the exclusion of the gentler side of his character.
General Jackson, despite popular beliefs to the contrary, had a deeply-rooted religious background and a strongly developed sense of reverence. He was taught the scripture by his mother when a boy, and was made familiar with the stern old Westminster Catechism before her death. At the time he was a judge in Tennessee, while still a young man, he was known to entertain strongly religious views. One who knew him then states that “Judge Jackson freely and frequently averred his full and unwavering confidence in the divine authority of the Bible and the truth of the gospel declaration that Jesus Christ is the only Saviour of lost men, and that we must repent of sin and obey the gospel of Christ or our souls can not be saved.” A 100% Fundamentalist! Jackson himself stated, in commenting on some of the unfounded criticism of him during the 1828 campaign, that for 35 years before his election to the Presidency he never failed to read at least three chapters of the Bible every day.
This side of Jackson’s character, however, it must be admitted, was not generally known; and when he joined the church it attracted attention all over the country. A prominent citizen of Missouri, writing about it at the time, said: “In my early days the palpable and notorious infidelity of Thomas Jefferson spread a desolation that was mournful over the entire face of the western country. The enemies of religion took courage and threw up their blasphemy in the face of heaven. But now here is a man, raised up by the hand of God to the possession of an influence far beyond all that Jefferson ever possessed, for Jefferson never was able to wield public opinion in this great nation as General Jackson has done; and yet this man publicly prostrates himself before the cross and calls on the crucified Redeemer as his Lord and his God. The American church should not suffer this important testimony of General Jackson to be overlooked or forgotten.”
Jackson was a consistent church-goer all his life, even before he contributed so much of his influence and means to the establishment of the Hermitage church; and an amusing episode, and one typical of the times, took place in October, 1818, when the Reverend Peter Cartright, the famous backwoods preacher, was holding services in a Methodist church in Nashville, preaching on the text: “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”
Parson Cartright, who was a sort of pioneer Billy Sunday, had hardly more than announced his text than General Jackson entered the church and stood for a moment in the aisle looking for a seat. The resident minister seated behind the Reverend Cartright pulled at his coat-tails and said in a stage whisper: “General Jackson has come in! General Jackson has come in!” This interruption aroused the indignation of the fiery parson and so he retorted in a voice loud enough to be heard by all: “Who is General Jackson? If he don’t get his soul converted, God will damn him as quick as he would a Guinea nigger!” General Jackson, so it is told, joined in the mirth aroused by this spirited retort (a near-blasphemy in those days of Jackson’s transcendent popularity), and the preaching proceeded without further untoward incident. But the pastor of the church was fearful that the General might have been offended by the outspoken visiting clergyman, and he set out early the next morning to make an apology for the incident. It happened, however, that General Jackson met Mr. Cartright on the street face to face that morning and, reaching out his hand, said: “Mr. Cartright, you are a man after my own heart. I am very much surprised at Mr. Mac (the local pastor) to think he would suppose that I would be offended at you. No, sir, I told him that I highly approved of your independence; that a minister of Jesus Christ ought to love everybody and fear no mortal man. I told him that if I had a few thousand such fearless, independent officers as you were, and a well-drilled army, I could take old England.”
This episode comes down to us in Parson Cartright’s own memoirs, and it may be that it has gained something in the telling. It does not, however, appear out of character for either of them. Mr. Cartright was the kind of man who would not hesitate to say what he thought, in the pulpit or out; and Jackson was an admirer of spunk wherever he found it. The parson’s credibility, however, is somewhat damaged by another Jackson anecdote he tells.
Mr. Cartright, according to this story, had preached one day near the Hermitage and had been invited to dine with the General. As usual the Hermitage was full of company, including a young lawyer from Nashville who was enjoying the attention he was attracting by declaring himself an infidel. The parson endeavored not to be drawn into a theological discussion with the young man, but the latter was determined to have a dispute with him and said: “Mr. Cartright, do you really believe there is any such place as hell, as a place of torment?” The parson replied in the affirmative, whereupon the lawyer said: “Well I thank God I have too much good sense to believe any such thing.” Before Mr. Cartright could reply, so he relates, General Jackson interrupted to say: “Well, sir, I thank God there is such a place of torment as hell;” and when the surprised young man asked him why, he went on. “To put in it such damned rascals as you, that oppose and villify the Christian religion!” It is hard to believe that General Jackson would ever speak thus brusquely to a guest in his home; but, anyhow, it makes a good story.
Although he would not join the church while he was actively in politics, Jackson was shrewd enough to know that a man in the public eye must carefully watch his personal conduct and avoid even the appearance of evil. So, despite his known fondness for the current sports of the frontier while he was a young man, after he became a statesman he was most punctilious about his conduct. In 1824, while a candidate for President, he sat down and wrote out a specific and categorical denial of various campaign charges, in the course of which he said: “It is a positive falsehood that General Jackson has been either at a cockfight or sports of a similar nature for the last thirteen years,” and then entered into a detailed disclaimer of any sympathy with or actively in the “wild” activities of the day.
He was at this time especially careful of his reputation in connection with the breeding and racing of thoroughbred horses. There was then, as now, a nice social distinction between the stock breeder and the man who operates a string of race horses on the tracks; and although Jackson in his youth was not above riding his own horse in a race in an emergency, when he became President he wanted it distinctly understood that he was primarily the owner of a stock farm and that he had no part nor parcel in their actual racing or training.
There was an amusing example of this hair-splitting distinction during his first Presidential term. His correspondence with his adopted son and with his overseer, early in 1832, indicated that the current crop of colts was very promising, and Andrew, junior, was planning to enter one of them in the sweepstakes in the East. The colts, in charge of the grooms, had actually been started on their way to the East for preliminary training when the adopted son, apparently inspired by the irrepressible young Hutchings, sent after them and had them returned to the Hermitage for training on the private track there. The old General suspected that Hutchings was also having his own colt trained there, and he wrote his son a sharp letter expressing astonishment at his “unaccountable conduct.” Hutchings and Steele (the overseer), he wrote, knew very well that he was opposed to having any horses trained on the track on his plantation. “It might have been construed that I was encouraging racing,” he said virtuously, pointing out that such a criticism could not justly be made of him when he was giving the colts to his son and Hutchings “and having them sent away and run elsewhere.” So incensed did the General become at the possibility of having his position misunderstood (although, at this writing, it seems to have been equivocal to say the least of it) that he instructed his son to “Have the turf closed, plowed up, and permit not a horse to be galloped upon it.” It appears that no such drastic action was taken; but it is plain to see that Jackson had a very exalted idea of the position he held and a keen understanding of the desirability of keeping the occupant of the President’s chair entirely disassociated with the sordid business of horse racing.