"Nunc dimittis, Domine." ~ The last words of Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1826

Detail from a portrait of an elderly Thomas Jefferson as painted by Thomas Sulley, 1821.

In a previous post, I examined some of the speculation about George Washington's death, and the curious legend that he had died having confessed himself to a Catholic priest. 

That has gone on to be the most popular post on this blog, garnering over 15,000 views to date. 

In the case of death of Thomas Jefferson, there is considerably less cause for speculation. For one thing, Jefferson had been a Unitarian/Deist from his youth, and a consistent critic of Catholic beliefs and practices well into his years as a retired elder statesman. His correspondence indicated a disdain for the concept of the Trinity, an abhorrence for the priesthood, and belief that the early Church Fathers, including Saint Paul, had corrupted the teachings of Jesus. 

But anyone who studies Jefferson's life in detail knows that he is a deep old file: a brilliant mind, a gifted scholar, a diligent inventor, yes, but also a man whose shining parts did not extend to consistency in moral or religious beliefs. Many have noted with irony that the man who crafted the very sacred scripture of American liberty, the Declaration of Independence, was himself the master of several hundred bondsmen. The man who once described the teachings of Jesus as "the most sublime and benevolent code of morals which has ever been offered to man" was at the same time he said it very likely fathering six children out of wedlock with a woman he owned. 

Jefferson had no love for the Catholic priesthood, particularly the Jesuits. Writing in 1816—two years after the Society of Jesus had had their suppression lifted by the Pope—Jefferson opined to John Adams: "I dislike, with you, their restoration; because it marks a retrograde step from light towards darkness." 

In another letter, he said the following to Horatio Spafford: 

"In every country and in every age, the priest has been hostile to liberty. He is always in alliance with the Despot abetting his abuses in return for protection to his own. It is easier to acquire wealth and power by this combination than by deserving them: and to effect this they have perverted the purest religion ever preached to man, into mystery & jargon unintelligible to all mankind & therefore the safer engine for their purposes." March 17, 1814.

Despite these condemnations, Jefferson maintained friendly relations with numerous Catholics, even bishops and priests, and was a staunch defender of their rights. While president in 1804, Jefferson wrote to a convent of Ursuline sisters in New Orleans, lately added to the United States as part of the Louisiana Purchase. Jefferson's letter, written in response to a query sent to him by the sisters, is remarkable for its deep tone of cordiality, almost humility:

I have received, holy sisters, the letter you have written me wherein you express anxiety for the property vested in your institution by the former governments of Louisiana. The principles of the constitution and government of the United States are a sure guarantee to you that it will be preserved to you sacred and inviolate, and that your institution will be permitted to govern itself according to its own voluntary rules, without interference from the civil authority....Be assured it will meet all the protection which my office can give it. I salute you, holy sisters, with friendship & respect. July 14, 1804.

Similarly, Jefferson wrote as president to the first Catholic bishop of the United States, John C. Carroll, in answer to a request made to him regarding the foundation of a Catholic Church in District of Columbia:

I have received at this place the application signed by yourself and several respectable inhabitants of Washington on the purchase of a site for a Roman Catholic church from the Commissioners. As the regulation of price rests very much with them, I have referred the paper to them, recommending to them all the favor which the object of the purchase would urge, the advantages of every kind which it would promise, and their duties permit. I shall be happy on this and on every other occasion of shewing my respect & concern for the religious society over which you preside in these states and in tendering to yourself assurances of my high esteem and consideration. September 3, 1801.

Portrait of Abbé Corrêa in Monticello.

Perhaps even more remarkable was Jefferson's relationship with fellow polymath, José Francisco Corrêa da Serra. Jefferson referred to Corrêa as his "dear friend," and their friendship spanned a number of years of Jefferson's later life. At one point, Jefferson invited Corrêa to reside at Monticello permanently—an offer that was politely declined, though to this day there is bedroom dedicated to him at Jefferson's mansion. Corrêa died in Portugal in 1823, and Jefferson would recall his friend in a letter written in April of 1826, shortly before his own death, as "a distinguished Savant of Europe...profoundly learned in several other branches of science, he was so, above all others, in that of Botany." Abbé Corrêa was an ordained Catholic priest, though perhaps not a particularly devout one. This excellent article at the American Philosophical Society website goes into greater detail about the Abbé Corrêa's life and works.

Given Jefferson's intimacy with a Catholic priest late in life, it is noteworthy to consider the last words of Mr. Jefferson, as recorded in B. L. Rayner's 1834 biography, Life of Thomas Jefferson: 

When the morning of that day came, he appeared to be thoroughly impressed that he should not live through it, and only expressed a desire that he might survive until mid-day. He seemed perfectly at ease, and ready to die. When the Doctor entered his room, he said, "Well, Doctor, you see I am here yet." 

His disorder being checked, a friend expressed a hope of amendment. His reply was, "that the powers of nature were too much exhausted to be rallied." 

To a member of his family who remarked that he was better, and that the Doctor thought so, he listened with evident impatience, and said, "Do not imagine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude as to the result." 

He then calmly gave directions for his funeral, forbidding all pomp and parade — being answered by a hope that it would be long ere the occasion would require their observance, he asked, with a smile, "Do you think I fear to die?" 

A few moments after, he called his family and friends around his bed side, and uttered distinctly the following sentence: "I have done for my country, and for all mankind, all that I could do, and I now resign my soul, without fear, to my God — my daughter to my country." 

These were the last words he articulated — his last solemn declaration to the world — his dying will and testament, bequeathing his most precious gifts, to his God and his country. All that was heard from him afterwards, was a hurried repetition, in indistinct and scarcely audible accents, of his favorite ejaculation, "Nunc Dimittas [sic], Domine — Nunc Dimittas [sic], Domine."

He sunk away imperceptibly, and breathed his last, without a struggle or a murmur, at ten minutes before one o'clock, on the great JUBILEE of American liberty — the day, and hour too, on which the Declaration of Independence received its final reading, and the day, and hour, on which he prayed to Heaven that he might be permitted to depart. [Rayner: Life of Thomas Jefferson, p. 428-429]

Why would Jefferson's last words be in Latin, lifted from the Canticle of Simeon [Luke 2:29] as found in the Vulgate of St. Jerome? And even more puzzling, this prophetic passage is specifically omitted from the famous "Jefferson Bible" which he created to expunge the miraculous accretions that he felt had corrupted the teachings of Jesus. I'm certainly not the first person to wonder at this. A somewhat later biographer from the 1850s found these words so incongruous in the mouth of the elderly Deist, that he put forward the conjecture that the phrase: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace," had been uttered in English, not in Latin. [See Randall: The Life of Thomas Jefferson, p. 547, fn 2]. 

A later account from the doctor who attended Jefferson on his deathbed, Robley Dunglison, claimed that Jefferson never uttered the phrase at all: 

...He then asked “Is it the 4th?” to which I replied “It soon will be.” These were the last words I heard him utter. In Mr. [William] Wirt’s eulogy of him, it is said that he clasped his hands and said “Nunc dimittis” [“Now lettest thou depart”]. No such expression was heard by me; and if any other person had heard it, it would certainly have been communicated to me. [Radbill: An autobiographical ana of Robley Dunglison, MD, p. 36]

Dunglison's work cited above was prepared in 1852, a full 26 years after the death of Jefferson.

The work of William Wirt, which Dunglison cites above, was produced in October 1826—four months after Jefferson's death. Wirt's short account is contained within a longer eulogy of Jefferson and John Adams entitled: A Discourse on the lives and characters of Thomas Jefferson and John Adams: who both died on the Fourth of July, 1826:

When that day came, all that he was heard to whisper, was the repeated ejaculation "Nunc; Domine dimittas [sic]," Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace! And the prayer of the patriot was heard and answered. [Wirt: A Discourse on the Lives and Characters..., p. 66]

So how likely is it that Jefferson's last words were actually a Latin phrase from the Vulgate of St. Jerome? Fairly likely, I'd wager. Dr. Dunglison's late account certainly does not preclude the possibility. Furthermore, it should be pointed out that Jefferson used the phrase with some regularity in his correspondence prior to his death. Here are some examples:

• In a letter to Judge Spencer Roane, dated September 6, 1819, discussing the foundation of the University of Virginia:

"A severe illness the last year, and another from which I am just emerged, admonish me that repetitions may be expected, against which a declining frame cannot long bear up. I am anxious, therefore, to get our University so far advanced as may encourage the public to persevere to its final accomplishment. That secured, I shall sing my nunc demittas [sic]." 

• In a letter to Joseph C. Cabell, dated January 31, 1821, also regarding the foundation of the University of Virginia:

"Nature will not give you a second life wherein to atone for the omissions of this. pray then, dear and very dear Sir, do not think of deserting us; but view the sacrifices which seem to stand in your way, as the lesser duties, and such as ought to be postponed to this, the greatest of all. Continue with us in these holy labors, until, having seen their accomplishment, we may say with old Simeon ‘nunc dimittis, Domine.’"

• In a letter to General Andrew Jackson, dated December 18, 1823, again discussing the newly-founded University of Virginia: 

"Perhaps our University which you visited in it’s unfinished state when finished & furnished with it’s scientific popln, may tempt you to make a little stay with us. This will probably be by the close of the ensuing year, when it may appear to you worthy of encouraging the youth of your quarter as well as others to seek there the finishing complement of their education. I flatter myself it will assume a standing secondary to nothing in our country. If I live to see this I shall sing with cheerfulness the song of old Simeon’s nunc dimittis Domine."

So if nothing else, it seems abundantly clear that "Nunc dimittis, Domine," was, in fact, a favored expression of Jefferson as mentioned by Rayner in his 1834 biographical account. 

Given that the 1840s and 1850s were a period of intense disapproval of anything that smacked of popery, we should not be too surprised that men during that era strove to expunge any near approach to that egregious sin from the heroes of the American Founding.

In closing, let us recall the uncontested fact, also mentioned by Mr. Wirt, that both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams did indeed pass into eternity on the same day—July 4, 1826—exactly 50 years after the release of the Declaration of Independence.

This is easily one of the strangest coincidences of all of recorded history.