"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 the 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 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. 

"See what the fear of temporal evils does and how great an increase of eternal woes results" ~ Saint Augustine's last letter

Saint Augustine on his deathbed, by Ottaviano Nelli in the Church of Sant'Augostino
in Gubbio, Itay

 In the year AD 430, Roman north Africa was overrun by a warlike barbarian horde known to history as the Vandals. Under the leadership of their brutal king, Gaiseric, the Vandals were bent on plunder, ruin and conquest to such an extent that the name of their nation lives on as a common noun in the English language with negative connotations reverberating across 15 centuries.

With Roman military resistance collapsing on every front before the overwhelming attack, Saint Augustine found himself trapped in his home city of Hippo Regius, deathly ill and under siege by a Vandalic host.

More about this dreadful period of history may be garnered from the video below, which is taken from The Life of Saint Augustine written shortly after the great saint's death by Possidius of Calama. Possidius was an eye-witness to much of what he records:

Also included in Possidius's Life of Saint Augustine is a fascinating letter which the great Doctor of the Church wrote during his final illness. This letter, written to Augustine's fellow bishop, Honoratus of Thiabe, is of import to our present tribulation, particularly as it relates to the response of our Catholic bishops to the COVID-19 outbreak in the United States.

During this critical time in Roman north Africa, as the Vandals lay waste to all before them, many bishops and priests fled, leaving their people without access to the sacraments in the face of the unprecedented mortal danger. Augustine was asked by other bishops for advice on the best course of action. Was it acceptable for them to run and hide from the danger as Saint Paul had done in Damascus? Augustine's response is simply this: that flight is acceptable when the danger is particular to only one or a few, as in case of Saint Paul. However...

When the danger is common to all, that is, to bishops, clergy and laymen, let those who are in need of others not be abandoned by those of whom they are in need. Accordingly, either let them all withdraw to places of safety or else let not those who have a necessity for remaining be left by those through whom their ecclesiastical needs are supplied, so that they may either live together or suffer together whatever their Father wishes them to endure.... 

We ought not, on account of that which is uncertain, to be guilty of that which is certain, namely, neglect of our ministrations. Without these the ruin of the people is certain, not in the things of this life, but of that other which must be cared for with incomparably greater devotion and anxiety....And if some deserted their people, this is what we say ought not to be done. For such were not led by divine authority, but were deceived by human error or constrained by fear.

Now certainly, the situation of Augustine's time and ours are not exactly comparable. However, I have heard certain people, when making a defense of the harsh restrictions Americans find themselves under, compare the viral onslaught to an armed invasion. While I do not agree with such characterizations, I do think that the situations are quite comparable in that they both represent civilizational crises, grave temporal trials, with dangers that threaten all people alike.

As we continue to read Augustine's words, let us imagine he is speaking not to his colleagues of 5th century Roman Africa, but to us in our own times:

Click for more info.

When these dangers have reached their height and there is no possibility of flight, do we not realize how great a gathering there usually is in the church of both sexes and of every age, some clamoring for baptism, others for reconciliation, still others for acts of penance: all of them seeking consolation and the administration and distribution of the sacraments? If, then, the ministers are not at hand, how terrible is the destruction which overtakes those who depart from this world unregenerated or bound by sin! How great is the grief of their brethren in the faith who shall not have their companionship in the rest in the life eternal! Finally how great the lamentation of all and how great the blasphemy of some because of the absence of the ministers and their ministry! See what the fear of temporal evils does and how great an increase of eternal woes results. But if the ministers are present they are a help to all, according to the strength which the Lord gives them: some are baptized, others are reconciled, none are deprived of the communion of the body of the Lord, all are consoled, edified and exhorted to ask of God, who hath the power to avert all the things they fear—prepared for either issue, so that if that cup may not pass from them, His will may be done who can will no evil.

Apparently, some of his colleagues brought up the case of Saint Athanasius who fled from the Arians during the theological crisis of the previous century. Augustine rejects this argument as well, saying that Athanasius was a uniquely powerful figure against Arianism and that the greater Church perceived how needful his voice would be in the continuing struggle. However...

When the peril is common and it is more to be feared that someone may be thought to do this not from a desire of serving, but from a fear of dying, and when more harm may be done by the example of fleeing than good by the obligation of living, it should under no circumstances be done.

Augustine ends his advice with these strong words that ought to give pause, at least, to our contemporary Church leaders:

Accordingly, whoever flees under such circumstances that the necessary ministry of the Church is not lacking because of his flight, does as the Lord commands or permits. But whoever so flees that he deprives the flock of Christ of that nourishment from which it has its spiritual life, is an hireling who sees the wolf coming and flees because he cares not for the sheep.

Augustine concludes his letter with these words. Again, let us imagine he is saying them to us in our current tribulations:

We can find nothing better to do in these dangers than to pray to the Lord our God that He have mercy upon us. And some wise and holy men, with the help of God, have been enabled to will and to do this much, namely not to desert the churches, and in the face of detraction not to waver in maintaining their purpose. 

We have endured now several decades of a Church led by too many who better resemble the hirelings than the true shepherds. It would be well that we Catholics pay close attention to those leaders of our Church in the United States who are attentively providing their flocks with spiritual nourishment, often at the potential risk of their very lives, and those who have left the sheep to fend for themselves without access to sacramental grace.

Augustine's entire letter may be read here at Tertullian.org. You may also click here to find a print copy of The Life of Saint Augustine by Possidius which is well worth reading as "the rest of the story" on Augustine of Hippo from a reliable, authentic ancient source.