“THE RELIGION OF MARK TWAIN”

 

A Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear

Sunday, October 2, 2005

All Souls Unitarian Church

Indianapolis, Indiana

 

 

          It is my job today to explain, as best I can, the religion of a man who spent a good portion of his professional and personal life vilifying religion, using humor to belittle and besmirch the legacy of human religions.  He is a noted author who described himself as a writer whose pen was “warmed up in Hell.”  Perhaps more than any other subject, Mark Twain held religion up to ridicule in his humor.  So please wish me well on this task I face today.  It turns out, though, that it’s not quite as tough a call as I at first thought. 

          Mark Twain has developed a reputation since his death as one of America’s leading infidels.  That reputation comes in part because of some writings on religion near the end of his life that he refused to publish because even he thought they were too scandalous.  He died in 1910, and the items weren’t published until 1963, after his only surviving daughter finally granted permission. 

          But his critique of religion was consistent throughout his life, and the later writings were only different in degree, not in kind.  Throughout his life, he aimed his humorous pen like a weapon at what he saw as sham and hypocrisy in traditional religions.  It is easy to compile a list of his quotations on (and against) religion.  I’ll give just a few here, coming from across his career, with more scattered throughout the sermon. 

 

“The Bible has noble poetry in it. . . .  and some good morals and a wealth of obscenity, and upwards of a thousand lies.” 

 

“The fear of Satan and Hell made ninety-nine Christians, where love of God and Heaven landed one.”  (Phipps, p.123)

 

“Man is a marvelous curiosity. . . .  He thinks he is the Creator’s pet.  He even believes the Creator loves him, has a passion for him, sits up nights to admire him, yes and watch over him and keep him out of trouble.  He prays to (the Creator) and thinks He listens.  Isn’t that quaint?” 

 

“I have a religion – but you will call it blasphemy.  I believe is that there is a God for the rich man, but none for the poor.” 

 

“It ain’t the parts of the Bible I can’t understand that bother me.  It is the parts that I do understand.” 

 

“Sacred cows make the best hamburger.” 

 

          No one can question Twain’s place in the halls of American literature.  He is a giant, and, by some estimates, perhaps the greatest so far.  Ernest Hemingway declared that “All American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn.”  His literary achievements and recognition remain almost unequalled in our history, and he may have been better known around the world than any other American author 

          In reviewing Twain’s critique of religion, it must be remembered, first of all, that his stock in trade was humor, and in writing humor his favorite style was a skilled use of exaggeration and hyperbole.  It should also be remembered that humor has been used for ages as an effective way of exposing fraud and hypocrisy, which was Twain’s major agenda.  Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his essay on “The Comic,” might as well have been identifying Mark Twain when he made this observation: 

 

“The religious sentiment is the most real and earnest thing in nature.  Therefore, the oldest gibe of literature is the ridicule of false religion.” 

 

          And that is precisely what Twain aimed to do with his “pen warmed up in Hell”: to ridicule what he perceived to be “false” religion, which became, in his mind, far too popular among a gullible public, manipulated for self-aggrandizement by hucksters and con artists, and dangerous to the health of a free nation. 

 

          First, let me offer just a brief review of the highlights of his life and career.  Twain’s background carries some of the mystique of Abe Lincoln – born in insignificance in the heartland, if not the backwoods, of America.  We all know that Mark Twain was born with the name Samuel Longhorn Clemens in small town, Missouri.  It was November 30, 1835, and he grew up in Hannibal, a town hugging the banks of the Mississippi River (which of course he loved the rest of his life, even though, as he once observed, the river was “too thick to drink and too thin too plow.”  Here’s hyperbole skillfully used). 

          His father became a legal justice in town, though never very prominent.  He didn’t have much interest in church, and died before Mark became a teenager – leaving the family thereafter on the edge of poverty.  Twain was particularly close to his mother throughout his life, and she was a devoted member of the Presbyterian Church in Hannibal, where she took Mark regularly. 

          Though no one much noticed at the time, in hindsight the presence of slavery was probably the single most important cultural fact to affect both society and church in those days.  Mark’s family even owned a slave from time to time.  Presbyterians were divided on the subject, mostly divided between North and South, like the country, and when the national church finally declared itself against slavery, many Southern churches, like the one in Hannibal, severed its ties to the national denomination. 

          Mark’s mother, Jane, generally sided with the more liberal faction in he church, though she went along with the majority.  Twain described her as tolerant and open-minded, and those qualities seemed to stick with him far more than some of the competing qualities he learned at church. 

          It is well known that as a young adult he achieved his ambition of becoming a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi, and that experience became foundational to the rest of his career.  It was at about that time that he first read Thomas Paine’s book, The Age of Reason, and became exposed to, and influenced by, skepticism about the Bible and traditional Christianity. 

          His heart was set at an early age toward adventure.  At the beginning of the Civil War, he joined the Missouri National Guard, but his tenure only lasted two weeks.  Missouri was on the Confederate side, and for a variety of reasons, he knew this war was not for him.  So he and his brother took off and traveled West, into the territories, seeking their fate and fortune. 

They visited Utah, and lived for a some time in Nevada, where Twain worked as a newspaper writer and mining speculator.  He left for San Francisco, where he became a newspaper reporter, and got the paper to finance a trip to Hawaii, from which he wrote articles to send back to California.  These adventures in the Wild West eventually ended up, years later, in a book he entitled, Roughing It.  These trips also contributed to his natural tendency to tolerate human differences – he acquired a special appreciation for the Chinese immigrants in California, who were treated by the general white population as outcasts, and he admired many of the Hawaiian native traditions.   

After returning from his adventures in the West, he went to New York City where he continued writing human interest stories for newspapers.  He visited a number of churches, but become most impressed with the church of the famous liberal preacher of his era, Henry Ward Beecher.  Beecher’s church was the Plymouth Congregational Church of Brooklyn, and he had by then earned a national reputation as a preacher. Twain would stay friends with Beecher, and the famous Beecher extended family, for the rest of his life.  Some years later, in a newspaper column in Buffalo, Twain praised Beecher with these words: 

 

“Mr. Beecher has done more than any other man, perhaps, to inspire religion with the progressive spirit of the nineteenth century, and make it keep step with the march of intellectual achievement.” 

 

Twain admitted several times over his life that he wanted to become a minister.  In a letter to his brother and sister, he put it this way: 

 

“I never had but two powerful ambitions in my life.  One was to be a (steamboat) pilot, and the other a preacher of the gospel.  I accomplished the one and failed in the other, because I could not supply myself with the necessary stock in trade, i.e. religion.” 

 

In 1867, the Plymouth Church was planning a steamship excursion to Europe to visit many of the famous sites around the Mediterranean Sea, including Italy, Greece, Turkey and the so-called “Holy Land” countries.  A Californian newspaper agreed to fund Twain’s trip on the ship in exchange for sending back reports, but being accepted by the church for this trip was a little more challenging.  There was a screening committee, and a friend introduced him to that committee calling him, “the Rev. Mark Twain, who is a clergyman of distinction, lately arrived from San Francisco.”  He was approved and declined to correct the introduction until after the ship sailed. 

The trip was exciting and productive, and Twain was able to write not only about the exotic places he visited, but also his experiences with the passengers, whom he called “pilgrims.”  He made close personal ties with some of the passengers, but others on this church-sponsored trip he found to be distastefully pious about their religion.  One of them he described as “a solemn, unsmiling, sanctimonious old iceberg that looked like he was waiting for a vacancy in the Trinity.”  He was most offended by the self-righteous religious lectures of the ship’s Captain, Charles Duncan.  After a prayer meeting led by Captain Duncan, Twain wrote that “if heaven was to be populated with Duncans, it might not be wise to proceed rashly in so serious a manner. . . .  Barring certain defects, hell had its advantages.”  It was not unusual for Twain to point out that the most interesting people he knew were destined to hell, and the most boring to heaven.   “Go to heaven for the climate,” he once wrote, “(but go to) Hell for the company.” 

The excursion was extensive, and the pilgrims visited Rome, Athens, Beirut, Palestine, and Egypt.  And though Twain had his own critique of various cultures, he was outraged by the complete disrespect some of his shipmates had for other cultures and other religions.  Upon his return to America, he lectured around the country, and compiled a book of his experiences, the title of which reflected the attitudes of many of his fellow shipmates:  Innocents Abroad. 

Back home, Twain moved to Elmira, New York to settle, and there he met and fell in love with Olivia Langdon, the daughter of a wealthy and prominent and very liberal town leader and businessman, Jervis Langdon. 

          Langdon was an avid abolitionist before the war, when he offered his home as a harbor for runaway slaves, one of whom was Frederick Douglass, who remained friends with the Langdons thereafter.  Langdon was an active Presbyterian, but when he moved to Elmira, he and a group of dissenting Presbyterians protested that the church wasn’t strong enough in condemning slavery.  He and forty other Presbyterians left and began a new church, affiliated with the Congregationalists, which they called Park Church.  Park Church, and its members, became a vital center for harboring fugitive slaves. 

          The minister of Park Church, Thomas Beecher, was the brother of the famous Henry Ward Beecher, whom Twain had known in New York City. 

          Twain proposed to Olivia, whom everyone called “Livy,” after only knowing her for two weeks.  She rejected his proposal for six months, but eventually agreed.  Twain offered to Livy’s father a list of six references from distinguished names whom he had known in San Francisco.  One was from Horatio Stebbins, a Unitarian minister there, who wrote that, “Mark is rather erratic, but I consider him harmless.”  Another, James Roberts – a Presbyterian Church deacon – said “I would rather bury a daughter of mine than have her marry such a fellow” 

          But Jervis Langdon made his own judgment of character, and gave his blessing.  Until Jervis’ death a few years later, he and Mark seemed to have a close, almost father/son, relationship. 

          His marriage to Olivia Langdon began a life-long love affair, and Livy became not only his greatest support, but perhaps also the most trusted critic of his writing.  Over his life, Mark Twain would use satire and wit to make fun of seemingly almost every cultural idol imaginable – from religion to capitalism to politics – but he never turned his aim toward ridiculing marriage, a topic that was an easy target for many other humorists.  Their mutual respect as a couple was apparent to all.  They would end up having three daughters and a son.  The son died in infancy, and two daughters died as adults before his own death.  His family life was filled with great joy and deep anguish. 

          Twain was warmly accepted into the Langdon family, and in Elmira he began associating with the liberal circles, many of whom were liberal clergy, that would continue throughout his life. 

Twain considered himself Presbyterian throughout his life, though not a very good one, and never formally became a church member.  He had directly experienced revivals and hell-and-brimstone preaching, but he preferred what he considered to be the more dignified church services.  Here is how he described it: 

 

“We (Presbyterians) sit silent and grave (at church) while the minister is preaching. . . .  No frenzy, no fanaticism, no skirmishing; everything perfectly serene.  You never see any of us Presbyterians getting in a sweat about religion and trying to massacre the neighbors.” 

 

When he later settled down in Hartford, Connecticut with his wife to raise a family, he attended regularly the Asylum Congregational Church, and its minister, Joseph Twichell, became his closest personal friend through the rest of his life.  He maintained close friendships with many of the liberal clergy of New England, though much of his harshest humor was reserved for that profession. 

He would spend most of the remainder of his life with Hartford as his home-base, though he became one of the most widely traveled Americans of his time.  He crossed the Atlantic more than twenty times in his life, and became one of the most famous Americans abroad.  Near the end of his life, Oxford University in England granted him an honorary doctorate.  He lived abroad – two years in Vienna, for example, cumulatively several years in England, and extended time in Florence, Italy.  In 1891, his world was shaken when the publishing company where he had made heavy investments went bankrupt, and Twain lost almost all of his money.  To recoup the loss, he planned an around-the-world lecture tour, taking his family along, with stops that included Hawaii, Australia, India, South Africa, and England.  This trip would become the basis for another travel book, Following the Equator.  After so many travels, Twain once observed, “I have filled the post – with some credit, I trust – of self-appointed Ambassador-at-Large of the U.S. of America – without salary.” 

 

          It is clear from what I have reported so far that Mark Twain frequently targeted traditional religions for ridicule in his writings.  From this, it has often been assumed that he was a sort of infidel, irreligious or even anti-religious.  This common interpretation is a mistake.   Twain wasn’t hesitant to call himself a religious man, but he had no desire at all to identify with the standard understanding of religion in our country.  For him religion was primarily ethical, much as Jesus taught, and the finer points of creed and theology were too often a destructive distraction from what religion should be in making people act more humanely toward each other.  As one biographer, John Hays, put it: 

 

“(His) animus was not so much against religion as it was against the institutions that controlled the religious spirit.  His virulent attacks are upon the hypocrites who appropriate the language of religion to achieve an irreligious end. . . . “

 

          In 1902, at the age of 67, Twain returned to Hannibal, Missouri, where he was welcomed as a town treasure.  When visiting the Baptist church, the minister invited him to speak, “not to preach,” the pastor said, “but to say a few words.”  Here is part of what he said: 

 

“What I say will be preaching.  I am a preacher.  We are all preachers.  If we do not preach by words, we preach by deeds. . . .  Words perish, print burns up, men die, but our preaching lives on.  Washington died in 1799, more than a hundred years ago, but his preaching survives, and to every person that is striving for liberty, his life is a sermon.  My mother lies buried out there in our beautiful cemetery overlooking the Mississippi, but at this age of mine, she still cheers me.  Her preaching lives and goes on with me.   Let us see that our preaching is of the right sort, so that it will influence for good the lives of those who remain, when we shall be silent in our graves.” 

 

          This may be a good synopsis of his perspective on religion.  Words and theologies were meaningless – the only thing that counts, the only religion that has any integrity, is found in our deeds, in how we live our lives. 

          From this standard, perhaps the best way to understand the religion of Mark Twain is to look more at his life than his writings, to see what he stood for.  This approach proves to be quite fruitful, for indeed throughout his life Mark Twain was devoted to many causes.  The core of Mark Twain’s religion was a profound moral passion for justice in society.  His lobbied for and sponsored and contributed money to countless causes over the years.  He voice carried an intense advocacy for human rights, in the United States and around the world.  And it was clear to him that in American society, the greatest threat to human rights was racial prejudice.  And, not incidentally, racial prejudice was too often aided and abetted by religion. 

It took him a while to get there, but he never faltered.  He was raised in a slave state, and his parents owned slaves from time to time.  As a youth and young adult, the layers of prejudice were too heavy.  But when he moved East, especially under the influence of his wife’s family and the church led by Thomas Beecher, he looked in horror on the racism he was familiar with as a child. 

          His most well-known book of all, Huckleberry Finn, has in the last fifty years or so come under the critical eye of our society, uncomfortable with its seemingly stereotyped images of African-Americans.  No one can doubt, though, that in that book Huck’s companion, the fugitive slave Jim, is the most admirable of all the characters.  The most pivotal moment in the book is when Huck faces a moral dilemma of whether to protect Jim from being captured.  He could only protect Jim by lying to his captors, and Huck learned in church that lying is a sin that would condemn him to Hell for all eternity.  The church did not consider slavery a sin at all, so lying wasn’t justified for that reason. 

          Huck’s decision was agonizing for him, but in the end he decided that if the price for saving his friend Jim was eternity in hell for lying, he was willing to pay it.  And so he protected Jim, never questioning that in doing so he was damning his own soul to perdition.  His respect for Jim was that deep. 

          In post-Civil War America, Twain found many opportunities to support better race relations.  He was an enthusiastic supporter and friend to Booker T. Washington.  He loved the African-American spiritual hymns he had heard slaves singing when he was a child.  When he heard the Jubilee Singers of the predominantly black school Fisk University, he was excited, and helped sponsor their tours around the United States and Europe. 

          He became acquainted with Warner McGuinn, one of the first black students to enroll in Yale Law School.  When he found out McGuinn had financial problems, Twain anonymously subsidized his education.  In writing to the school’s dean, Twain said. 

 

“I do not believe I would very cheerfully help a white student. . . .  But I do not feel so about the other color.  We have ground the manhood out of them, and the shame is ours, not theirs, and we should pay for it.” 

 

          McGuinn graduated with honors, became a prominent attorney in Baltimore, and a mentor to a young Thurgood Marshall. 

 

          There were other issues of human rights that inspired his passion.  He was shocked at the mistreatment of Chinese immigrants he observed in California, and of the widespread mistreatment of Jews in Europe, and he wrote scathingly about these injustices.  In his mature years, he was a vocal supporter of women’s rights and the suffrage movement, and offered personal support to a number of women aspiring to professional status.  In particular, he befriended Helen Keller, and maintained a close relationship for many years.  Helen Keller spoke of their friendship, saying,

 

“He entered into my limited world with enthusiasm just as he might have explored Mars.  Blindness was an adventure that kindled his curiosity.  He treated me not as a freak, but as a handicapped woman seeking a way to circumvent extraordinary difficulties.” 

 

          Another area that raised his concern was the increasing gap between rich and poor, and the seeming greed of American businessmen.  This era became known as the age of the “Robber Barron,” and Twain wrote strong words about what he identified as the so-called “Christian Ethics” of the snobbish upper elite, and putting his opinions into a book he called The Gilded Age.  Closely tied to this concern was his disdain for political corruption.  In a Fourth of July speech in England, he spoke of the politics in this country, saying: 

 

“I think I can say, and say with pride, that we have some legislatures (in America) that bring higher prices than any in the world.” 

 

          He once had occasion to make a public introduction for his Congressman from New York, Joseph Hawley.  He introduced the Congressman saying,

 

“He is a member of my church. . . .   I have watched him many a time, as the contribution box went by, and I never saw him take anything out of it.  Would that we had more such men in politics.” 

 

          He was particularly appalled by the marriage of politics, money and church.  He objected when the federal government began engraving the phrase “In God We Trust” on our currency.  He suggested a more honest motto should say this:  “Within Certain Judicious Limitations We Trust in God.”  But he knew the protest was to no avail, and he finally conceded:  ‘It sounds well – In God We Trust.  I don’t believe it would sound any better if it were true.” 

          His world travels also got him involved in human rights issues all over the globe, writing in opposition to monarchies and especially imperialism.  He decried the European empires, and warned that the United States was edging toward a similar imperialistic arrogance.  He was one of the most vocal opponents of the U.S. invasion of the Philippines, which to his mind was entirely for corporate profit. 

 

          I believe Mark Twain was right about one thing.  We can either define a person’s religion in terms of deeds, or we can define it in terms of theological belief.  But there is no question that a person’s life is a much more accurate measure of religion than their theological speculations.  If we use the measure of deeds rather than creeds, Mark Twain’s life was far closer to the teachings of Jesus than many, if not most, orthodox believers.  One biographer, Philip Foner, studied especially Twain’s commitment to causes for social justice, and concluded with these words about his religion: 

 

“Twain was deeply interested in the relationship of institutionalized religion to man and society, particularly in reconciling Christian ethics and the social structures of his own day. . . .  A sincere, courageous, vital, realistic, dynamic religion for him meant one which would inspire people to create a better world.  He urged all churches, as a major step toward this goal, to tear from Christianity all the camouflage of self-deception, hollow sham and hypocrisy, to strip it of the ornamentation of the ages and return to the original sound principles of Jesus Christ – the ethics of humanity.” 

 

“Mark Twain exhibited a burning hatred of all forms of intolerance, tyrrany and injustice, an abhorrence of cant and pretension, a passion for human freedom, a fierce pride in human dignity, a love for people and for life, a frank and open contempt for the mean, the cruel, the selfish, the small and petty.” 

 

          In terms of theological beliefs, Twain was very much out of the mainstream, there is no doubt.  While hiking in Europe with his close friend and minister Joseph Twichell, Twain spoke of his doubts about traditional Christian doctrine and the Bible.  His comments avoided the typical Twain biting humor.  He told his friend,

 

“I don’t believe one word of your Bible was inspired by God any more than any other book.  I believe it is entirely the work of man from beginning to end – atonement and all.  The problem of life and death and eternity and the true conception of God is a bigger thing than is contained in that book.” 

 

          Mark Twain’s religion was to forsake theological speculations in favor of ethical living with integrity.  He held deep respect for Jesus and his teachings, but he could never bring himself even close to the traditional Christian view of Jesus as a divine Savior of humankind.  At one point he wrote, “As concerns Christ, there are some uncertainties, but for our solace we know one thing for sure – he was not a Christian.” 

          I could continue going down the list of traditional religious tenets to show that his opinions were always non-traditional and skeptical – whether it be the Bible or the Trinity or Heaven-and-Hell or the doctrine of atonement.  But I will end with a summary given by Albert Bigelow Paine, who was Twain’s companion for the last years of his life, after his wife died, and who Twain chose as his executer to edit his autobiography after his death.  In a 1912 biography, Paine had this to say about Twain’s religion: 

 

“Mark Twain’s religion was a faith too wide for doctrines – a benevolence too limitless for creeds.  From the beginning he strove against oppression, sham, and evil in every form.  He despised meanness; he resented with every drop of blood in him anything that savored of persecution or a curtailment of human liberties.  It was a religion identified with his daily life and his work.  He lived as he wrote, and he wrote as he believed.  His favorite weapon was humor – good-humor – with logic behind it.  A sort of glorified truth, it was truth wearing a smile of gentleness, hence all the more quickly heeded.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Bruce Clear 2005


READING from Mark Twain

Published in “Mark Twain: A Biography” (1912) by Albert Bigalow Paine

 

(NOTE:  Paine was Twain’s choice to edit his autobiography after his death, and had Paine stay with him during his last years.  Paine found this unpublished and undated manuscript by Twain among the papers he left behind.  They were first published in Paine’s biography of Twain): 

 

I believe in God the Almighty. 

 

I do not believe He has ever sent a message to man by anybody, or delivered one to him by word of mouth, or made Himself visible to mortal eyes at any time in any place. 

 

I believe that the Old and New Testaments were imagined and written by man, and that no line in them was authorized by God, much less inspired by Him. 

 

I think the goodness, the justice, and the mercy of God are manifested in His works:  I perceive that they are manifested toward me in this life; the logical conclusion is that they will be manifested toward me in the life to come, should there be one. 

 

I do not believe in special providences.  I believe that the universe is governed by strict and immutable laws:  If one man’s family is swept away by a pestilence and another man’s spared, it is only the law working; God is not interfering in that small matter, either against the one man or in favor of the other. 

 

I cannot see how eternal punishment hereafter could accomplish any good end; therefore I am not able to believe in it.  To chasten a man in order to perfect him might be reasonable enough; to annihilate him when he shall have proved himself incapable of reaching perfection might be reasonable enough; but to roast him forever for the mere satisfaction of seeing him roast would not be reasonable – even the atrocious God imagined by the Hebrews would tire of the spectacle eventually. 

 

There may be a hereafter and there may not be.  I am wholly indifferent about it.  If I am appointed to live again I feel sure it will be for some more sane and useful purpose than to flounder about for ages in a lake of fire and brimstone for having violated a confusion of ill-defined and contradictory rules said (but not evidenced) to be of divine institution.  If annihilation is to follow death I shall not be aware of the annihilation, and therefore shall not care a straw about it. 

 

I believe that the world’s moral laws are the outcome of the world’s experience.  It needed no God to come down out of heaven to tell men that murder and theft and the other immoralities were bad, both for the individual who commits them and for society which suffers from them. 

 

If I break all these moral laws I cannot see how I injure God by it, for He is beyond the reach of injury from me – I could as easily injure a planet by throwing mud at it.  It seems to me that my misconduct could only injure me and other men.  I cannot benefit God by obeying these moral laws – I could as easily benefit the planet by withholding my mud.  (Let these sentences be read in the light of the fact that I believe I have received moral laws only from man – none whatever from God.)  Consequently I do not see why I should be either punished or rewarded hereafter for the deeds I do here.