A Riverboat Pilot's Lessons in Fear

I was raised in the Anglican faith, as all Virginia gentry were in my youth. My mother taught me my prayers, and I attended services with regularity, though even then I found myself more drawn to the moral teachings of Scripture than to its miracles or mysteries. Faith, in those days, was a matter of habit, of social expectation. It was not until my later years — after the presidency, after the loss of dear ones, after long evenings with books and silence — that I began to see faith not as a set of inherited truths, but as a living inquiry.

The Bible as a Mirror

I have often been accused of being a skeptic, even a deist, and there is some truth to that. But I was never hostile to the teachings of Christ. In fact, I found them beautiful — stripped of what I called the "dross of priestcraft." Late in life, I took scissors to the pages of the New Testament, removing what I believed to be the additions of men — the miracles, the resurrection — and preserving what I saw as the pure ethical core. I called it "The Philosophy of Jesus" and later "The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth." It was not an act of disrespect, but of devotion — a way to understand a teacher whose words, even without the supernatural, still moved me.

A House of Reason

At Monticello, I built not only a home but a kind of temple to reason. I filled it with books, with clocks, with instruments of science. I believed that knowledge was the great liberator, that education would lead humanity toward virtue. I saw faith as something that must submit to the light of reason. I was proud of this belief — perhaps too proud. But I was also willing to change, and I think that willingness is what kept me from becoming a dogmatist of any kind.

The Weight of Mortality

As I aged, and as I watched friends and family pass away, I felt the cold edge of mortality in a way that reason alone could not blunt. I lost my daughter Polly, and with her, a piece of my heart. I wrote to John Adams in those years, and our correspondence — once political — turned toward the spiritual. He was more willing than I to accept the mysteries of faith. I envied him that peace. I still did not believe in the divinity of Christ, but I began to see that belief was not always a matter of argument. Sometimes, it was a matter of comfort.

A Man Still Learning

In my final years, I no longer felt the need to define my faith so rigidly. I still admired the teachings of Jesus. I still rejected the creeds that demanded blind assent. But I came to understand that faith, for many, is not a conclusion but a companion — one that walks with you through joy and sorrow. I did not return to the church of my youth, but I no longer dismissed those who did. I had spent my life defending the freedom of conscience, and in the end, I realized that included my own evolving conscience.

Talk to Thomas Jefferson on HoloDream to explore how his views on faith, reason, and morality shaped his vision for America — and how he might see the world today.