Sobran's --
The Real News of the Month

February 2001
Volume 8, No. 2 -- Special Lincoln Issue

Editor: Joe Sobran
Publisher: Fran Griffin (Griffin Communications)
Managing Editor: Ronald N. Neff
Subscription Rates.
   Print version: $59.95 per year; $100 for 2 years;
   trial subscription available for $19.95 (5 issues).
   E-mail subscriptions: $59.95 for 1 year ($25 with a
   12-month subscription to the print edition); $100 for
   2 years ($45 with a 2-year subscription to the print
   edition). Payment should be made to The Vere Company.
Address: Sobran's, P.O. Box 1383, Vienna, VA 22183-1383
Fax: 703-281-6617      Website:
Publisher's Office: 703-255-2211 or
Foreign Subscriptions (print version only): Add $1.25 per
   issue for Canada and Mexico; all other foreign
   countries, add $1.75 per issue.
Credit Card Orders: Call 1-800-493-3348. Allow
   4-6 weeks for delivery of your first issue


(page 1)

The progressive Hive is buzzing furiously against John 
Ashcroft, George W. Bush's choice for attorney general -- 
a religious man who opposes abortion and moral 
degeneracy. In other words, he's what Joe Lieberman 
pretended to be. No wonder they hate him.

*          *          *

     The population of the United States, according to 
the official census figures, is now over 281 million. 
Given the likely number of illegal and other uncounted 
residents, the real figure is probably over 300 million. 
If abortion weren't legal, it would be approaching 350 

*          *          *

     Victor Borge is dead at 91. The Danish-born 
comedian-pianist, a Jewish refugee from you-know-who, was 
a particular favorite of my mother, with his patented 
blend of suavity and silliness, dignity and self-mockery. 
He didn't just make you laugh; he made you happy. His 
humor was a survival of civilized delights. My father, 
who rarely agreed with my mother, loved him too. "Ladies 
and gentlemen," Borge began one show solemnly, patting 
his piano, "the Steinway people have asked me to tell you 
... " pause " ... that this is a Baldwin."

*          *          *

     Hearty thanks to those astute readers who pointed 
out that Charles II was restored in 1660, not (as I 
recently wrote) 1860. I could make a case that a monarch 
was installed in 1860, but I prefer to move on and let 
the healing begin.

*          *          *

     This issue is largely devoted to Abraham Lincoln, 
the central figure in my forthcoming book on the decline 
of constitutional government. I'm fascinated by one odd 
fact: this most Shakespearean of presidents (his favorite 
play was MACBETH) was killed in a theater by a brilliant 
young Shakespearean actor (who had played Macbeth on the 
stage). At that moment, of course, John Wilkes Booth 
thought of himself as another Brutus striking down an 
arrogant Caesar. (Booth had played both these roles as 

*          *          *

     I am simply astounded at the degree to which Lincoln 
has been falsified. With the happy exception of the 
Library of America's Lincoln anthology, most editions of 
his speeches and writings deliberately omit his 
utterances on racial matters whenever they conflict with 
contemporary liberal opinion. His scholarly celebrants 
play those views down in order to sustain the impression 
that he was (or would have been, had he lived in our 
time) an apostle of the agenda of "civil rights," 
integration, affirmative action, and so forth. Somehow 
Honest Abe has inspired more lies than any other 

*          *          *

     Since writing the ensuing essay, I've learned that 
Lincoln, like his hero Henry Clay, was a member of the 
American Colonization Society, founded in 1816 for the 
purpose of encouraging the gradual emancipation of slaves 
and their resettlement outside the United States, 
preferably in Africa. Now forgotten, the society 
represented an important movement, a via media between 
the abolitionists and pro-slavery forces. It helped 
create Liberia, whose capital, Monrovia, was named for 
one of its members, President James Monroe. Other famous 
members included Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Andrew 
Jackson, Millard Fillmore, John Marshall, Francis Scott 
Key, Daniel Webster, and even two of Lincoln's political 
foes, Stephen Douglas and Roger Taney.

(pages 2-6)

     Abraham Lincoln was a humble, kindly man of the 
people, devoted to liberty and "government of the people, 
by the people, for the people." Forced to wage civil war, 
he did so reluctantly, "with malice toward none, with 
charity for all," ever appealing magnanimously against 
sectional hatred to "the better angels of our nature." 
But in the end, believing in the equal dignity of all 
races, he made war, freed the slaves, and gave America "a 
new birth of freedom." He was, in particular, the best 
friend black Americans ever had.

     This is the Lincoln of popular mythology, of 
folklore and movies, but also of scribes and scholars. 
New books continue pouring out to shore up and even add 
depth to the myth. Whole books are written about the 
Gettysburg Address alone. Steeped in Shakespeare and the 
King James Bible, Lincoln endowed his words with a 
resonance rivaling theirs in the American mind.

     Even to criticize Lincoln is to sound like a 
sorehead. Nevertheless, it must be said, again and again, 
that no other figure in American history is so different 
from his accepted image. Lincoln's rhetoric is so 
eloquent, so overpowering, that it distracts us from the 
record to which it stands in amazing -- yet obvious -- 
contrast. His own conduct of the Civil War gave his 
brilliant words the lie. Yet, in most Americans' minds, 
those words still define the meaning of that war.

     Before the war, before his presidency, Lincoln 
displayed the makings of a great man. In his famous 
debates with Stephen Douglas in 1858, he impaled Douglas 
with iron logic. Douglas had endorsed "popular 
sovereignty" -- the right of people in the territories to 
decide whether to legalize slavery -- but then embraced 
the Dred Scott decision, in which Chief Justice Roger 
Taney had said that the Constitution forbade Congress 
*or* the people of the territories to ban slavery in the 
territories. Taney, in other words, had *denied* popular 
sovereignty when it came to slavery. So Douglas couldn't 
have it both ways.

     Lincoln pressed further. Because Douglas and the 
Democratic Party wouldn't directly say that slavery was 
wrong in principle, they were bound to treat it, as a 
practical matter, as a right. There was no middle ground. 
And if the U.S. Supreme Court should extend its own 
logic, holding that the Constitution established slave 
ownership as a right even in the currently "free" states, 
the Democrats would be bound to accept "the 
nationalization of slavery." So far Lincoln was right, 
and he had Douglas cornered.

     If Lincoln's career had ended there, it would have 
been an honorable and even glorious one. But as president 
he became overweening, waging a disastrous war by illegal 
means and defending his course with sophistry. Because he 
won the war, crushed the South, "saved the Union," and 
issued the Emancipation Proclamation, he has been 
canonized as our greatest president, and his arguments 
have escaped the scrutiny they deserve. In fact his 
fallacies have come to sound like truisms, so that it now 
seems odd even to ask if they were really cogent. Because 
he was essentially right about slavery, it is too easily 
assumed that he must have been right about everything 

     But after all, it is logically possible that he was 
right about slavery and wrong to wage war. He knew this 
himself, though his idolators now take it for granted 
that if slavery was wrong, the war that ended with its 
abolition must have been justified -- a simplistic 
argument Lincoln himself never made. Until the 
Emancipation Proclamation he was at pains to assure 
everyone, North and South, that he was *not* waging war 
on slavery. His famous 1862 letter to Horace Greeley 
stressed the point: "If I could save the Union without 
freeing any slave, I would do it." He added that he would 
be as willing to save the Union by freeing all slaves, or 
by freeing some; he neglected to say whether he would be 
willing save it by *extending* slavery -- though, if 
saving the Union was his supreme and sacred goal, well, 
why not?

     Lincoln's great presidential speeches are based on 
one false proposition: that the war was necessary to 
"save the Union," which the Confederacy was trying to 
"dissolve" and "destroy." A Southern victory would cause 
not only the Union but self-government itself to "perish 
from the earth"! Lincoln was always careful to equate 
secession with "aggression" and "treason." He inflated 
the South's desire to withdraw -- peacefully, if possible 
-- from the confederated Republic into an apocalyptic 
threat to self-government everywhere, forever.

     Lincoln's rhetoric always implied that the 
"rebellion" would not only sever the South, but 
annihilate the North. Over time he spoke less and less of 
the "Union" -- in 1861 he had called it "this 
Confederacy"! -- and more and more of the "nation" as a 
simple, unitary thing, of which the individual states 
were mere subdivisions rather than federated sovereign 
components. A radical change occurred in his own 
thinking. As the pro-Lincoln historian James M. McPherson 
observes, Lincoln began with the conservative goal of 
"preserving" the Union, slavery and all, but ended with 
the revolutionary aim of using the power of the federal 
government to transform the internal character of the 
Southern states. Ultimately the Union victory proved less 
a conquest of the South by the North than the triumph of 
the federal government over the states, of "consolidated" 
government, as the Framers of the Constitution called it, 
over federalism.

     Yet the Union would have survived secession; it 
would not have been destroyed by a few states reclaiming 
their sovereignty. To cancel your membership in a society 
is a very different thing from *destroying* that 
society; but Lincoln was bent on erasing this simple 
distinction (though earlier in his life he had supported 
independence movements in Mexico and Hungary). And even 
if the South had been allowed to secede in peace, a later 
reunion, on terms agreeable to both sides, would have 
remained possible, even probable, without the terrible 
rancor that ensued from the war.

     In order to rally wavering public opinion to his 
cause, Lincoln waited for the South to strike the first 
blow. The North was by no means eager for war; many 
Northerners, perhaps most, were willing to let the South 
go its own way. They knew very well that a diminished 
Union would continue to survive. But Fort Sumter ignited 
the sort of war fever that Pearl Harbor would set off in 
isolationist America in 1941, though the only death was 
that of an unfortunate Union horse. The Union prisoners 
were treated gallantly after their surrender, but the 
North reacted as if they had been mercilessly 

     In his first inaugural address, Lincoln had 
cunningly set the stage for the war he insisted he didn't 
want. He had said that he had neither the "lawful right" 
nor the "inclination" to disturb slavery where it already 
existed, and he quoted and endorsed the Republican 
platform's declaration that "the maintenance inviolate of 
the rights of the states, and especially the right of 
each state to order and control its own domestic 
institutions according to its own judgment exclusively, 
*is essential to that balance of power on which the 
perfection and endurance of our political fabric 
depend;* and we denounce *the lawless invasion by armed 
force* of the soil of any state or territory, *no 
matter under what pretext,* as among the gravest of 
crimes." (My emphasis; but note the loophole afforded by 
the word *lawless.*) He even avowed his willingness to 
support a proposed constitutional amendment protecting 
slavery from federal interference.

     Having said this, Lincoln proceeded to deny the 
right of secession. The Union, he insisted, was 
"perpetual," and secession was not "provided for" in the 
Constitution. He went further: "The Union is much older 
than the Constitution." It commenced with the Articles of 
Association in 1774, and was "matured and continued" by 
the Declaration of Independence in 1776, the Articles of 
Confederation in 1778, and finally by the Constitution 
itself in 1787. Any act of secession was therefore 
"legally void." It was his "simple duty" to enforce the 
law in all the states; "and I shall perform it, so far as 
practicable, unless *my rightful masters, the American 
people,* shall *withhold the requisite means,* or, in 
some authoritative manner, *direct the contrary."* (My 
emphasis.) That is, only the people could stop him from 
waging war on the seceding states; but he clearly implied 
that should they do so, he would heed their desires. 
Meanwhile, he said, the Union "will constitutionally 
defend and maintain itself." He added that if the Supreme 
Court were to decide "vital questions" of public policy, 
the American people, those "rightful masters" of the 
government, "will have ceased to be their own rulers, 
having, to that extent, practically resigned their 
government into the hands of that eminent tribunal."

     So Lincoln presented himself as the humble champion 
of popular self-government and portrayed the Confederacy 
as an "insurrection" against lawful and constitutional 
majority rule. But there were some holes in this 
argument. At Gettysburg he would say that the Declaration 
had created a "new nation" in 1776, though in fact it had 
said nothing about a monolithic "nation"; it had asserted 
that the colonies "are, and of Right ought to be, Free 
and Independent States." The Articles of Confederation 
had laid down the principle that "each state retains its 
sovereignty, freedom, and independence." Nor had the 
Constitution denied the ultimate sovereignty of the 
states, three of which had expressly reserved the 
unconditional right to secede in their ratification acts. 
As Jefferson Davis later pointed out, either those 
reservations were valid (in which case *every* state 
must also retain the right to secede), or the conditional 
acts of ratification were invalid and three states had 
never joined the Union.

     Lincoln's appeals to the Constitution and the people 
were also hollow. He flagrantly violated the Constitution 
in order to wage war and, just as significantly, to 
suppress dissent in the North. He outraged many 
Northerners by raising troops and money himself for 
several months, without summoning Congress, whose powers 
he was usurping. He suspended the writ of habeas corpus, 
thereby usurping another congressional prerogative; and 
when Chief Justice Taney ruled that this was a violation 
of the Constitution, Lincoln not only defied the ruling 
but wrote an order for Taney's arrest! He later offered 
the lame argument that a part of the Constitution might 
have to be violated in order to preserve the whole. But 
Taney, in this case, was on firm ground: the suspension 
of habeas corpus during war or insurrection had always 
been a legislative, not an executive act. Lincoln was 
acting as a dictator, for which there was absolutely no 
provision in the Constitution. But, as he ominously put 
it: "The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the 
stormy present."

     Equating opposition to the war with "disloyalty" and 
"treason," Lincoln authorized more than 10,000 arbitrary 
arrests and shut down hundreds of newspapers throughout 
the North. Many civilians were improperly tried by 
military courts and hanged in virtual lynchings for no 
worse crime than opposing the war. Lincoln wasn't 
deferential to his "rightful masters, the American 
people," when they sought to direct him otherwise than as 
he was inclined to be directed.

     Nowhere was this clearer than in Maryland in 1861. 
The legislature voted against secession, but it 
recognized the right of any state to secede and opposed 
keeping the Southern states in the Union by force. When 
it denounced the war as "unconstitutional" and refused to 
supply troops, Lincoln had the antiwar members arrested 
(along with the mayor of Baltimore and other prominent 
antiwar citizens) and used the army to set up a puppet 
government for the remainder of the war. On election day, 
federal soldiers, armed with bayonets, guarded the polls 
and arrested suspected Southern sympathizers; many of 
these soldiers also voted illegally.

     It was a nakedly rigged election, made necessary by 
Lincoln's definitions of *treason* and *disloyalty,* 
which were so broad as to include, if we count 
Southerners, most of the population. Presumably the 
Marylanders who wanted to remain in the Union, while 
acknowledging that others had the right to secede, 
considered themselves quite loyal. They also considered 
themselves Lincoln's "rightful masters," entitled to hold 
him to the Constitution they thought he was flouting 
through the means available to them. But Lincoln felt it 
was up to him to elect a new electorate, having found the 
old one unsatisfactory. He wasn't taking back talk from 
his rightful masters.

     Lincoln's suppression of debate throughout the North 
made a mockery of his claim to be defending "government 
of the people, by the people, for the people" and 
amounted to his own rebellion against his "rightful 
masters, the American people." He didn't confine himself 
to usurping Congress's powers, defying the Supreme Court, 
and making war on the South: he waged war against the 
freedom of the people of the North as well. He made 
"saving the Union" a holy cause from which there was no 

     At Gettysburg Lincoln said that the "new nation" had 
been "dedicated to the proposition" that "all men are 
created equal." But the Declaration actually *invoked* 
that proposition by way of self-justification; it hadn't 
*dedicated* the "nation" to it. Lincoln also neglected 
to mention "the consent of the governed," a Jeffersonian 
principle that confronted him awkwardly as he attempted 
to impose his will on the South.

     European observers were shocked not only by the 
brutality of the Union army in the South, but by 
Lincoln's reign of terror in the North. His most recent 
biographer, David Donald, deems Lincoln's presidency the 
worst period for civil liberties in American history. And 
so it was. Even the crackdowns of Woodrow Wilson and 
Franklin Roosevelt during the two world wars were mild by 
comparison. (For a good summary of Lincoln's crimes 
against the Constitution and foreign reaction to them, 
published by Rowman & Littlefield.)

     To finance his war, Lincoln imposed an income tax, 
later ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court, and 
fiat money in the form of depreciating greenbacks, which 
all were forced to accept as legal tender; the greenbacks 
too were later ruled unconstitutional by the Court, in an 
opinion written by Chief Justice Salmon Chase -- who had 
been Lincoln's secretary of the Treasury when the 
greenbacks were issued! For Lincoln, the sacred end of 
"preserving the Union" justified nearly every means.

     Even so, the war dragged on, becoming so unpopular, 
in spite of all his efforts to suppress dissent, that 
Lincoln expected to lose the 1864 election. Only the 
morale-boosting conquest of Atlanta saved him from 

     Republican government depends on the freedom of the 
people and their elected representatives to discuss the 
vital practical questions before them; and no question 
can be more vital than the choice between war and peace. 
Without this freedom, public opinion becomes uninformed 
and stultified, and "the consent of the governed" becomes 

     So, in the 1864 election, Lincoln had certain 
advantages he hadn't had in 1860. He no longer needed to 
fear the opposition of the Southern voters; and he had 
crippled opposition in the North.

     Lincoln's views on racial equality have also been 
astonishingly misrepresented. It's well known that he 
expressed opinions on race that are now repugnant to most 
people, but he went beyond thinking that blacks were 
naturally inferior to whites. His words in debate with 
Stephen Douglas in 1858 are occasionally quoted:

            I will say then that I am not, nor ever 
      have been, in favor of bringing about in any 
      way the social and political equality of the 
      white and black races -- that I am not, nor 
      ever have been, in favor of making voters or 
      jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to 
      hold office, nor to intermarry with white 
      people; and I will say in addition to this 
      that there is a physical difference between 
      the white and black races which I believe will 
      forever forbid the two races living together 
      on terms of social and political equality. And 
      inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do 
      remain together there must be the position of 
      superior and inferior, and I as much as any 
      other man am in favor of having the superior 
      position assigned to the white race.
     But this was not all. He underlined the point by 
adding: "I am not in favor of Negro citizenship." 
Addressing the question whether individual states had the 
constitutional power to confer citizenship on the Negro, 
he said: "If the state of Illinois had that power I 
should be opposed to the exercise of it."

     Lincoln's apologists try to minimize these words as 
mere concessions to the prejudices of his age. But they 
represented his own convictions, and he put them with a 
force we should not ignore. He went out of his way to say 
them when he had no need to, repeating the same 
sentiments in several ways. He also backed them up with 

     Beginning with his 1852 eulogy of Henry Clay, 
Lincoln's hero and an apostle of both emancipation and 
colonization, Lincoln had spoken openly of the 
troublesome presence of the free Negroes." In 1854, 
speaking of the Kansas-Nebraska act, Lincoln had asked 
what should be done with black slaves: 

      Free them, and make them politically and 
      socially our equals? My own feelings will not 
      admit of this; and if mine would, we well know 
      that those of the great mass of white people 
      will not. Whether this feeling accords with 
      justice and sound judgment is not the sole 
      question, if indeed it is any part of it. A 
      universal feeling, whether well- or ill-
      founded, cannot be safely disregarded. We 
      cannot, then, make them equals.

He suggested a policy of "gradual emancipation," ideally 
followed by colonization elsewhere: "My first impulse 
would be to free all the slaves and send them to Liberia 
-- to their own native land." That was to be a consistent 
double purpose of his political life: to oppose both 
slavery *and* Negro citizenship.

     Speaking on the Dred Scott decision in 1857, Lincoln 
said: "There is a natural disgust in the minds of nearly 
all white people to the idea of an indiscriminate 
amalgamation of the white and black races." He protested

      that counterfeit logic which concludes that, 
      because I do not want a black woman for a 
      *slave* I must necessarily want her for a 
      *wife.* I need not have her for either; I can 
      just leave her alone. In some respects she 
      certainly is not my equal; but in her natural 
      right to eat the bread she earns with her own 
      hands without asking leave of anyone else, she 
      is my equal, and the equal of all others.

But he added that "the separation of the races is the 
only perfect preventive of amalgamation." He proposed "to 
transfer the African to his native clime. In 1860 he 
would approvingly quote Jefferson on the necessity of 
"emancipation," followed by "deportation."

     As president, Lincoln supported colonization 
movements that would encourage free Negroes to move to 
Africa or Latin America. In modern language, he favored 
grand apartheid, with the races separate but equal: in 
fact he believed that the black man could become the 
white man's equal *only* through separation. In this 
belief the author of the Gettysburg Address joins hands 
with Louis Farrakhan.

     Lincoln's champions hate to see him as a 
segregationist, but that's exactly what he was. In 1862 
he became the first president to welcome a group of free 
Negroes to the White House, but he did so for the purpose 
of giving them a stern lecture on the necessity of their 
leaving the United States:

          You and we are different races. We have 
      between us a broader difference than exists 
      between almost any other two races. Whether it 
      is right or wrong I need not discuss, but this 
      physical difference is a great disadvantage to 
      us both, as I think your race suffer very 
      greatly, many of them by living among us, 
      while ours suffer from your presence.... It is 
      better for us both, therefore, to be 
     This was a constant theme of Lincoln's presidency: 
that freed slaves would need a new home, *outside* the 
United States. In his December 1861 state of the Union 
message he spoke of "the acquiring of territory" and "the 
appropriation of money" for "the plan of colonization." 
In 1862 he addressed representatives of the nonseceding 
border states on gradual emancipation, mentioning that 
there was "room in South America for colonization." In 
September he wrote a preliminary draft of the 
Emancipation Proclamation which included a pledge that 
"the effort to colonize persons of African descent, with 
their consent, upon this continent, or elsewhere, with 
the previously obtained consent of the governments 
existing there, will be continued."

     Finally, to confirm the seriousness of his purpose, 
Lincoln urged in his December 1862 state of the Union 
message that Congress adopt a *constitutional amendment* 
authorizing colonization: "Congress may appropriate 
money, and otherwise provide, for colonizing free colored 
persons, with their own consent, at any place or places 
without the United States." He added: "I cannot make it 
better known than it already is, that I strongly favor 
colonization." This proposed amendment is remarkable in 
two respects. First, it specifies that such colonization 
must be directed *outside* the United States. Second, it 
quaintly assumes that Congress would need constitutional 
authority to take colonization measures; today, of 
course, Congress and presidents don't bother seeking such 
authority for *anything* they may care to do. Lincoln 
still shared a few old scruples about the limits of 
federal power.

     Lincoln's enthusiasm for colonization, also called 
"deportation," failed to gain adherents, and after the 
amendment failed he dropped the subject.

     In retrospect, colonization may seem a harebrained 
scheme, and it embarrasses Lincoln's modern admirers. But 
it was close to his heart, and it was no passing fancy or 
hobby: it was integral to his thinking and policy on the 
subject of race. There is no room for doubt that he was a 
convinced segregationist. Nor did he think in the least 
that this meant that he was anti-Negro; on the contrary, 
he believed total separation was necessary for the good 
of both the white and black races. He realized it would 
be hard to achieve, but it was no less his ideal, as well 
as his practical goal, for that.

     Lincoln can't be understood unless we see that this 
was indeed his ideal. It may seem strange that this idol 
of liberalism should have viewed racial segregation as 
something to aspire to, but the facts are unequivocal. 
Abraham Lincoln, the same man who was willing to take 
extreme measures to prevent the political separation of 
North and South, was also willing to take other ambitious 
measures to accomplish the total separation, political 
and social, of white and black.

     Because he succeeded in the one goal and failed in 
the other, the second goal has been forgotten and 
airbrushed out of the Lincoln myth, along with his 
assaults on civil liberties and his order for the arrest 
of the chief justice of the United States. But since 
Lincoln is revered not only for his successes but for his 
personal character, these facts, which are something more 
than incidental details, are essential to any attempt to 
see him whole, as the towering but tragic figure he was.


STRAIGHT THINKIER: Harvard's distinguished philosopher 
Willard Van Orman Quine, who specialized in mathematical 
logic, has died at 92. His more abstruse work was beyond 
my ken, but his witty and invigorating essays, which I 
read in grad school, gave logic a charm I didn't know it 
could have. And it's not as if this country can afford to 
lose another logician. (page 8)

UNPARDONABLE: Orrin Hatch and other bipartisan 
Republicans are calling on G.W. Bush to pardon Bill 
Clinton -- *before* any indictment is issued. Okay, as 
long as wešre allowed to tar and feather him. (page 11)

TIMELY WORDS: Besieged with office-seekers on his arrival 
in Washington, Lincoln told his law partner William 
Herndon: "This human struggle and scramble for office, 
for a way to live without work, will finally test the 
strength of our institutions." (page 12)

Exclusive to the electronic version:

BRIBE, n. -- An irregular transaction through which the 
citizen may get his money's worth of service from the 


* Stealing an Election (December 12, 2000)
* How Washington Thinks (December 21, 2000)
* Memoirs of a Heretic (December 26, 2000)
* Free Virginia! (December 28, 2000)
* Money and Morality (January 2, 2001)
* Christ the Culprit? (January 4, 2001, 2000)

And an appendix (exclusive to the electronic edition):

* (December 19, 2000)


All articles are written by Joe Sobran

You may forward this newsletter if you 
include the following subscription and copyright 

Subscribe to the Sobran E-Package. 
or for details and samples
or call 800-513-5053.

Copyright (c) 2001 by the Griffin Internet 
Syndicate, All rights reserved.