Contextualizing Lincoln

and Race
Home​ > ​Issues​ > ​October 2007​ > From the Editor

In October 1855, William Dungey of Clinton, Illinois, hired Abraham Lincoln to bring a slander suit against his brother-in-law,
Joseph Spencer. Dungey brought the action after a family quarrel escalated and Spencer began publically claiming that
Dungey was “a negro.” What made the matter so serious for Dungey was that, since 1819, Illinois restricted the immigration
of free blacks into the state. These restrictions remained in effect into the mid-nineteenth century. The 1848 Illinois
Constitution, for instance, required the state assembly to “pass such laws as will effectively prohibit free persons of color
from immigrating to and settling” in the state. To Dungey, who claimed to be of Portuguese descent, being considered legally
black would have meant the loss of his property, his marriage, and his right to stay in Illinois.

On April 17, 1855 Lincoln filed the case against Spencer, seeking one thousand dollars in damages. One of the main issues at
trial was the testimony of defense witnesses from Giles County, Tennessee–the Dungey family home–who claimed to know
the family personally and to certify that the Dungeys were considered by the community to be “mixed blooded.” In
successfully attacking the evidence, Lincoln pointed out that because none of the witnesses lived within thirty miles of the
Dunge home, the information in the depositions had to be based on hearsay. After six months of trial and jury deliberations,
a verdict came back in favor of the plaintiff, granting him $600 in damages and another $137.50 in court costs.

Although historians have used this case to show Lincoln’s skill in the courtroom and his keen legal mind, when examined a
little closer, it reveals something much more profound–the understanding of race in the nineteenth century. Dungey, who
had a slightly darker complexion than others in the community, claimed that his family was Portuguese. Lincoln agreed,
arguing in court, “My client is not a Negro, though it is a crime to be a Negro [i.e., a crime for a Negro to come to Illinois]–no
crime to be born with a black skin. But my client is not a Negro. His skin may not be as white as ours, but I say he is not a
Negro . . . I say my client may be a Moor, but he is not a Negro.”

As recent scholarship suggests, and this quote from Lincoln reveals, race is socially constructed. To Lincoln, regardless of
Dungey’s skin color, his Portuguese–or Moorish–ancestry gave Dungey legal and social rights in the community, state, and
the country. Despite the socially constructed nature of race, it was–and is still in many ways–considered by many to be
biological, something scientists have been arguing against for decades. But until the emergence of whiteness studies more
than a decade ago, many people who spoke or thought about race found it hard to sever the connection between race and
biology. Whiteness scholars, however, have shown how society and law created and reinforced race. When a state law (like
many in the South) declared a person with one-eighth Negro ancestry to be black, the law was literally making someone who
probably looked white into a black person. As people constructed blackness, so also did they construct whiteness. But
whiteness was usually seen for what it was not, rather than what it was. Whites, including Lincoln, valued the fact that they
were not black. In the case of Lincoln’s client, what was most important was that “he is not a Negro.” Put simply, Lincoln
argued that although Dungey may–or even may not have been–racially white, he certainly was not black.

Just as this brief incident in the life of Lincoln demonstrates the extent to which definitions of race were central to legal and
social constructions of identity in nineteenth-century America, this issue of the Magazine of History examines, on many
levels, the intersection of Abraham Lincoln, constructions of race, and slavery. More than any president, Lincoln’s beliefs and
actions provide a window into how race has shaped our nation. In this respect, Darrel Bigham has done an important job of
gathering compelling and provocative articles that explore this theme in much of its complexity. Brian Dirck explores the
ways that race has shaped how historians have evaluated Lincoln and how these views have changed over time. “For better
or worse,” Dirck admits, “as we approach the two-hundredth anniversary of his birth, Lincoln’s racial legacy is far more
mixed than any other area of his life.” Allen Guelzo argues that Lincoln was consistent in his beliefs about slavery and race
throughout his life, concluding that it is true that “Lincoln might, perhaps, have done more in the cause of emancipation and
civil equality,” but he “also might very easily have done a good deal less.” Richard Blackett takes a more critical view of
Lincoln by focusing on Lincoln’s consistent support of colonization. “There are ominous signs,” argues Blackett, “that his
conservative instincts continued to limit his vision.” Thomas Mackey examines Lincoln’s ideas about race and slavery both in
Lincoln’s role as a politician and as a life-long opponent of slavery.