The smell of premium tobacco has a funny way of making people uncomfortable: usually the ones who are more concerned with appearing holy than actually being it. For centuries, the simple act of lighting up a cigar has been caught in the crosshairs of moralists, kings, and popes. Is it a sin? Or is it a sophisticated ritual that elevates the human experience? If you’re looking for a Sunday School pat on the head, you’re in the wrong place. We’re interested in the "meat": the historical reality of how tobacco has been viewed by those who shaped the Western world.
When you strip away the modern pearl-clutching, you’re left with a fundamental question of utility and liberty. Does a cigar serve a purpose, or is it a drain on the soul? At 1689 Cigar Co., we produce our London, Westminster, and Savoy blends because we believe quality tobacco is a tool for reflection, community, and: dare we say: the glory of God. But the road to this conclusion was paved with enough bans and anathemas to make your head spin.
The Iron Fist: When Kings and Popes Went to War
The early history of tobacco in the West wasn’t a peaceful introduction. It was a clash of cultures. By the time the leaf reached European shores, it was already being branded as "the devil’s weed."
King James I of England didn't mince words. In 1604, he penned A Counterblaste to Tobacco, perhaps the most famous anti-smoking screed in history. James didn't just hate the smell; he viewed tobacco as a "vile and stinking custom," a physical threat to his subjects, and a moral corruption imported from "barbarous" lands. From his perspective, smoking was a net loss for the state: it drained the pockets of the poor and rotted the lungs of the soldiers. He wasn't entirely wrong about the health costs, but his approach was one of pure authoritarian control. He viewed the body not as a temple for the individual’s joy, but as an asset of the crown that was being degraded.
Across the continent, the Catholic Church was having its own "tobacco problem." In 1642, Pope Urban VIII issued the letter Cum Ecclesiae. He wasn't necessarily worried about your health at the local pub; he was worried about the Cathedral of Seville. Apparently, the clergy and laity were chewing, snuffing, and smoking tobacco right at the altar. They were leaving "fetid excrements" on the church floors. Urban’s response? Excommunication.
But here’s the thing: was the tobacco the sin, or was it the lack of reverence? If you’re lighting up a London Habano in the middle of a sermon, you’re not a sinner because of the tobacco; you’re a sinner because you’re a rude distraction. Urban VIII was protecting the utility of the liturgical space. Tobacco smoke wasn't allowed to compete with the incense of the sanctuary. It was a matter of decorum, not an inherent moral stain on the leaf itself.
The Great Defense: Smoking to the Glory of God
If the 17th century was defined by bans, the 18th and 19th centuries saw a massive shift toward liberty and common sense. By 1724, Pope Benedict XIII: a man who enjoyed his snuff: revoked the penalty of excommunication. He realized that people were literally leaving Mass just to get a fix, which was far more disruptive than letting them stay and use it moderately. It was a pragmatic move that prioritized the "greater good" of keeping people in the pews over a legalistic ban that wasn't working.
Then we have the Prince of Preachers himself, Charles Spurgeon.
Spurgeon is a hero around our shop for a reason. When he was criticized by a fellow minister for his cigar habit, he didn't apologize. He didn't hide his humidor. Instead, he boldly claimed he would "smoke a cigar to the glory of God." This wasn't a flippant remark; it was a profound theological stance. If God created the tobacco leaf and gave man the skill to handcraft a premium blend, then enjoying that creation with a grateful heart is an act of worship.
Think about the utility of a cigar in Spurgeon's life. It wasn't about "getting a buzz." It was about the "incense of the mind." For a man who lived a life of immense stress, carrying the weight of thousands of souls, a cigar provided the quietude necessary for deep thought and prayer. Does the pleasure of a well-rolled Westminster Maduro outweigh the minor physical risk? For Spurgeon, the answer was a resounding yes. The mental and spiritual utility of the experience far exceeded the cost.
Slavery vs. Stewardship: The Fine Line of Moderation
Of course, we’d be dishonest if we didn't play devil’s advocate against our own industry for a moment. The Puritan giant Cotton Mather warned against "slavery to the pipe." This is where the utilitarian argument gets tricky.
If you are a slave to anything: whether it’s tobacco, alcohol, or even your phone: your utility as a human being drops. You lose your agency. You’re no longer making a choice to enjoy a 1689 Savoy; you’re being driven by a biological itch that you can’t scratch. Mather’s concern wasn't that the pipe was evil, but that the mastery of the pipe over the man was a spiritual tragedy.
This is the tension we live in. Is the body a temple? Yes. But a temple isn't meant to be a museum where nothing ever happens; it’s a place of activity and sacrifice. Stewardship isn't about avoiding all risks; it’s about managing them to maximize the output of a meaningful life. If a cigar helps you build a community with your friends, provides a space for deep theological discussion, or simply helps you decompress after a week of hard work, then the utility is high.
Why do you think we put so much effort into our blends? We don't want you smoking gas station trash that’s filled with chemicals and paper. We want you smoking a handcrafted product that demands your attention. You don't "slave" over a 1689 cigar; you savor it. There’s a difference between addiction and appreciation.
The Modern Boutique Connection
Today, the battle hasn't changed much: it’s just the names that have shifted. Instead of King James, we have the FDA. Instead of Pope Urban, we have the "health at all costs" crowd who thinks that any pleasure that carries a risk should be illegal.
We take a different path. We stand with the rebels, the thinkers, and the ones who believe that liberty is worth the smoke. Our "No King But Christ" series isn't just a catchy name; it’s a statement of who we answer to. We don't answer to the legalists who want to add to the Ten Commandments, and we don't answer to the libertines who want to use tobacco as an excuse for hedonism.
We occupy the middle ground of theologically-themed excellence. When you light up one of our 1689 blends, you’re participating in a historical tradition that spans from the smoky studies of 19th-century London to the quiet porches of modern America. You’re choosing a product that values quality over quantity, and reflection over distraction.
The Final Verdict
So, is it a sin?
If you’re doing it to defy your conscience, it’s a sin. If you’re doing it to the detriment of your family’s finances, it’s a sin. If you’ve become a "slave to the pipe," you’ve got work to do. But if you can sit down with a Savoy, crack open a book of history, and thank the Creator for the rich, complex flavors of a well-aged Maduro... then you’re not sinning. You’re living.
We don't apologize for what we do. We make premium cigars for people who understand that life is more than just avoiding death. It’s about the "good life": a life of liberty, responsibility, and really good tobacco.
A Challenge for the Wise
We like to reward those who pay attention. Here is a little something to test your wits.
I have a head but no brain. I have a foot but no legs. I am often dressed in gold or blue, and I am best when I am slowly consumed. What am I?
The first 10 people to message us on our website at 1689cigars.com with the correct answer will receive a $10 gift card. Good luck.
0 comments