Chapter X: Church and State
X
Church and State
Jonathan Edwards, and most of the other leaders in the colonies believed that Christ would one day return from heaven and destroy those who do evil. Then, Christ would reign on earth over a kingdom of saints for a thousand years until the final judgment and the creation of a “new earth.” In light of this belief, colonial religious leaders interpreted the Great Awakening as a final outpouring of God’s grace onto society to prepare for Christ’s impending return. As Whitefield wrote recalling the revivals of 1741:
The awakening greatly increased in various places, till, at length, the work so advanced every where, that many thought the latter-day glory was indeed come, and that a nation was to be born in a day.
The Puritan vision for America of a “city upon a hill” was still alive for the Americans. But Christ had not returned, creating a delay that pressured ministers to rethink their doctrine. To resolve the problem, the ministers wondered whether “perhaps Christ is already at work, setting up his kingdom and making war on evil by more visible means. Perhaps Christ and the devil are already at war with one another through existing governments.” If they were right about the delay, the spread of Whitefield’s religious/political ideas could further shape the New Light community of believers and persuade them to trust the traditional colonial governments. Thus began a blending of religion and politics into what Nathan Hatch has called “civil millennialism,” an “amalgam of traditional Puritan apocalyptic rhetoric and eighteenth-century political discourse.” This blending of ideas forged a stubborn link between religious virtue and liberty.1 As Hatch explains:
In picturing the struggle of liberty versus tyranny as nothing less than the conflict between heaven and hell, the clergy found their political commitments energized with the force of a divine imperative and their political goals translated into the very principles which would initiate the kingdom of God on earth.2
The expectations of the New Light theologians had to be changed when the Awakening failed to usher in the millennial reign of Christ. Hatch placed the full development of civil millennialism between 1744 and 1754, setting it in place just in time to empower the French and Indian War rhetoric. Yet Hatch sheds little light on the intellectual origins of civil millennialism, merely pointing out that it could not have directly evolved from post-Awakening theology, and that it first appeared in sermons by New Light ministers after the Louisbourg expedition. By the mid-1750s, ministers, including the Old Lights, were preaching that “an extensive French-Catholic conspiracy” was “linked directly to an apocalyptic interpretation of history in which the French were accomplices in Satan’s plot to subjugate God’s elect in New England.”3 According to Hatch, this initial form of civil millennialism was developed and expressed by Jonathan Mayhew and other ministers. But Mayhew’s sermon in 1750 was a publishing flop and did not become popular until the 1770s when people began to reapply his ideas to George III. Prior to Mayhew’s publication, Whitefield’s sermon “Britain’s Mercies” explicitly connected the French, Roman Catholicism, and the antichrist in the “horrid plot, first hatched in hell, and afterwards nursed at Rome” that he believed inspired Charles Edward’s attempted coup. His connection of virtue with liberty predates Hatch’s first examples of the apocalyptic plot by eight years. Again we find Whitefield resurrecting and modifying arguments from Britain’s political past, inserting them into the leading edge of an intellectual transformation and spreading the ideas throughout the colonies. Whitefield was the person most able to publicize the concept of civil millennialism. Few ministers of the period had sufficient popularity to sell their published sermons beyond their immediate locale in the same way that Whitefield could. Whitefield provided an eloquent rhetoric and a network of dissemination that helped the spread of civil millennialism throughout the colonies.
In practical terms, civil millennialism resulted from taking a logic template from the New versus Old Lights in religion and reapplying it to British Christians and French Roman Catholics. This shift was perfectly timed to help Whitefield rebuild his influence, which had been reduced during the post-Awakening conflict. Having distanced himself from the radical enthusiasm of other Protestants, Whitefield’s emphasis upon substantial threats to the American Christian community refocused colonial eyes upon politics, thus easing criticism against him.
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New England probably was not ready for Whitefield to return, perhaps due to the heavy loss of life while the troops were stationed at Louisbourg for the winter after their victory. He did not yet sense a welcome mat laid out for him, writing, “I am afraid that many ministers and the heads of the people would not bear it.” But since thousands in the South had not yet heard him, he decided to continue his traveling there, “Nobody goes out scarcely but myself.” Whitefield was back in Maryland in 1747 continuing to range the woods for sinners, but was prevented from going into Virginia by a recently passed law that forbade traveling preachers. In spite of his published defenses of traveling to preach, Whitefield did not challenge the law as he usually did. He did not want to stir up more controversy. So he continued his touring of the middle and southern colonies throughout 1746 and early 1747. During this time, the message of the new birth fully permeated the South and most middle colonies as it had New England seven years earlier. By June of 1747, Whitefield was planning a return to Boston in order to say good-bye to his friends there, and he was optimistic that New Englanders would be more hospitable than they had been two years earlier. He was not to be disappointed.
The Boston Gazette began reporting Whitefield’s whereabouts as his tour neared New England again. Every week through the early summer the paper reported where he had last preached and speculated on when he would arrive. After hearing that Whitefield was becoming increasingly ill in New York and had cancelled his trip, the paper ceased its reports. But in early August, Whitefield announced that his health would permit a trip up to Boston after all, and the paper began running the progress reports again. He arrived two weeks later and immediately began preaching all over Boston. Colman’s church was first, then he preached at various other places—Presbyterian, Puritan, and Baptist. Within a week, he preached his farewell sermon, outdoors on a cemetery hill at the edge of town, something he dared not try two years earlier. According to the newspaper, “the Hill with its Avenues were covered with People; and some tho’t there were Twenty Thousand.”
In a letter to Gilbert Tennent, Whitefield summarized his reception: “I can now send you good news from the Northward. My reception at Boston, and elsewhere in New-England, was like unto the first … Congregations were rather larger than ever, and opposers’ mouths were stopped.” Whitefield was so encouraged, that he was reminded of the revival in 1740 before all the trouble started: “The gathering of the people, and the power that attended the word seemed to be near the same as when the work begun seven years ago.” In a request that would have been foolhardy had there remained any controversy, Whitefield invited Tennent to come up to Boston and continue the revival as he had in 1741, saying, “Will you now take another trip? I believe it would be blessed to the good of your own and many other souls.” The conflict appeared to be over. The “Convention of New England Ministers” had apparently initiated a shift in the majority of attitudes. Fears about Whitefield and conspiracies ended, and radical enthusiasts such as Davenport had been pushed aside, leaving Edwards, Whitefield, and Tennent in the mainstream of the Christian community. Tennent would help to repair the split among Presbyterians in the next decade. Although the New and Old Light clergy still held some doctrinal and practical differences, they had ironed out a working partnership that would be called to duty throughout the next two decades.
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Whitefield traveled south after leaving Boston, describing his visit as a “pleasant journey,” and spent much of the fall and winter in Georgia before he set sail for Bermuda, where he stayed several months recovering his health. The traveling for the past few years had worn down his health and also his wife’s. For people accustomed to England’s climate, American summers could be brutally hot and humid, made even worse when traveling by horseback. Elizabeth Whitefield seemed especially susceptible and never came to America again. Instead of getting some rest while in Bermuda, Whitefield traveled all over the island and to nearby islands preaching and visiting. Perhaps this was rest for him since the daily trips were much shorter than his traveling all over the Carolinas and Georgia. Whitefield was given a large sum of money that had been collected to help with his expenses. Some of this he gave to his wife, as he explained, to “keep her from being embarrassed, or too much beholden in my absence.” Whitefield himself was feeling the embarrassment of continually being in debt, praising the generosity of people in Bermuda who made contributions for his orphanage project. While recuperating, he records that he was tempted to stay with his wife in the American colonies and finish his life there, ministering and traveling, never to return to England. But he did go back to England, and perhaps it was only his appointment to be the chaplain for a countess that tipped the scale in favor of staying connected to England.
Not wanting to face the heat of a Georgia summer, and feeling the call of obligations in England, the Whitefields’ decided to return to London. They departed in June of 1748, and Whitefield employed his hand at revising his journals. He revised portions that Old Lights used against him in the newspaper war of New England three years earlier. Reflecting on the last several years, Whitefield honestly regretted the trouble attributed to him and accepted responsibility for his role. In a letter to a minister friend in England, he lamented:
Alas! alas! In how many things have I judged and acted wrong.—I have been too rash and hasty in giving characters, both of places and persons. Being fond of scripture language, I have often used a style too apostolical, and at the same time I have been too bitter in my zeal. Wild-fire has been mixed with it, and I find that I frequently wrote and spoke in my own spirit, when I thought I was writing and speaking by the assistance of the spirit of GOD. I have likewise too much made inward impressions my rule of acting, and too soon and too explicitly published what had been better kept in longer, or told after my death. By these things I have … hurt the blessed cause I would defend, and also stirred up needless opposition … I bless him for ripening my judgment a little more, for giving me to see and confess, and I hope in some degree to correct and amend, some of my mistakes.
Whitefield arrived in England in July of 1748. Having attended to his American parish, it was time to visit his parishes in Scotland, Wales, and England. He had been absent from the British Isles for four years by the time of his return.
Chaplain of a Countess
A couple of months after his arrival in England, Lady Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon, recently widowed and now in command of great wealth, invited Whitefield to deliver a sermon at her home to members of England’s upper class. Duly impressed, she asked Whitefield to be one of her private chaplains. Recognizing the financial freedom the appointment would create and knowing that it is wise to say “yes” to a countess, Whitefield accepted. Whitefield held the position and diligently worked for her methodist causes until the end of his life. Lady Huntingdon solved his financial problems and would prove to be a powerful ally against the oppression of the Church of England. He regularly preached in her home to Britain’s upper classes, including several lords and other luminaries. Though many of these London elite appreciated Whitefield for his oratorical skill, open conversion did not often occur. Yet, more than once a bishop attended a sermon at Lady Huntingdon’s home, hidden in a curtained bishop’s seat dubbed “Nicodemus’ corner” by a woman who used to help them sneak in to listen, although everyone knew they were there. Through these parlor sermons and after-dinner conversations, Whitefield nurtured strong connections with British political leaders. After one parlor sermon Whitefield wrote:
On Tuesday I preached twice at Lady Huntingdon’s to several of the nobility. In the morning the Earl of Chesterfield was present. In the evening Lord Bolingbroke. All behaved quite well, and were in some degree affected. Lord Chesterfield thanked me, and said, “Sir, I will not tell you what I shall tell others, how I approve of you,” or words to this purpose. He conversed with me freely afterwards. Lord Bolingbroke was much moved, and desired I would come and see him the next morning. I did; and his Lordship behaved with great candour and frankness.
These friendships with British aristocrats of a Whig temperament attest to Whitefield’s genuine shift into the mainstream of British society. Bolingbroke had been known for his own oratorical abilities early in his career. A Jacobite at the time of the first attempted coup in 1715, he lost his position and subsequently regained it. Afterward, an apparent conversion to Whig sentiments was evidenced by his publication The Patriot King in 1740, as well by his unsympathetic response to the 1745 rebellion. No doubt, he was closely watched during that period. Though Bolingbroke died in 1751, Whitefield maintained relationships with his peers. Information he later shared with American ministers regarding the Parliamentary designs for the colonies and the efforts to establish an American bishop show that Whitefield discussed political matters with British Whig leaders. He also called upon some of his new friends for help and advice when a new oppression arose against him in 1756. His contact with the ruling class certainly kept Whitefield abreast of London’s political currents.
Whitefield’s appointment as chaplain to the Countess of Huntingdon points to the balance of his ministry and is a tribute to his ability to connect and work with parties from both ends of the political spectrum. Although he was proud to be a methodist who publicly tried to reform Church of England leaders and policies, bishops were sneaking in to hear him preach. Whitefield revolutionized public communication in the British Empire, a move that began to break down class barriers in the American colonies. His teachings were irreversibly shaping the American mind into one capable of rebelling against leaders who might limit their privileges. In spite of this, he was now financially subsidized and approved of by the British aristocracy. This paradoxical situation could not be due to ignorance. British leaders had recognized the threat of Whitefield’s ministry to the social structure since its early years. But Whitefield’s ability to maintain and repair relationships, as well as his ingenuity in constructing political positions, enabled him to continue his ministry while soothing the fears of the established order. Maintaining such a balance required great political skill. One can view examples of his skill in the genuine humble tone of his letters to the Countess of Huntingdon, the bishop of London, and others who held a higher social position. This example is from a letter to Lady Huntingdon in 1755:
Ever-honoured Madam,
YOUR Ladyship’s kind and condescending letter, found me just returned from Chatham, and led me (as your Ladyship’s letters always do) to a throne of grace. I immediately threw myself prostrate before GOD, and earnestly prayed, in my poor feeble manner, that grace, mercy, and peace might be multiplied upon your Ladyship, and your happy family.
He uses polite language that honors those with a higher status. He admits his faults and thanks his critics for pointing them out, yet he argues confidently about issues where he has expertise. The balancing act of his ministry demonstrates the art of “reconciling opposites,” of inventing middle ground, of fine-tuning one’s position in response to blows that would shatter less flexible thinkers.
Whitefield remained in the British Isles preaching regularly from July of 1748 until September of 1751 when he traveled to Georgia with several orphans. He did not stay long, but immediately returned to England to secure the renewal of Bethesda’s charter from officials in London as its expiration neared. Most Americans never knew he was in the country. A year later, Gilbert Tennent and Samuel Davies visited London to raise money for the New Jersey College, which would later become Princeton University, and they likely turned Whitefield’s attention back to America as he entertained them for dinner one evening. He arranged a fifth trip, which began in May of 1754 and lasted about a year. The purpose of the trip was to take twenty-two additional children with him to the orphanage. His return to Boston would be the first visit since 1747, and the controversy was all but forgotten. Time and talk had healed the wounds of the Awakening conflict as far as Whitefield’s enterprise was concerned. Gillies wrote, “Prejudices subsided; some of the rich and great began to think favourable of his ministrations.” Whitefield made further headway into Virginia and Maryland on this trip. Samuel Morris had introduced Whitefield to Virginians by reading his sermons publicly and founding a church based on his teachings. Other ministers—Gilbert Tennent, William Robinson, John Blair, and Samuel Finley—visited Virginia as well, spreading the new birth and the logic templates that accompanied the Awakening teachings. Whitefield was enthusiastically welcomed in these two colonies, and large crowds turned out at his revival meetings.
While other itinerant preachers settled down to tend local parishes, Whitefield continued to travel and preach from 1748 to 1756 to vast crowds as if the revival was ongoing. As far as Whitefield was concerned, the revival never really ended. After an uneventful fifth tour, about which Whitefield says little, he left America, feeling it was God’s will for him to return to England. Perhaps the approaching war caused the forty-two-year-old Whitefield to long for the safety of home.