Chapter IV: A Revolutionary Message
IV
A Revolutionary Message
As George Whitefield leaned on the rail of the ship watching the American coast grow larger, he could hardly wait to get to the people and begin preaching. He had learned a few things back in England about revivals and was ready to bring his message to America. It was into a prosperous, stable American land that George Whitefield introduced himself with his focus on the spiritual condition of people.
In November of 1739, George Whitefield, now twenty-five, arrived in Philadelphia to begin his tour. His challenge was to reach as many colonists as possible and then hold their attention long enough to let his message sink in. In addition to printing sermons and journals, he aggressively took his message to the public with ample opportunities for colonists to hear him in person. On the tour, Whitefield preached over 350 times while traveling 2,000 miles on horseback and 3,000 miles by boat, visiting over 75 cities and towns. In his spare time he gave several hundred exhortations to smaller groups. He was constantly on the move, never staying put for more than a week. Under the impact of this tour, Americans were exposed to his message. A large number participated in a religious revival, if not led by Whitefield, then by one of the copycats who quickly followed, inspired by his successes. As Whitefield addressed each township, he attempted to lead them to the new birth as Charles Wesley had done for him. His message was consistent in every colony and town that he visited. For the first time in American history, a specific and powerful message spread throughout every colony, inviting everyone who heard it to adopt a new identity and join the community of believers who embraced the new birth. Just as he had in London, Whitefield found success in America at capturing and maintaining his people’s attention. The new birth and revival were the words of the day.
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He arrived in Philadelphia in November of 1739 with an agenda and a message. In the first nine days, Whitefield preached at least eleven times in various places to crowds of up to eight thousand people and rubbed shoulders with every religious group in town. People from all churches attended his events. Whitefield’s outdoor events dissolved denominational walls and encouraged the development of an all-encompassing Christian community. In Philadelphia, as was likely in each colony, he met privately with several local ministers to discuss theology and even had dinner with the governor. The following account by Nathan Cole, a Connecticut farmer, vividly shows the excitement that surrounded Whitefield’s tour:
Now it pleased God to send Mr. Whitefield into this land; and my hearing of his preaching at Philadelphia, like one of the Old apostles … I felt the Spirit of God drawing me by conviction; I longed to see and hear him, and wished he would come this way. I heard he was come to New York and the Jerseys and … next I heard he was at long Island; then at Boston and next at Northampton. Then on a Sudden, in the morning about 8 or 9 of the Clock there came a messenger and said Mr. Whitfield preached at Hartford and Weathersfield yesterday and is to preach at Middletown this morning at ten of the Clock, I was in my field at Work, I dropt my tool that I had in my hand and ran home to my wife telling her to make ready quickly to go and hear Mr. Whitfield preach at Middletown, then run to my pasture for my horse with all my might; fearing that I should be too late; having my horse I with my wife soon mounted the horse and went forward as fast as I thought the horse could bear, and when my horse got much out of breath I would get down and put my wife on the Saddle and bid her ride as fast as she could and not Stop or Slack for me except I bade her and so I would run until I was much out of breath; and then mount my horse again, and so I did several times to favour my horse; we improved every moment to get along as if we were fleeing for our lives; all the while fearing we should be too late to hear the Sermon, for we had twelve miles to ride double in little more than an hour.
Cole left the meeting convinced that he needed the new birth. The account also shows the effectiveness of Whitefield’s public relations team, who kept his whereabouts in the news and sent out riders to advertise the meetings along all the country roads.
Cole goes on to describe Whitefield as “angelic, bold, clothed with authority and a sweet solemnity.” Yet Cole says little about the message itself. Many writers of his day talk about Whitefield’s eloquence, but comment little on what he actually preached, implying that he was all style and no substance. But understanding his substance is essential to determining how his messages shaped American politics. To show how Whitefield resolved identity issues, built a wider sense of community, and aroused suspicions of the local leaders, we need to look at the content of his sermons. We need to see exactly how Whitefield called people to be something different from what they currently were. We must also examine the worldview to which Whitefield hoped to convert his audiences.
Whitefield was convinced that most church attendees were not genuine Christians but merely performed an “outward Christ,” as Nathan Cole describes himself, saying prayers and performing good deeds. He wrote in his journal of his disappointment with the Quakers, “that they would talk of … an inward Christ,” but they really did not live out the practice in their daily lives. As Whitefield understood it, the outward Christ—evidenced by good deeds and morality—could be faked by anyone, as Whitefield himself had done before his conversion. Therefore, he felt his duty to preach about conversion to everyone he encountered, even active church members, and they did not like his insinuations.
The New Birth and Regeneration
Whitefield’s first published sermon, “The Nature and Necessity of Our New Birth in Christ Jesus,” 1737, was being sold in America before his arrival. It was rereleased by Benjamin Franklin under a new title, “On Regeneration,” which sounded better for his public relations efforts. Here, Whitefield introduces the new birth and explains how to tell who has it and who doesn’t. He makes a blunt appeal for his listeners to choose the new birth as a rite of passage from sinner to saint, from “out” to “in.” He shows the new birth in the Scriptures and then provides several “common sense” reasons to make his case airtight. The sermon introduces an agricultural metaphor—“regeneration”—to help explain how one changes his or her nature after receiving the new birth, like new growth on a dead plant, which confirms the life within.
Whitefield opens the sermon by pointing out that the new birth should be at the center of Christianity, but that most Christians don’t have it. He says that an unholy religion exists, populated by a “generality of believers,” and it stands in direct opposition to a “holy religion,” of “sincere Christians, of every denomination.” Whitefield divides people into two camps, “us” and “them.” The denomination a person belongs to is irrelevant. In its various forms, this division appears throughout his sermons as “us/them,” “saved/damned,” “saints/sinners,” “regenerate/unregenerate,” “sincere/insincere,” and “almost/altogether” Christians.
He continues by explaining that many who call themselves Christians neglect this fundamental doctrine. Not only do they neglect it, they do not even understand it. Whitefield calls their denial a “fatal mistake,” and his sermon provides the remedy. Following his introductory remarks, Whitefield formally previews the sermon. His argument unfolds step-by-step, closing with his call to action.
Whitefield’s first phase defines the new birth and explains how one can know whether or not it has been experienced. He highlights two phrases in the Scriptures, “in Christ” and “new creature,” granting that many people may be said to be “in Christ,” but that does not mean they are new creatures: “Comparatively but few of those that are ‘born of water,’ are ‘born of the Spirit’ … many are baptized with water, which were never baptized with the Holy Ghost.” One must have the new birth to become “in Christ,” and experience regeneration to become a “new creature.” Whitefield complains that water baptism can be performed without a new birth or regeneration. True conversion, Whitefield insists, is best evidenced by the “baptism of the Holy Ghost,” as shown in a regenerated lifestyle.
After completing these explanations, he defines precisely what he means by a new creature. This section of the sermon acts as a measuring stick by which members of the audience can judge whether or not they have passed through the door via the new birth. He uses three different metaphors (all biblical illustrations) to describe the transformation to a new creature. These include refining gold, polishing glass, and being healed of disease. The transformation from old to new occurs as part of the regeneration process. People “are so purged, purified and cleansed from their natural dross, filth and leprosy, by the blessed influences of the Holy Spirit, that they may be properly said to be made anew.” The Holy Spirit does the hard work, not the person.
In the third section of his sermon, Whitefield offers arguments in favor of his view—an assertion from Scripture and three natural reasons that his well-educated critics would require. Proceeding with the assertion, Whitefield muses “one would think it sufficient to affirm … that God himself, in His holy word, has told us so.” He explains the meaning of the doctrine of original sin as described in selected scriptural passages as “being derived from carnal parents, and consequently receiving the seeds of all manner of sin and corruption from them.” Whitefield’s claim is founded entirely upon a biblical quote, evidence persuasive only to those who respect the Bible.
Aware that some in the audience might interpret the Scripture differently, Whitefield offers three rational arguments. First, he contrasts the purity of God with the impurity of man and the difficulty of the two dwelling together.
Can any one conceive how a filthy, corrupted, polluted wretch can dwell with an infinitely pure and holy God, before he is changed, and rendered, in some measure, like him? Can he, who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, dwell with it? Can he, in whose sight the heavens are not clean, delight to dwell with uncleanness itself? No, we might as well suppose light to have communion with darkness, or Christ to have concord with Belial.
In other words, incongruent things cannot coexist. This is a clear use of reasoned logic by Whitefield, in which he extends the Calvinist belief that people are depraved from birth. The second argument does not even cite the Bible:
It is founded in the very nature of things, that unless we have dispositions wrought in us suitable to the objects that are to entertain us, we can take no … satisfaction in them. For instance; what delight can the most harmonious music afford to a deaf, or what pleasure can the most excellent picture give to a blind man? Can a tasteless palate relish the richest dainties, or a filthy swine be pleased with the finest garden of flowers? No.
In Whitefield’s view, a person must be regenerated in order to enjoy the delights of heaven. Moving to his third, and strongest argument, Whitefield extends what it means to be “in Christ”:
But then, if the benefits of our dear Redeemer’s death were to extend no farther than barely to procure forgiveness of our sins, we should have as little reason to rejoice in it, as a poor condemned criminal that is ready to perish by some fatal disease, would have in receiving a pardon from his judge.
His touching image of a dying prisoner getting a reprieve shows the effects of sin, and suggests you need your health restored or the pardon is in vain. Certainly a rational God would pardon sin and assist the believer in the regeneration process. For those familiar with the theological debates of the day, Whitefield had to convince people he held his beliefs from an informed perspective. Here Whitefield is “inoculating” his audience against the teachings of revival critics, which he knew from experience in England were soon to follow his tour.
Whitefield addresses both “us” and “them,” the regenerated and the unregenerate, providing only two choices for people. The lack of inward change stands as damning evidence that one is not regenerated and still needs to get the new birth:
A little acquaintance with the world will furnish us with instances, of no small number of persons, who, perhaps, were before openly profane; but seeing the ill consequences of their vices, and the many worldly inconveniencies it has reduced them to, on a sudden, as it were, grow civilized; and thereupon flatter themselves that they are very religious, because they differ a little from their former selves, and are not so scandalously wicked as once they were: whereas, at the same time, they shall have some secret darling sin or other, some beloved Delilah or Herodias, which they will not part with; some hidden lust, which they will not mortify; some vicious habit, which they will not take pains to root out. But wouldst thou know, O vain man! whoever thou art, what the LORD thy GOD requires of thee? Thou must be informed, that nothing short of a thorough sound conversion will fit thee for the kingdom of heaven. It is not enough to turn from profaneness to civility; but thou must turn from civility to godliness. Not only some, but “all things must become new” in thy soul. It will profit thee but little to do many things, if yet some one thing thou lackest. In short, thou must not only be an almost, but altogether a new creature, or in vain thou boasteth that thou art a Christian.
Whitefield argues that ethical behavior is insufficient, that even a reformation to good behavior still allows the heart to harbor a “hidden lust” or “some vicious habit.”
I quote this passage at length to provide some of the flavor of Whitefield’s preaching. To fully appreciate it, we must keep in mind that it does not have the same impact when read as it does when heard. For the full effect, one should read it aloud, slowly and with feeling. It is difficult to pull sound bites out of Whitefield’s sermons because he chains together ideas and phrases into lengthy utterances that are best appreciated when experienced by the ear, rather than the eye. As a basis of comparison, when reading Ben Franklin’s pithy sayings of wisdom, the silent reader can relish them, turn them over in the mind, reread and derive their full meaning, and appreciate the artistic elegance of their wording. With Whitefield, the reception is oral, the pleasure is in the sweet sound and flowing rhythms of his voice. The mind needs a bit of time for the meaning to sink in, so he stretches out the ideas, with clauses such as, “on a sudden,” or “as it were.” He repeats his ideas two, even three times, with parallel phrases so the meaning is not missed. The phrases themselves are rhythmic and short enough for him to breathe properly as he speaks, providing natural pauses as in poetry. These are all common methods explained in classical teachings on the art of public speaking.
Additionally, Whitefield embellished the climax of each sermon with artistic language, sneaking in the highly structured phrasing as he begins, increasing near the end, but never so much as to seem overdone. With a device called “antithesis,” holding up two contrasting ideas for comparison, he contrasts “many things” a person does against the “one thing” left undone—achieving the new birth. He also holds up the “altogether” and the “almost” Christian to distinguish between those who have the new birth and those who do not.
As he closes the sermon, Whitefield announces the new birth to be an “infallible rule” (employing the educated vocabulary of the day) by which any person might judge her or his life. He lists the actions that signify the new birth, implying that if one lacks these, then he or she is one of the almost Christians yet in need of conversion:
Let each of us therefore seriously put this question to our hearts: Have we received the Holy Ghost since we believed? … Do we constantly and conscientiously use all the means of grace required thereto? Do we fast, watch and pray? Do we, not lazily seek, but laboriously strive to enter in at the strait gate? In short, do we renounce our own righteousness, take up our crosses and follow Christ?
In a passage spiced with antithesis and alliteration, Whitefield points his finger and thumps on the chest of the almost Christian. With a direct gaze and a squinted eye, he challenges people who cannot answer yes to all of his questions—a difficult task for anyone. Whitefield confronts his listeners and urges them to become one of “us” and to enter “in.” Should the audience member answer no to these questions, Whitefield pronounces them “strangers, nay enemies to the cross of Christ,” that their “lives of worldly-mindedness, and sensual pleasure” will cause other genuine seekers to “think, that Christianity is but an empty name, a bare formal profession.”
Whitefield invites the audience to embrace and to seek the new birth, to become one of us and belong to the in-group. He suggests action for people who want conversion. Whitefield exhorts his audience “not simply to believe something, but to be something.”1 He closes the sermon with a highly poetic section, eloquently composed, rhythmically punctuated, employing multiple figures of speech, and contrasting the destiny of the “unrenewed sinner” with those who are “regenerate and born again”:
Methinks, every one that has but the least concern for the salvation of his precious and immortal soul, having such promises, such an hope, such an eternity of happiness set before him, should never cease watching, praying, and striving, till he find a real, inward, saving change wrought in his heart, and thereby doth know of a truth, that he dwells in Christ, and Christ in him; that he is a new creature, therefore a child of God; that he is already an inheritor, and will ere long be an actual possessor of the kingdom of heaven.
Finally, these Calvinist colonists were hearing that they could do something to assist in getting the new birth—watch, pray, and strive. And as Whitefield adds, “many thousands of happy souls have been assisted by a divine power to bring it about.” Whitefield attached human effort to God’s assistance in the conversion process, not completely rejecting Calvinism, but neatly resolving the conversion problem that the Puritans had struggled with for over a hundred years. True conversion is an identity-establishing process that changes the very core of the person from that day forward. The new birth was not metaphorical for Whitefield and his converts, but rather, it brought family membership and, with that, the right to an inheritance. The logic template, us/them and in/out, provided unmistakable structure to his entire sermon.
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Regardless of the labels Whitefield uses, the meaning is clear. While many people responded favorably, including unconverted church regulars, and embraced the new birth, the Old Light ministers and many others took great offense at the suggestion that they were not genuine Christians—not to mention that Whitefield labeled them as outsiders:
You are strangers to the truth of grace in your hearts, and are unacquainted with the new-birth; you do not know what it is to have your natures changed; and till you do experience these things, you can never enter into the kingdom of GOD.
As Whitefield insisted, to be a stranger, or outsider, constituted a fatal error. It does not take a prophet to foresee the coming conflict.
Philadelphia’s response to Whitefield mirrored the response in London with increasing crowds coming out to hear him. Just as Charles Wesley led Whitefield to conversion, Whitefield was leading colonists to conversions. He recorded some of his impressions of Philadelphians’ response to his message:
Most wept at the preaching of faith … Even in London, I never observed so profound a silence … At present they seem most gladly to receive the Word … Many to my knowledge, have been quickened and awakened to see that religion does not consist in outward things.
Regarding Philadelphians, Benjamin Franklin was amazed by “how much they admir’d and respected him, in spite of his common abuse of them, by assuring them that they were naturally half beasts and half devils.” The effects of Whitefield’s preaching did not wear off after his departure. Even six months later Franklin described the differences:
It was wonderful to see the change soon made in the manners of our inhabitants. From being thoughtless or indifferent about religion, it seem’d as if all the world were growing religious, so that one could not walk thro’ the town in an evening without hearing psalms sung in different families of every street.
Philadelphia’s citizens contributed enough money to build an interdenominational meetinghouse with a ministerial group with representatives from each church to oversee its administration. The interdenominational flavor of Whitefield’s message was already drawing colonists together. Whitefield’s message was embraced by enough citizens to change the city, even as viewed through discriminating eyes.
Although other ministers were teaching about conversion, Whitefield was the person who popularized the term new birth and gave it a wide circulation. No other minister clarified the nature of conversion like Whitefield. By providing this compact, powerful, phrase that solved the problem of effectively explaining conversion, any minister could explain it in the language of the common people and be more likely to bring conversion in one or two hearings. The terms new birth and regeneration were incredibly effective, breaking down barriers of theological ignorance while sidestepping theological nitpicking through the power of metaphor. Whitefield also had to battle misconceptions about the new birth. A classic objection from unbelievers was that they were not willing to give up their fun. But Whitefield would reply:
Do not let the devil deceive you, by telling you, that then all your delights and pleasures will be over: No; this is so far from depriving you of all pleasure, that it is an inlet unto unspeakable delights, peculiar to all who are truly regenerated. The new birth is the very beginning of a life of peace and comfort; and the greatest pleasantness is to be found in the ways of holiness.
Once accepted, the term new birth shaped people’s understanding of identity as a member of a family. Nationality and religious heritage faded in importance in the genuine Christian community.
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For Whitefield and his Christian followers, the new birth and regeneration held a meaning that modern societies may not fully appreciate. His idea of regeneration connected powerfully with farmers who immediately grasped the meaning as they had seen it in their orchards, gardens, and fields. Also, the travail of birth occurred at home with a midwife, who provided guidance and encouragement, and where the entire family would participate in the experience one way or another. Perhaps the notion of a spiritual midwife is not far removed from the actual role the ministers preached on the new birth. A sarcastic writer for the Anglican Weekly Miscellany said:
Hark! He talks of a Sensible New Birth—then belike he is in Labour, and the good Women around him are come to his assistance. He dilates himself, cries out [and] is at last delivered.2
This was certainly a joke not missed by his audiences. Perhaps there was more to the midwife humor than merely trying to discredit Whitefield. Many of Whitefield’s converts were women, enough that cartoonists and playwrights could lampoon his relationship with them. Charles Chauncy pointed out that young women were especially attendant to Whitefield on both sides of the Atlantic.
The methodist movement was largely empowered by active women. Whitefield was introducing a feminine style of preaching that especially connected with women. Sarah Edwards (Jonathan’s wife) recalled, “You have already heard of his deep-toned, yet clear melodious voice. It is perfect music … He speaks from a heart all aglow with love and pours out a torrent of eloquence which is almost irresistible.” Whitefield often cried during his preaching, and his tears set up a sympathetic response in his listeners. His biographer Gillies was perhaps too careful to point out that Whitefield’s manner of speaking was manly. Was Gillies trying to counter a perception of effeminacy in Whitefield’s preaching that fueled the satire in the Anglican Weekly Miscellany? Whitefield’s crying was not a manly thing to do. Whitefield was raised without a father, he did not get along with his older brother, and he spent many hours in the company of his older sister. He married a woman ten years his elder. After 1748, his employer was a woman. Whitefield used “women’s language” to bridge the gap between male and female, so his message was easily accepted by women in his audience. This would contrast with a manly style of logic-driven preaching that suppressed feelings.
As the methodist movement expanded, it relied upon women for leadership in the religious societies the movement founded for new converts. Sarah Crosby was one of many women who forcefully preached in the movement, downplaying sexuality and emphasizing a motherly role for methodist women. Modern researchers have begun to uncover more of this tradition. Catherine Brekus explains how against the odds, female preachers began in earnest in 1740, a history that was all but erased from church records by later evangelicals.3 Michael Casey writes that “by undercutting the authority of the church, Whitefield let the genie out of the bottle—now anyone, who felt called by God, could preach even if any and all churches disagreed.”4
The message of the new birth began to alter the thinking of people in the revival movement, inadvertently taking them in a direction that could be called rebellious by established authorities. By accepting Whitefield’s new birth, a person became a “babe in Christ” (as the Apostle Paul describes). The idea of a growth process into Christian maturity then, made the new birth repulsive to older Old Light ministers as it called into question their qualification to hold their positions. Other revival ministers, such as Edwards, Frelinghuysen, Tennent, Wesley, and Davenport, had experienced the new birth earlier in their careers and were perceived as mature Christians. Thus they were immune to accusations that they were unqualified. In fact, a number of American ministers did embrace the new birth, and their leadership position was never questioned. Ministers who denied the new birth were to face direct challenges to their authority to minister, first from Whitefield and then more forcefully from Gilbert Tennent.
A critical side effect that perhaps Whitefield did not foresee gave rise to even more controversy. In Massachusetts, where the church and state were intertwined in the “glorious New England tradition,” labeling political leaders as outsiders to God’s kingdom directly challenged their right to govern. Colonial governors and other civic leaders tended to side with the Old Light ministers regarding the new birth and rejected it.
But most importantly, the new birth implied that one was genuinely born into God’s family. Denomination no longer mattered. Nationality no longer mattered. What mattered was whether or not the new convert would remain with their Old Light church or join one of the New Light churches. One could easily argue that the Anglican Old Lights were closely connected with England, and other Old Light denominations were allied with their country of origin (like Dutch Reformed, Scottish Presbyterian, French Huguenots, and German Baptists). But the New Lights were those who had begun to see themselves as American. This situation was intensified by the connections between church and state throughout Europe. Old Lights preferred a strong top-down society led by a king and lords, while the New Lights favored strong, grass-roots, parliamentary self-rule, with loyalty to the king as symbolic of their devotion to the British Empire.
The Spirit and Common Privileges
After leaving Philadelphia, Whitefield toured New Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, and the Carolinas, all on horseback, preaching wherever he could find an audience. It is important to note that Whitefield’s pattern was to preach the same messages in each new location, beginning with the new birth and the indwelling of the spirit. Then he would follow up with a return visit where he preached against various practices and called people to join religious societies similar to the Holy Club.
Whitefield preferred to travel by horse instead of a carriage or coach. At one point, he tried a lengthy coach ride between cities but was rattled to his bones on the poor roads. He would also get bored simply holding the reins of a carriage. Traveling thousands of miles by horseback indicates that he was an excellent rider. He and his companions would be seen riding from town to town, singing and enjoying the outdoors. Whitefield felt that a good ride would help restore his health by shaking off whatever physical problem he was experiencing.
When Whitefield reached Charleston, he found that Alexander Garden had closed the pulpit to him, so he preached three sermons to most of the town in one of the other churches. In Charleston, Whitefield included his sermon, “The Indwelling of the Spirit, the Common Privilege of All Believers.” Garden must have slipped in to listen. Shortly thereafter he published a scathing pamphlet challenging Whitefield’s doctrine on the new birth and the role of God’s spirit in the life of a new believer. Within this sermon Whitefield had scolded unconverted ministers, undercut their authority, and called into question their motives and qualifications to hold their ministerial positions. It is no wonder Garden was livid.
“Indwelling” extended what it meant to have the new identity Whitefield promoted in “On Regeneration.” It was the responsibility of the Spirit to conform the mind and heart of each person to Christian principles so that they would fit into the community of believers. Whitefield’s main tasks in the sermon were to confront the unconverted ministers and to strengthen the Christian community. But the way that he blended religious and political ideas through an interchangeable vocabulary is the more interesting feature, a feature that slips past the attention of a reader focused solely on theology.
Whitefield’s main point is clear and has profound implications as soon as one begins to consider what his claim actually means for everyday life:
The Holy Spirit is the common privilege and portion of all believers in all ages; and that we as well as the first Christians, must receive the Holy Ghost, before we can be truly called the children of God.
Whitefield defines the Spirit in a way his critics would accept: “the Holy Ghost, the third person in the ever-blessed Trinity, consubstantial and co-eternal with the Father and the Son, proceeding from, yet equal to them both.” He then cites three biblical passages to support that view, and indeed nearly all mainstream theologians of that day accepted his definition. He expects assent from all Christians, believing the definition to be a “self-evident” issue.
Following his definition, Whitefield seeks to establish that “all believers” are entitled to receive this Spirit. By asserting that the indwelling is a “common privilege,” Whitefield draws upon the political tradition of the English people. The rights of Englishmen were an integral feature of their society, providing the heritage of individual rights that modern Americans so well understand. Certain rights were common to all people, and references to such rights can be seen throughout the writings of influential theorists such as John Locke. Traces of Locke’s ideas populate Whitefield’s writings, as his use of the term common privilege indicates.5 Using this vocabulary, Whitefield borrows a political belief to explain a religious idea. He replaces the term “right” with “privilege,” for theological reasons. His Calvinist beliefs would never support the notion that humans have a right to salvation, but upon being chosen, the benefits of God indeed become a privilege for that individual. These benefits could not be reserved for any special class of people since all are equal in the sight of God. By using political vocabulary to explain a religious idea, Whitefield makes it very easy to use religious concepts to explain political beliefs. He begins to set up a pattern of logic that lets ideas flow freely between the two spheres.
Whitefield points out that he does not perform miracles, as others were claiming to do, dodging the accusation of radical enthusiasm. Instead he takes a moderate approach. For Whitefield, the real work of the Spirit was on the heart, not the body. It is clear that his definition of enthusiasm differs from that of his critics, who distrusted emotional expressions.
The New Light preachers, including Jonathan Edwards, were being labeled as “enthusiasts.” The central complaint was summed up by the Boston Puritan Charles Chauncy, who wrote that the enthusiast would:
mistake the workings of his own passions for divine communications, and fancies himself immediately inspired by the Spirit of God, when all the while, he is under no other influence than that of an over-heated imagination.
In response, Whitefield replaced the notion of “enthusiasm” with the softer idea of the “indwelling of the Spirit,” which attributes the “enthusiastic” responses to God. While his definition did not immediately catch on, it likely deflected some criticism upon his return in 1745. Indwelling develops as a confrontation of definitions over the term “enthusiasm.” Whitefield promoted the more moderate meaning to counter the writings of his critics who were exaggerating it. After establishing their common ground, Whitefield clarified their differences:
Indeed, I will not say, all our letter-learned preachers deny this doctrine in express words; but however, they do in effect; for they talk professedly against inward feelings, and say, we may have God’s Spirit without feeling it, which is in reality to deny the thing itself. And had I a mind to hinder the progress of the gospel, and to establish the kingdom of darkness, I would go about, telling people, they might have the Spirit of God, and yet not feel it.
In other words, Whitefield was calling them hypocrites. Moreover, he defined them as dupes who serve the “kingdom of darkness” instead of Christ, reinforcing his logic pattern of in/out and insisting that they were out. Having established his definitions to his own satisfaction, he continued the attack on the Old Light ministers with his sharpest barbs yet:
But you are the schismatics, you are the bane of the church of England … feeding [the people] only with the dry husks of dead morality, and not bringing out to them the fatted calf; I mean, the doctrines of the operations of the blessed Spirit of God.
His food metaphors, which compared the malnutrition of the Old Light churches against the nutritious doctrine of the revivalists, may have struck a resonant chord in a society that understood the meaning of famine. Whitefield pressed the attack further, echoing Jesus’ scolding of Jewish Pharisees:
Woe be unto such blind leaders of the blind! How can you escape the damnation of hell? … Jesus Christ, the great Shepherd and Bishop of souls, shall determine who are the false prophets; who are the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Those who say, that we must now receive and feel the Holy Ghost, or those who exclaim against it, as the doctrine of devils.
Pause a moment and imagine the context and meaning of this statement. He is saying directly, to whichever Old Light ministers were certainly attending his sermon, “How can you escape the damnation of hell?” Even several centuries later, one can imagine the Old Lights turning red, gritting their teeth, and walking out on him—if they could get through the crowd.
Whitefield apologizes for the necessity of his criticisms but insists, “If I could bear to see people perish for lack of knowledge, and yet be silent towards those who keep from them the key of true knowledge, the very stones would cry out.” His words in these sections demand emotion and energy, otherwise there would be a sin against good form that an orator such as Whitefield could never commit.
As Whitefield continues, he returns to the idea that the unpurified sinner cannot enter heaven. He sees the indwelling as the critical component that allows purification to happen, and he argues forcefully that the process is a must. Using a vibrant metaphor that compares the idea of an unpurified sinner in heaven to having a barn animal in your house, Whitefield says,
And if creatures, with only our degree of goodness, cannot bear even the thought of dwelling with beasts or devils, to whose nature we are so nearly allied, how do we imagine God, who is infinite goodness, and purity itself, can dwell with us, while we are partakers of both their natures? We might as well think to reconcile heaven and hell.
Whitefield believed that the sinner was not fit to enter heaven but required purification via the process of regeneration from original sin before communion with God was possible. His “dwelling with beasts” metaphor fits with the colonists’ everyday experience and is another example of how Whitefield used ordinary illustrations to connect with people.
Winding up the sermon, he says, “If I have wounded you, be not afraid; behold, I now bring a remedy for all your wounds.” Perhaps many came to hear out of curiosity. But Whitefield created an interest in his message by first attacking the Old Light ministers and then turning against the audience itself, first by offending them, then by trying to convince them that their offended feelings stood as evidence to support his case (a genuine, regenerated Christian would not have taken offense). Watching the audience response, Whitefield asks, “Is not this driving people into despair?” Of course his remedy is the new birth, which Whitefield explains as a choice between life and death. He empowers his audience, saying “Come then, my guilty brethren, come and believe on the Lord that bought you with his precious blood.” He repeatedly uses the verb “come,” urging people to action. He then eloquently exhorts people to receive the indwelling of the Spirit through the new birth. His call to sinners is not manipulative. Rather, he invites people and relies upon their desires for the impelling force. Most importantly, he is offering a choice to the sinners and urging them to act.
As in “On Regeneration,” Whitefield argued with critics (and everyone knew who they were) in front of an audience that was asked to choose between the two sides: should one support the Old Lights, the “letter-learned” ministers whom Whitefield accused of being negligent, or support the revivalists who claim to offer a genuine form of Christianity? With this sermon, Whitefield intensified the conflict between New Lights and Old Lights and would not back off his position for another five years. He threw down the gauntlet, calling them false prophets and wolves in sheep’s clothing. He unmistakably challenged their authority to govern the church, and in colonies that blended religion and politics, where there was no separation of church and state, this challenge questioned the legitimacy of appointed and elected officials who were immersed in the Old Light churches. Once the meaning of his attack became clear, and after other ministers such as Gilbert Tennent began to echo Whitefield’s charges, the Old Lights rose up in united opposition against him and counterattacked.
In 1740 many colonists were hungry for meaningful religion and open to the identity brought by the new birth. By spreading the revival to all the colonies, Whitefield supplied the first uniquely American collective experience. Whitefield did not invent a new view of self-understanding in the new birth; what he did was take an existing view, simplify it, and disseminate it throughout the colonies. Through published sermons, news articles, broadsides, journals, infomercials, as well as through instigating controversy and preaching widely, Whitefield’s enterprise was the first event that all colonists shared, an event that became a cornerstone of American culture. Within fifteen months, most colonists from Massachusetts to Georgia knew about Whitefield and his message and would fall over themselves to go hear him preach.