Chapter VI: Bishop Bashing
VI
Bishop Bashing
If you asked Whitefield about his American tour, I believe he would have replied that everything was wonderful. He was certainly aware of disagreements over doctrine and the complaints about enthusiasm, but nothing in his journals or letters indicates an awareness of the deeper political fears. In fact, Whitefield would not be aware of the depth and stakes of the growing controversy in America until his return in late 1744. But similar uproar commenced as he toured Scotland and England, and it forced him to shift his views and practice. As the leader of the revival movement in America, these changes in Whitefield’s ministry would impact the Christian community in the colonies as soon as he returned. Whitefield held far more influence there than anyone realized.
As opposition to the methodist revival deepened in England, Whitefield finally recognized that the message he and the other revivalists were bringing had a deep political aftermath. Consequently, Whitefield decided to become a political man. He never fully resolved all the disagreements with some of his antagonists, but if progress is measured by retaining his hold on the public mind, he succeeded. Whitefield’s unmistakable and irreversible shift from a pure religious focus to including moderate political ideals would eventually prod the New Light community in America to move a significant step closer to embracing republican politics.
Staying in the Public Eye
Having left the Awakening in the capable hands of Tennent and Edwards, Whitefield continued establishing parishes throughout the British Isles. In his mind, to maintain the growth of his American parish, he needed to ensure he was not forgotten while away in England. Whitefield used two types of publications to accomplish the task—journals and letters.
For Americans who did not live in Boston, Savannah, Philadelphia, or other places where Whitefield regularly preached, the most effective way to know him was through his writings. His intent in publications of sermons, letters of doctrinal defense, and journal editions was to build upon the foundation he established in the 1740 tour. Recall that it took Whitefield nearly six months from the time Charles Wesley told him about the new birth until he felt he had achieved it. Even though Whitefield empowered people to choose the new birth, he still understood conversion as a process. Knowing that many people struggled through the conversion and that many others were purifying their lives from secret sins, Whitefield wanted to encourage them to keep the faith. His Journals would provide examples of his own successful conversion and regeneration.
Just before returning to England, Whitefield contracted to have his autobiography published throughout America and issued in editions from 1738 to 1744. These were not accounts of his current ministry in England after the second American tour (1741–1744), but of his childhood, education, early ministry, and the story of his coming to America. Eight editions released in chronological order provided the story of his travels and experiences, explained his motives, showed his character, and argued for his divine anointing. The American public interpreted his writings according to their biases toward him. As one author puts it, Whitefield “became more beloved to his friends and more despised by his foes.”1 A self-promotional tone permeates George Whitefield’s Journals to an unmistakable extent. If one were to take it at face value, to oppose Whitefield would be to oppose God. But his critics were skeptical and, of course, viewed these claims as absurd.
The release of his journal, as well as the publication of his sermons and other works, kept Whitefield in public view during his physical absence, preparing American colonists for his next tour in 1745. Whitefield was no longer a stranger to the American colonies as he was in 1740. The 1745 tour should have been simply a continuation of the prior one. However, before Whitefield was able to return, conflict in England demanded his participation in politics.
In preparation for his Scottish tour, Whitefield began corresponding with Ralph Erskine, a Presbyterian minister in Edinburgh, to schedule a visit to Scotland after his return from America (Presbyterianism was the national religion of Scotland). Not fully welcome in London because of a doctrinal disagreement with John Wesley, Whitefield decided to go to Scotland immediately and found more popularity there than anywhere else. However, a serious misunderstanding developed as the Scottish tour neared. Based on what they had read about him, Erskine and others believed that Whitefield was as religiously and politically radical as they were and expected Whitefield to join their ranks. Erskine asked Whitefield to become a formal member of their group, which had broken away from the other Scottish Presbyterians. As a member, Whitefield would be required to leave the Church of England and only preach in their pulpits. Whitefield recognized the religious and political fallout, both short and long term, of joining the Scots and politely declined their request. He wrote back, simply asking to use their churches to support his ministry. On the night Whitefield arrived in Scotland, he preached to a large thrilled audience but afterward was immediately hauled into a meeting with the group’s leaders. Here they grilled him about doctrine and asked him to renounce his Church of England ordination and become a member of their “Associate Presbytery.” He again declined. Whitefield knew that joining them would mean a move away from the mainstream of British Christianity and would ultimately reduce his audience sizes. Also, he could foresee the political message it would send if he were to join a splinter group in Scotland, which had been a political hotspot for centuries, and had provided men and arms for a recent overthrow of the British monarchy. He would be viewed as a political radical with rebellion lurking in the wings of his ministry. Erskine respected Whitefield’s loyalty to the Church of England, but members of their Associate Presbytery in Scotland began to oppose him, perhaps due to anti-British feelings. In response, Whitefield allied himself with the established Scottish Presbytery, who opened their pulpits and helped him schedule meetings. After clarifying his position with regard to Erskine and his Associate Presbytery, Whitefield continued the Scottish tour, with results that surpassed his popularity and effectiveness in either England or America.
If we may digress a bit and take note of some origins of religious groups in Europe it will help us to understand why Whitefield aligned with some groups and not others. Throughout European history, the Roman Catholic Church was the central organization of Christianity and had supported and propped up kings for centuries. In 1534 Henry VIII wanted a marriage annulment from his Spanish wife so he could marry his mistress Anne Boleyn, but the pope would not grant it. So Henry declared himself the head of the English church, resulting in the Church of England, which was born by breaking away from the Roman Catholics. The move effectively removed England from Rome’s power structure and set the nation against other Catholic Europeans. Numerous wars and several attempts to replace the Protestant king with a Catholic one ensued from 1534 up to 1763. The king, the lords, and any other person in power needed to remain in good standing with God, and the Church of England provided this favor. As a result, the Church of England became allied with pro-king politicians—a political group that wanted more power in the hands of the king and supported England’s class system. As British society evolved, England provided a sanctuary for other Christian groups that broke away from the Roman Catholics during the Protestant Reformation (1517 to 1648). The Church of England was sympathetic to these later groups and offered a degree of toleration in England as long as their political power was not threatened. But these other Protestants tended to align with politicians who desired more parliamentary control of the nation—government by the people, with a king as more of a figurehead. The two political groups eventually evolved into the Tories (pro-king) and the Whigs (pro-Parliament). The Act of Toleration, which ensured that the new Protestant groups would not be persecuted, was passed by a Whig-controlled Parliament in 1689. In Whitefield’s view, loyalty to the British king depended upon the king’s commitment to Protestantism and religious toleration. Fears of Catholic plots to conquer England were rampant after Henry VIII’s split with Rome, and another attempt was made before Whitefield went back to America in 1745.
Whitefield finally left Scotland and continued preaching throughout England but had been thinking seriously about marriage. He had previously proposed to a young woman in America, but she declined his rather loveless offer to marry and run the orphanage while he traveled around the world. In England Whitefield met Elizabeth James, but she was in love with Howell Harris, Whitefield’s Welsh evangelist friend. Harris wished to remain single, and knowing that Whitefield was thinking of marriage, he introduced Elizabeth to him, hoping George would win her affection. After four days of negotiation they decided to marry.2 They tied the knot two weeks later.
By the end of the year, Elizabeth and George had a son for whom George held high hopes of one day inheriting his own ministry, but their son died at only four months of age. It was a significant blow to Whitefield, who wrote:
And then, as he died in the house wherein I was born, he was taken and laid in the church where I was baptized, first communicated, and first preached. All this you may easily guess threw me into every solemn and deep reflection, and I hope deep humiliation … yet I hope what happened before his birth, and since at his death, hath taught me such lessons, as, if duly improved, may render his mistaken parent more cautious, more sober-minded, more experienced in Satan’s devices, and consequently more useful in his future labours to the church of God.
They never had another child, although four miscarriages indicated their desire for one. Elizabeth accompanied him on his 1745 trip to America but remained in England thereafter due to her permanently weakened health after a final miscarriage.
If Whitefield did learn lessons from this, he soon put them to good use. Opposition to the revival turned violent. Whitefield, Wesley, and other methodist preachers were taking their lives in their hands to go out and preach. Unruly groups regularly gathered on the outskirts of Whitefield’s outdoor preaching events and disrupted the services. People threw stones and pieces of dead cats. A man climbed a tree above him and tried to urinate on Whitefield—an event he would use to make a point about the brutish nature of someone without the new birth. Whitefield describes the first attempt on his life:
As I was passing from the pulpit to the coach I felt my wig and hat to be almost off. I turned about, and observed a sword just touching my temples. A young rake, as I afterward found, was determined to stab me; but a gentleman, seeing the sword thrust near me, struck it up with his cane.
More than once, violent crowds gathered at the house where he was staying and demanded that he come out. Passively submitting to the persecution, as he supposed the apostles did, he turned himself over, usually talking his way out of it. But on one occasion he was thrown into a lime pit—a life-threatening event—and then taken and thrown into a creek to wash off the lime to save his skin from serious chemical burns. In addition to the threats on his own life, Whitefield’s chief publicist and financial supporter, William Seward, was killed by a stone-throwing mob.
To make things worse, the Church of England’s bishops turned a blind eye and were even suspected of conspiring with the mobs to silence the methodist preachers. But a month after the death of his son, Whitefield struck back and took several men to court. After a particularly nasty encounter at an outdoor event, he obtained the names of some ringleaders and pressed charges. During the trial it became clear that political motivations were at the heart of the persecution. The defending lawyer argued that Whitefield and the methodists would infect and hurt the people. He claimed that it was right for any private person to try to stop them, and whoever did so was a friend to his country. Whitefield’s lawyer countered, “Rioters were not to be reformers; and that his Majesty had no where put the reins of government into the hands of mobbers, or made them judge or jury.” The judge ruled for Whitefield, reminding the defendants “of the dreadful ill consequences of rioting at any time, much more at such a critical time as this; that rioting was the fore-runner of, and might end in, rebellion.” By saying “critical time,” the judge was referring to the rumors of war with France and the challenge to claim the British throne by a Catholic heir from the Stuart lineage who had been ousted in the Glorious Revolution of 1688. Although some minor harassment continued, the judge’s ruling, combined with Whitefield’s publicizing of it, put an effective end to violent persecutions. After winning the case and letting the mob leaders sweat over a fine of two hundred pounds, Whitefield graciously dropped the charges with an eye toward enhancing his public image. He wrote a pamphlet describing the trial to publicize the methodist victory and thwart violence in other places. This aggressive response, contrasting with Whitefield’s prior passivity, shows his resolve to be more sober-minded in managing his ministry. After forgiving the rioters, the now forceful Whitefield turned his attention to the suspected source of the persecution: a cabal of Church of England bishops.
Opposition to Whitefield
The Church of England felt threatened by the growing methodist movement for any number of reasons—jealousy, doctrinal differences, resentment at being charged as unconverted, political differences, fears of rebellion—and took actions to frustrate it by connecting the methodists to rebellious movements of the past. The Church of England also resented the preaching, the prayers, and the new hymns of the methodists. Through the memory power of repetition, the Anglican liturgy, approved prayers, and hymns, all worked to shape the minds of the people. The bishops understood this and recognized the risk from new forms of liturgy, prayer, and music. With their strong ties to Tory interests in British politics, their motive for opposing the methodists was rooted in the fear of another civil war, since many citizens felt that the Stuart claim on the monarchy was legitimate.
An anonymous pamphlet that specifically attacked Whitefield was circulated among the upper classes in 1744. The pamphlet speculated that his brand of religion would lead to trouble like Britain experienced when Charles I was beheaded in 1644. But Whitefield counterpunched with a publicly released letter to the bishop of London, which supplied evidence that one or more local bishops authored the pamphlet. Whitefield pointed out that the document “had been read in the societies of London and Westminster, and handed about in a private manner to particular friends, with strict orders to part with [it] to no one” (meaning keep it in the hands of the upper classes). He explained that its purpose was “to represent the proceedings of the methodists as dangerous to the church and state, in order to procure an act of parliament against them.” Such fears were founded in reality. Charles Edward Stuart, the descendant of the beheaded king Charles I (mentioned above), waited in France (a Catholic nation) as an army of ten thousand was being outfitted and moved north for an invasion. “Bonnie Prince Charles,” as he was known, had been groomed in the military arts from his youth to reclaim the British throne for his aging father, who was still officially recognized by Rome as the rightful heir. Spies and plots were everywhere. Roman Catholics wanted England back under their power and were working with the French government to reinstall a Catholic king (England and France had been at war more often than not since the mid-1300s). There were still many people in the British Isles who would declare allegiance to Stuart, including a group of powerful lords, if the deposed heir arrived in the country and attempted a coup. With the nation on edge over an impending war, Whitefield understood the severity of the charges—that more rioting could break out if paranoid people believed the methodists would support the French invasion.
As a public figure and spokesperson for the methodist movement, Whitefield finally took a public stand. Finding himself accused of being subversive when he really held a genuine loyalty to the current king, Whitefield claimed the right to hold outdoor meetings and insisted that he was loyal to King George II. To refute the Church of England propaganda, Whitefield published three pamphlets in 1744. First, Whitefield pointed out that the methodists had not broken away from the Church of England, declaring them to be “orthodox, well-meaning ministers, and members of the church of England, and loyal subjects to his Majesty King George.” Countering any claim of personal disloyalty, Whitefield wrote:
I profess myself a zealous friend to his present Majesty King George, and the present administration. Where-ever I go, I think it my duty to pray for, and to preach up obedience to him, and all that are set in authority under him, in the most explicit manner … And I believe, should it ever come to the trial, the poor despised Methodists, who love his Majesty out of principle, would cleave close to him in the most imminent danger, when others that adhere to him, only for preferments, perhaps might not appear altogether so hearty.
Here is a direct jab aimed at Tory sycophants (one who wins favor from powerful people through flattery). Whitefield points out that he and the methodists had never been arrested: “My Lords, I know of no law of the state that we have broken, and therefore we have not incurred the displeasure of the civil power.” Then he maintains that they had no intentions of establishing a separate sect: “As yet, we see no sufficient reason to leave the Church of England, and turn dissenters; neither will we do it till we are thrust out.” He underscored their loyalty to the Church of England with a metaphor, “When a ship is leaky, prudent sailors, that value the cargo, will not leave it to sink, but rather continue in it so long as they can, to help pump out the water.”
Whitefield squanders no words in explaining the purpose of the bishop’s pamphlet, showing that it called the methodists “seditious sectaries, disloyal persons, who, under pretence of tender consciences, have, or may contrive insurrections.” He then states that the author may as well “tax the Methodists with high treason.” Next, in light of the Act of Toleration, Whitefield points out that Quakers were persecuted less under Charles I:
May not the loyal ministers and members of the Church of England, nay, Protestant Dissenting teachers also, expect under the more gentle and moderate reign of his present Majesty King George, who, as I have been informed, has declared, “there shall be no persecution in his days.”
Throughout the heart of his response, Whitefield carefully dissects the arguments in the bishop’s pamphlet, showing inconsistencies in logic and offering evidence that refutes the writer’s claims. In closing, Whitefield directly confronts the charge that methodists were turning the lower classes against the king:
I think it my duty to invite, and preach to this rabble in all places where providence shall send me, at this season; that I may warn them against the dreadful effects of popish principles, and exhort them to exert their utmost endeavors to keep out a popish Pretender from ever sitting upon the English throne.
Rather than simply arguing that they were not seditious, he assures the readers that he and the methodists are working on behalf of King George II to keep people from siding with Bonnie Prince Charlie, should he invade England.
In Whitefield, the bishops faced a skilled debater who knew enough history and politics to highlight the hypocrisy of their claims and shed light on their motives for opposing the methodist movement. When Prince Charles did invade from France in 1745 to make a bid for the throne, one can wonder if more people might have backed the rebellion had Whitefield and the methodists not been encouraging their loyalty to King George II. Whitefield’s open support of the British king would continue until the death of George II and until his son George III took over—the king who would become the villain in the war for American independence.
Assassination
After the court case, as the paper battle between Whitefield and the bishops went to press, there was an attempt on his life, perhaps to silence him once and for all. In a pub one evening, while drinking with friends, a would-be assassin boasted that he would kill Whitefield, and had his friends not taken his sword from him on the spot, he might have succeeded in the task. The man came to see Whitefield at his rented room later that evening asking for spiritual guidance. Whitefield let him in and they talked awhile. But the man soon began to swear and violently beat Whitefield with a brass-headed cane. An accomplice quickly arrived to assist in the murder, but Whitefield’s cries, and the cries of the landlady and her daughter, scared them off. Whitefield took a severe beating, and it was several months before he recovered. While publicly Whitefield blamed the attempted murder on the devil, perhaps it confirmed in his mind the wisdom of staying in the mainstream and supporting the king.
If we examine the assassination attempt in the context of the summer of 1744, an interesting picture emerges. The crowd violence was generally intended to intimidate and injure, but not to kill. If a methodist was killed, as was William Seward when a stone struck his head, that was not necessarily part of the plan. A mob could easily dispatch its victim if desired, and any intent to murder would not be made a public spectacle in broad daylight, with a crowd following to witness. Generally, Whitefield was loved by commoners when there was nobody to rouse them with false accusations. It is difficult to support the idea that the assassin was just an offended sinner who didn’t like Whitefield’s preaching. The murder attempt was different. It was premeditated. The perpetrator had gone to a pub, likely to get drunk and steel his resolve. He was carrying his sword. Perhaps his guilty conscience, wishing to be foiled, let his tongue slip after a few drinks, and his friends did not like his idea. One has to wonder what the man’s motive was. There was an accomplice who showed up at the crime scene in time to assist with the attempt. This is evidence of conspiracy. Who might have been behind it? Whitefield had already dropped the charges against the mob ringleaders, so presumably, neither they, nor their friends, would have had a motive to harm him.
The attempt occurred just after Whitefield published his first letter attacking the bishops while defending the methodists. The compelling evidence and arguments Whitefield presented made the bishops look foolish, and he rubbed it in with a persuasive force they could not match. Moreover, he published his letter nationwide and across the Atlantic, while their anonymous pamphlet only received a limited hand-to-hand distribution. Could a small cabal of Church of England loyalists have conspired to silence Whitefield and cripple the movement before the second pamphlet refuting the Church of England’s accusations was released? Any case against the Church of England is clearly circumstantial and has never been proven. But since this incident so clearly breaks the pattern of previous violence, since the leaders had already been exposed for inciting mob violence, and since its timing was in the midst of public controversy, historians have grounds to suspect a conspiracy to assassinate Whitefield, perhaps with a bishop leading it.
As the arguments in Whitefield’s court case against his attackers clearly demonstrate, his struggle with the Church of England was not about religious practice, but influence over the public mind. Whitefield’s letters directly address the civil and political implications of the methodist movement. He champions their right to meet publicly and assures his readers their intentions are not seditious. But at this critical point in British history, as Charles prepared to lead the Jacobite rebellion of 1745, the Church of England had a difficult time believing the methodists were not a threat.
The sum of these events—Whitefield’s recognition of where the radical road led, his marriage to Elizabeth James, his son’s death, the mob and Church of England opposition, the need to support the current political establishment, and the attempt on his life—all contributed to Whitefield’s move away from the radical end of religion toward the mainstream of British society. Whitefield had no wish to become a martyr. At this point in his ministry, his goal was to have the largest audiences possible and the highest degree of acceptance among denominations and churches. Such a goal would not be achieved if he were connected to radicals, much less if he were murdered. His choice to move to the mainstream was practical and did not require compromise. He could still call for reform and encourage other denominations to teach the new birth.
But some things changed. Whitefield stopped accusing entire denominations of being unconverted. He no longer publicly attacked unconverted ministers, but only criticized particular threatening teachings of specific ministers. Most importantly, Whitefield would be a vocal supporter of George II and the current government, which, incidentally, was controlled by a Whig majority in Parliament. Whitefield unwaveringly defended the right of any religious group to hold meetings outside the control of the Church of England or other Old Light denominations in America. These shifts in his enterprise would serve him well as his future unfolded, but as he returned to America, the colonists were unaware of the “new Whitefield,” and they braced for more controversy.