Chapter VII: New England: Overthrow or Unify?
VII
New England
Overthrow or Unify?
New England had just settled down a bit by late 1744 when Whitefield was crossing the Atlantic to visit again. The revival fires had cooled. Davenport had been run out of town, Tennent was home in New Jersey, and the people of New England had largely taken sides. Colonial society was negotiating the shifts in its power structures in church and state as people were leaving the Old Light churches and joining the New Light congregations. Whitefield’s announcement of a third tour exposed the rift by forcing ministers to welcome or oppose his coming.
Whitefield had changed. He had distanced himself from the radicals, married Elizabeth, lost his firstborn, was nearly murdered, fought with English bishops for the right to preach outdoors, and took a political stand. But the Boston Old Lights did not know all this. They braced themselves and began turning out propaganda even before he arrived. Among their fears, the Old Lights assumed Whitefield was coming to overthrow their church-state society. As the controversy hit the press, the Boston Evening-Post took a decidedly antirevival angle and printed tabloid-like stories attacking him, providing a platform for any writer who would oppose Whitefield.
As soon as he arrived in Boston, Whitefield recognized the antirevival faction and complained to a friend that a group of ministers, citizens, and publishers banded together in opposition of his tour:
TEMPORA mutantur; a confederacy, a confederacy! The clergy, amongst whom are a few mistaken, misinformed good old men, are publishing halfpenny testimonials against me. Even the president, professors, and tutors at Hartford College, where I was received with so much uncommon respect, have joined the confederacy. Some good friends on my side of the question are publishing testimonials in my favour. Thus you see what a militant state we are in at present.
Old Light churches feared for the future of their denominations and their influence in the community. Rumors of a plot to subvert New England’s authority structure quickly burst forth from these fears. Upon Whitefield’s return, to offer him a pulpit made a statement about the revival. It affirmed the enthusiasm of the revivalists, championed their theology, and revealed one’s position with regard to political order. Whitefield became the focal point for the upheaval in New England society, threatening the glorious New England tradition in either one of two ways: first, as a British priest who might encourage the advancement of the Church of England in the colonies, or second, as one who promoted the New Light denominations. He couldn’t do both at the same time, but his critics were throwing anything they could at him to see what would stick. At one point, Whitefield was even accused of helping the plot to get the Stuarts and Catholics back in power.
The ensuing struggle between Old Lights and New Lights spilled from the pulpits, flowed from the colonial newspapers, filled numerous pamphlets, and became a contest for the mind and commitment of the American colonists. The issues were profound, and the changes sent tremors through society. The Old Lights, with a tendency to view all matters with a political eye, clearly recognized where the changes could lead. Since Whitefield generated the symbols that defined and sustained the Awakening, the most direct way to meet the challenge was to attack him.
Whitefield adjusted to the challenge in two ways: (1) by adopting a middle-of-the-road political stance to stay out of trouble with local authorities, and (2) by promoting a view of religion that was acceptable to as many listeners as possible. To construct a worldwide parish, he had to support a political view that would maintain stability. Historically, a nation guided by Parliament provided the best environment for the smaller religious groups. A government run by a king was too risky, especially with “popish plots” afoot and a Catholic pretender waiting in France for an opportune moment. An approaching French-backed rebellion originated in Scotland, and one can wonder if it might have had more support from Scottish lowlanders if not for the revival. All of the propaganda would create a situation demanding a public defense of Whitefield’s character and ministry.
The Public Trial of Whitefield
Whitefield and his wife Elizabeth arrived in the colonies to a cool reception, whereupon Charles Chauncy bluntly told him to get out of town. But the returning Whitefield was not the same rash innovator that blazed through the colonies in 1740. His experiences in England prepared him for his defense. Having just answered similar charges of enthusiasm, factionalism, and sedition from the Church of England, he quickly sized up the situation and took quick action to salvage his reputation. Whitefield’s “parish” was divided, and he saw it as his responsibility to suppress the conspiracy propaganda and heal relationships between “his” parishioners. Perhaps most importantly, the controversy over the revival had drifted squarely into the politics, and Whitefield would leave it there as he restored his tarnished image.
Whitefield’s public image in America was not so connected with methodism as it was in England, but he was associated with groups that had splintered away from the Old Light American churches. He wished to completely shed that image, embrace the Old Lights as brothers, and step back into the mainstream of American culture and politics. His plan was to apologize to the offended ministers and then back up his apology with practical support of their political system. His chief persuasive strategy was to adorn himself with what he termed “another spirit” to sever his association with radical enthusiasts like Davenport. This move constituted a shift away from either pole of the debate and created a new moderate position. A cynical writer for the Boston Evening-Post showed that the term “another spirit” was circulating immediately after his arrival:
It was industriously spread abroad, that Mr. Whitefield was now come in another Spirit, in the Spirit of Meekness, Love and Peace; that he declared against Disorders and Separations, and would preach against them, and endeavour to heal our Divisions!
A key word in this passage is “industrious,” which indicates great efforts on Whitefield’s part. Helping Whitefield to show another spirit, and evidencing general change in his ministry, was Elizabeth Whitefield. The Boston newspapers mention her, and undoubtedly her presence altered perceptions of Whitefield in a positive way. Charges of immorality against him were never taken seriously in America and did not enter the respectable side of the debate. For the most part, Whitefield gave his critics nothing new to use against him.
In addition to executing his own agenda for another spirit, Whitefield faced an overwhelming series of accusations, some true and some false. While the Boston Evening-Post was the place for anonymous writers to challenge Whitefield and the revivalists, the Boston Gazette voiced the opinions of revival supporters. Arguments in the public debate appeared in these two newspapers or were published in pamphlets and thrust upon the public for consideration. Appropriately, the public would be the judge in this “trial” of Whitefield’s character, and attendance at his events after 1745 would indicate his level of public support. The Evening-Post came out squarely against Whitefield, with front-page articles belitthng his character, doctrine, and practice. But the Gazette published occasional articles in support, along with a regular feature about where Whitefield had preached, what the response to his preaching had been, and where he would preach next. The debate between the two papers kept score of who was for or against Whitefield, each one listing the names of ministers as they took a public stand. On January 8, 1745, the pro-Whitefield Gazette published a list of 141 ministers from all over New England and the middle colonies who supported the revival (though not necessarily Whitefield). The Evening-Post, trying to make the count look more equal, countered with a list of eight ministers against Whitefield (including two from Charlestown) versus eight from the Boston area who were for him. Eventually, fifty ministers from New England signed their names to pamphlets denying Whitefield admission to their churches.
The conflict orbited around three clusters of accusations directed at Whitefield: (1) attacks upon his character, (2) charges that he promoted doctrinal error, and (3) accusations that his ministry promoted political rebellion. The single issue that bound each cluster of accusations together was Whitefield’s criticism of unconverted ministers. To the antirevivalists this criticism indicated that Whitefield was “uncharitable.” It exposed his theological shortcomings, and it caused people to leave the “state church,” a move with political implications.
Charles Chauncy became the main spokesperson for the antirevivalists. Leading the accusations against Whitefield, he accused him of “too high an Opinion of his own Gifts and Graces.” Furthermore, Chauncy raised the question of whether the large collections Whitefield solicited to support his Bethesda Orphanage had been appropriately managed. In the Boston Evening-Post, an anonymous writer using the name “Publicola” accused Whitefield of pilfering orphanage collections for his personal use. But without doubt, “uncharitable” was the most frequent term used to rebuke him. Chauncy wrote that:
The next Thing that is amiss, and very much so, in these Times, is that Spirit of rash, censorious and uncharitable Judging, which has been so prevalent in the Land. This appear’d first of all, in Mr. W----D, who seldom preach’d, but he has something or other, in his Sermon, against unconverted Ministers.
To back up this charge, Chauncy points out that Whitefield said an archbishop “knew no more of religion than Mahomet.” If a respected Old Light archbishop could not meet Whitefield’s standard for conversion, then who could? Additionally, Whitefield expected others to attend his sermons, but he would not bother to show up when the Boston ministers preached. Leaders at Harvard were also upset and said Whitefield was “habitually … uncharitable, censorious and slanderous” because he questioned their Christian character saying, “Their Light is now become Darkness, Darkness that may be felt.”
The second cluster of accusations—a “Spirit of Errors”—addressed Whitefield’s religious practice. Chauncy said Whitefields misinterpretation of Scripture resulted in heretical practices. He also asserted that the enthusiastic practices in the New Light meetings were excessively impassioned and ventured beyond reasonable scriptural examples:
Screamings, convulsion like tremblings and Agitations, Strugglings and Tumblings, which in some instances, have been attended with Indecencies I shan’t mention.
Moreover, Chauncy insisted that Whitefield and others claimed to receive revelations directly from God. But Chauncy asserted that these revelations actually came out of their own imaginations. The actions of Whitefield and others could be misdirected acts of piety and genuine service, Chauncy confessed, but he shows how, in each case, the enthusiasts go well beyond what he considered sensible. Here, Chauncy graciously offered Whitefield and the revivalists a chance to save face and make peace if they would apologize. But what if this kind of enthusiasm made its way into political activism? The extremity of the emotional displays and their widespread occurrences made leaders nervous that it could spread.
Another writer echoed Chauncy in the Boston Evening-Post: “As you have enter’d in the present Paper War, I doubt not you are prepar’d for all Encounters.” This anonymous author employed eleven war metaphors in the first paragraph alone. Chauncy interpreted Whitefield’s sermons as calling Old Lights “uncapable of being Instruments of spiritual good to Men’s Souls.” Chauncy countered that New England ministers were converted, “a Set of Men, as found in the Faith, and of as good a Life, as any part of the Christian World are favoured with.” He argued that Whitefield’s position was unbiblical, and “indeed a downright popish Principal.” Here, he invoked the Protestants’ traditional enemy, as well as England’s struggle with the French to attack Whitefield, further hinting at the political fears that lay beneath the surface of the debate.
The third cluster of accusations completely unmasked the political fears, asserting that Whitefield was a wandering, divisive, seditious conspirator who would overturn New England society. American religious leaders had witnessed the splintering of their churches as the New Lights grew in number and moved beyond their control. Responsibility was cast upon Whitefield, not merely as a symbol of disorder, but as the prime mover of the drift into radical religion and politics. Thomas Clap, the president of Yale, exclaimed that people everywhere “set you up for their Oracle, Pattern and Patron.” Whitefield was the clear leader of the movement in the mind of the Old Lights.
Old Light clergy and others who decided to oppose the revivals viewed traveling preachers as an “engine of social upheaval.” Chauncy attributed church splintering to the traveling ministers, claiming that those who minister outside of an assigned parish “introduce Disorder and Confusion into the Church of GOD.” Chauncy accused Whitefield of neglecting his own parish in Georgia with his travels and complained that the “entire Dissolution of our Church State” would occur should this practice become more generalized.
Chauncy finally pronounced that there had been a conspiracy, “It is very just to infer, that there is a Design carrying on to subvert and eject the standing settled Ministers.” But even here, Chauncy again provided Whitefield a means of saving face, hinting that such rash judgments may be due to Whitefield’s youth, and that he may mature and his opinions change, “as he has been in some other Instances.” And, by and large, Whitefield took advantage of Chauncy’s provisions.
Whitefield’s hypothetical plot, according to Thomas Clap, called for ministers from Scotland, Ireland, and even those trained at Bethesda Orphanage to replace the so-called unconverted Old Light ministers. Supposedly then, once the ministers had been replaced, the civil authorities would be next on the list. A rumor had circulated that several students of Yale, expelled for enthusiasm, were told “that there was no Danger in disobeying their present Governours, because there would in a short Time be a great Change in the civil Government, and so in the Governours of the College.” Clap even implicated Jonathan Edwards in the plot, an accusation that Edwards quickly denied.
When Whitefield led the “Lord’s Supper” at Dr. Benjamin Colman’s church in Boston in December of 1744, his critics sounded the alarm because they felt that this was direct and explicit evidence of the plot. In their view, to have a priest from the Church of England administer the sacraments in a Puritan Congregationalist church symbolized an attempt to establish dominance—a blatant crossing of boundaries far more serious than simply being a guest preacher. In Britain’s past, taking the sacraments in a specific church had been a means of publicly identifying with a certain political ideology.
Church of England bishops held several positions in the House of Lords and used the church as a direct means of controlling the people. But Puritan Congregationalism was the state religion in most of New England. Whitefield’s administration of the sacraments appeared as an attempt to assert a Church of England presence in New England, a supposed encroachment of English influence within the arena of religion. The antirevival faction believed the security of their hard-won colonial privileges and the order of New England politics were at risk, and thus their most vigorous response was deemed necessary—no holds barred.
Whitefield’s Defense
Whitefield wasted no time in acting once the stakes became clear to him. He met with a group of influential Boston ministers who were concerned about the charges but remained undecided, including Dr. Sewall, Dr. Colman, Mr. Foxcroft, and Mr. Prince. Whitefield won over several respected clergymen, who then calmed down other undecided New Englanders. Whitefield described the meeting:
They were apprehensive … that I would promote or encourage separations … I said, I was sorry if anything I wrote had been a means of promoting separations for I was of no separating principles … We talked freely and friendly … by which their jealousies they had entertained concerning me seemed to be in a great measure ended.
“Another spirit” was on display in these meetings, and the ministers were convinced. It is likely that Whitefield’s charismatic personality also helped to smooth these relationships as much as his responses to their concerns. These ministers then became the core of a group that faithfully supported him during his stay in Boston, even to the point of having their own characters maligned—and they were absolutely necessary for Whitefield’s continued success. Whitefield supplied public responses to the allegations as fast as the presses could produce them. He promptly reprinted a pamphlet he had on hand that defended his ministry against charges of sedition in England. Then he printed the account of the recent trial in England to show the confederacy that he would not tolerate violence, and that the British courts would back him. Next, he wrote two largely overlapping letters, one to Charles Chauncy and one to Harvard that addressed each accusation, line by line. He also continued to preach almost daily wherever he was offered a pulpit. He wisely stayed out of the fields for a while where “mobs and rabble” might have rallied to him.
Whitefield answered all three clusters of accusations. Regarding the criticism that he was arrogant, he responded to Chauncy with repentance, his own countercharge, and a veiled plea for mercy: “All this, Reverend Sir, might possible have been true concerning me—but have you not prejudged me?” Whitefield complained that he had promised to explain and defend his traveling enterprise, but Chauncy did not wait for the explanation before publishing, and that was unfair. Regarding his own attitude, Whitefield insisted that he should not be held to a standard of “sinless Perfection,” and that God led him from his former attitude into a new one—a clear reference to another spirit.
Whitefield published an accounting of the Bethesda Orphanage budget before the end of 1744. He flatly denied extorting money, claimed that the orphanage was in good hands, and stated that his contributors were satisfied with his management of the money. Additionally, Whitefield argued that he could have “made what the World calls a fortune, and set down and nestled quietly” but instead he lived in voluntary poverty. Since everyone could see the truth in this claim, questions regarding the Bethesda finances quickly subsided as his critics turned to exploit more fruitful issues.
Whitefield defended his conduct against the charge that he was uncharitable by suggesting their opinion of him was too harsh: “But, Gentlemen, does it follow that Peter could properly be styled a cursing, swearing man, because with oaths and curses he denied his LORD?” Whitefield claimed that one must be “habitually uncharitable” to deserve the name, not just guilty of a few infractions. Whitefield apologized with regard to specific uncharitable comments about the state of New England colleges and for the remark about the archbishop: “I had no idea of representing the Colleges in such a deplorable state of immorality and irreligion.” He admitted that he should have limited his criticism of the archbishop to his theology and not implicated his character.
Regarding the second cluster of charges—the “Spirit of Errors”—Whitefield did not deny the evidence used against him, especially since they had quoted his own journal. Rather, he asserted that Chauncy and others had a weak case: “And is there any Thing, Reverend Sir, in this that may justly be stiled Chimerical or Enthusiastical?” Whitefield countered that he was not led by “sudden impulses,” but “acted cautiously” and “took time to consider” what he would do in the particular case that leaders at Harvard had criticized. He also claimed that it was not “enthusiasm” to interpret dreams and other such instances as God’s attempts to lead his people. Overall, Whitefield agreed to disagree, letting God be the judge. Yet on the unconverted minister issue, he acquiesced as much as he could without totally losing face, backing off his absolute claim and replacing it with a conditional one:
My settled Sentiments concerning them are these,—That they are seldom made Use of to convert others I verily believe: but if I have any where said what may be construed to imply, that it is impossible that unconverted Ministers should be Instrumental in converting others, or that their Administrations in the visible Church are invalid, as it was not my intention, I would revoke it.
Whitefield validates the ministry of the Old Lights. Here then is a significant concession from his hard-line position that shows his desire to heal the breach between religious factions.
To the third cluster of allegations, that he was a traveling divisive conspirator, Whitefield responded by defending his itinerancy and denying that he desired people to leave their churches. He also flatly denied that he was part of a conspiracy to replace the ministers. Whitefield counterattacked, stating that few nonresident ministers in England could give as good an account of their parishes as he, that many led a duplicitous life, while he worked hard at preaching the gospel. Additionally, he constantly exhorted the people to attend Old Light churches rather than encouraging the separations that occurred while he was absent. Whitefield’s strategy worked. His apologies, retractions, and gracious responses displayed another spirit. In his reply to Harvard, he unequivocally denied any intent to undermine New England’s religious structure:
I am come to New-England, with no intention to meddle with, much less to destroy the order of the New-England churches, or turn out the generality of their ministers, or re-settle them with ministers from England, Scotland, and Ireland … such a thought never entered my heart; neither, as I know of, has my preaching the least tendency thereunto … I have no intention of setting up a party for myself, or to stir up people against their Pastors.
As for being the leader and cause of all the trouble in general, Whitefield said they could only hold him accountable for his own wrongdoing, not the sins of others. For speaking against ministers without personally knowing them, Whitefield admitted he was wrong and apologized, “I thank you, Reverend Sir, for pointing out this Fault unto me.—But that I had a Design either in preaching or writing to alienate People’s Minds from their standing Ministers, I utterly disavow.”
But perhaps the most monumental concession that Whitefield made during this debate was the following statement from his published reply to Chauncy:
That I spake of unconverted Ministers in the Lump, as Pharisees, Enemies of Christ Jesus, and the worst Enemies I had, I believe is true; but that I spake of the Ministers of New England in this Way, I utterly deny.
Whitefield was not one to appease his enemies when he believed he was right. In this statement, he maintained a difference between converted and unconverted ministers, but confessed that the New England ministers were indeed converted. Here Whitefield’s care to only name Church of England clergy in his sermonic attacks paid off. He never publicly named the New England clergy, and while Alexander Garden still had a complaint against him, the New England Puritans could not make this charge stick.
So then, Chauncy and many others who denied the role of feelings in conversion had experienced a legitimate conversion and were indeed genuine Christians after all. Whitefield had admitted that the emotional style of the new birth was not the sole means of obtaining salvation. One could have a conversion experience within the Old Light scheme as well. In one sermon, Whitefield explained his new perspective:
This moral change is what some call repentance, some conversion, some regeneration; choose what name you please, I only pray GOD that we all may have the thing. The scriptures call it holiness, sanctification, the new creature, and our LORD calls it a “new birth.”
Whitefield still insisted that a person’s good works were ineffectual in securing pardon for sins. But by enlarging his definition of how conversion occurs, he began the reconciliation between the New and Old Lights. Whitefield had moved to the middle, and as the “Oracle, Pattern and Patron” of the other revivalists, this move would set the example for others. It would take another eight months before ministers from the two factions in Boston would actually meet and try to reconcile their differences, well after Whitefield left New England. But they did meet, and with some communication and the passing of time, the religious division began to heal.
In effect, Whitefield began paving the road for political cooperation between the two sides by conceding that the Old Lights were not out of but actually in God’s kingdom—genuine members of the Christian community. In order to repair the rift, he expanded the community to include the Old Lights and their congregations, who he was now willing to define as converted. After 1745, the sharp rift between New Lights and Old Lights began to close as initiated by Whitefield’s apologies and extended hand. Their shared desire for increased virtue among the citizens eventually provided ground for peace as the Old Lights also awoke from their slumber and focused their rhetoric away from the revivals and toward the increasing French threat. Though some others still debated the meaning and purpose of the revivals, Whitefield moved on to more important issues by including Old Lights in the community, making the controversy a moot point in regard to his own enterprise. New challenges to Whitefield’s parish were emerging and a more mature, sober Whitefield prepared to meet them.