"1. It is not a doctrine of Revelation, but is an invention of men in a dark age. 2. It contradicts plain declarations of Scripture. 3. It contradicts reason. 4. It has always caused contention in the church, and now is the greatest subject of controversy in Christendom. 5. It is a doctrine which obliges its believers to contradict themselves in preaching and in prayer. 6. It involves the idea it claims to despise—a human Saviour, a human atonement. 7. It is the foundation of deism."
February, 1841, whilst conducting a series of meetings at Stafford, N. Y., he was challenged into a public debate at Morganville, by Rev. J. Whitney, an ultra Universalist, in which Mr. W. engaged to prove: 1. That the last judgment is confined to this life. 2. The final salvation of all men. 3. That ultra Universalism is better, in its moral tendency, than any other system of faith. The order of discussion was a sermon each. Mr. Badger spoke first, taking for his entire speech four hours and twenty minutes. The plot of his sermon is very lengthy, and laid out in the form of a massive strength. It was one of those masterly efforts to which a successful reply would seem impossible.
Volumes of interesting personal reminiscences, those that would be characteristic of the man might be written, provided his contemporaries would pour out their recollections in a form that would be available for a writer's use. I would here narrate an incident given me on good authority, which illustrates his readiness for an emergency. In the village of his residence, some eight or ten years ago, the Episcopal Church, and the citizens generally, had assembled in their chapel, splendidly illuminated on Christmas Eve, expecting to hear a sermon for the occasion from an Episcopal clergyman from a distance. The clergyman arrived in town, but not sufficiently early to look over his papers, and to prepare for the service. He declined to speak. The leading man of the society, who felt deeply the disappointment, saw but one method by which to save the credit of the occasion, which was to get Mr. Badger to preach. No other clergyman would dare to attempt it. The people were assembled, expectations were high. He at once came to Mr. Badger's house, found that he had just returned from Lakeville, weary with labor, and was reclining in front of the fire. He told him the facts of the case, that he must go to the church and preach the sermon, that not a moment could be lost. Mr. Badger arose, and without waiting to find a text, to brush his coat, or to comb his hair, walked with him to the chapel, entered the desk, and without much apology, gave, what the citizens have ever since declared to be, a most eloquent and able discourse—a better than which, they had never heard him give.
In the village of Springport, during his labors there, a few men of skeptical cast of mind thought they would embarrass him by sending him a text, accompanied by a respectful request that they would be glad to hear him preach from it. The text was Ecc. 3: 21: "Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?" It was handed to him one evening, and he preached from it the next. After speaking respectfully and thankfully of his indebtedness to some three or four gentlemen for the subject on which he should speak, he proceeded to give the import of the passage thus: King Solomon, he said, was an observer, a thinker, and a man of knowledge. He saw the two natures of man, his body and spirit: that as respects the former, all go to one place, man and beast; but that notwithstanding the plainness of these outward phenomena, an impenetrable mystery remains in respect to the spirit of each. "Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward?" that is, who comprehends it, who can declare the whole mystery of its powers? Who comprehends the spirit of the beast?—this too is mystery. The wise man, said Mr. Badger, knew the limit of knowledge. After giving this view of the passage, which cleared it of all imagined difficulty, and which is justified by the letter of the text, he preached a sermon on the immortal nature and destiny of man. Near the close, after applying the subject quite effectively, he called attention to the object for which the gentleman had given the text.
"The only purpose," said he, "why this passage was sent me under these peculiar circumstances, was to establish the doctrine that man is a beast, that he has only the destiny of a beast. This," said he, "is a grave position. Were I to meet one of those gentlemen to-morrow, and in my salutation call him a beast, would he not regard it as a gross insult? Look at the origin of this request. A few men, or beasts if they are determined to have it so, meet and talk about the Bible, the church, religion and the ministers. They say the Bible is a fable, religion is imagination, and the clergy are after the people's money. Now let us send the minister a text that proves there is no hereafter. Is not this conversation on a pretty high order of subjects for beasts? And this handwriting too (holding up the note) looks very handsome and fair for a beast. Animals are fast ascending."
The power of this satire, as given by him, was perfectly triumphant, and it is needless to add that he was ever after left to choose his own subjects. But in this line of remark we are obliged to desist, not having been supplied with material for a chapter of personal recollections.
A few remarks from two or three of his contemporaries will close this chapter. Rev. L. D. Fleming, of Rochester, N. Y., writes as follows:
"He is associated with all the remembrances of my early Christian experience. In many respects he was an extraordinary man. Few men take as deep an interest in the wants and necessities of young ministers as he did. He was always ready to lift them up when through discouragement they were falling; and he had a most happy gift for drawing them out, for developing their mental resources, for inspiring them with hope when hopeless, and with that necessary self-reliance which many lack, and for the want of which many abandon their calling. He treated them not only as babes in Christ, 'feeding them with the sincere milk of the word,' but as fellows with him in the Gospel mission. This was an inspiring fellowship, where lay much of his hidden power. How often have I known him to ask the advice of the young minister on important subjects, not, probably, that he expected that they could unravel knotty questions, or enlighten him. He intended to draw them into a new field of thought, to set them in pursuit of their own resources, and to kindle up the fires of mentality as no other means would have done it. He had tact and talent peculiarly his own. His nature overflowed with the milk of human kindness; this, associated with his peculiar organization, gave him that great social power which was one characteristic of his life. Although I cannot hope by anything I can say, to add to his fame, I feel a pleasure in bearing testimony to those entrancing social qualities and Christian virtues, which should be emulated by all lovers of the Gospel he professed, and by which he became endeared to multitudes."
From Rev. O. E. Morrill, of Plainville, Onondaga County, N. Y., we take the following lines: