Most people seem inclined to judge of Dr. Franklin by these latter commentators, and wind up with the words of our great moral poet.
"For modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight;
His can't be wrong, whose Life is in the right."
For my part, after all that I have heard on this subject, and I have heard a great deal, I do not know that I have met with any thing that expresses my opinion of Dr. Franklin's religion more happily than the following laconic remark by one of our most distinguished senators, I mean the honourable Rufus King. Knowing that this gentleman was a compatriot of Dr. Franklin during the revolution, and also sat by his side, a member of the grand Convention in 1788, I took the greater pleasure in asking his opinion of that great man in respect of his religion. "Why, sir," replied he, "my opinion of doctor Franklin has always been, that, although he was not, perhaps, quite so orthodox in some of his notions, he was very much a Christian in his practice. Nor is it indeed to be wondered at," continued this able critic, "that a man of doctor Franklin's extraordinary sagacity, born and brought up under the light of the Gospel, should have imbibed its spirit, and got his whole soul enriched, and as it were interlarded, with its benevolent affections."
And I have since found from conversation with many of our most enlightened and evangelical divines, that they all agree, with Mr. King, that doctor Franklin's extraordinary benevolence and useful life were imbibed, even unconsciously, from the Gospel. For whence but from the luminous and sublime doctrines of that blessed book could he have gained such pure and worthy ideas of God—his glorious unity, and most adorable benevolence: always, himself, loving and doing good to his creatures; and constantly seeking such to worship him? Whence, we ask, could he have got all these exalted truths—truths, so honourable to the Deity—so consolatory to man—so auxiliary of human virtue and happiness—whence could he have got them, but from the light of the Gospel? Certainly, you will not say that he might have got them from the light of nature. For, look around you among all the mighty nations of antiquity. Look among the Egyptians—the Greeks—the Romans, to equal him? Two thousand years have rolled between them and us, and yet the immortal monuments of their arts—their poetry—their painting—their statuary—their architecture—their eloquence—all triumphant over the wreck of time, have come down to our days, boldly challenging the pride of modern genius to produce their parallels. Evidently then, they had among them prodigies of mind equal to our Franklin. And yet how has it yet come to pass, that, with all their astonishing talents, and the light of nature besides, they were so stupidly blind and ignorant of God, while he entertained such exalted ideas of him? That while they, like the modern idolaters of Juggernaut, were disgracing human reason by worshipping not only four-footed beasts and creeping things, but even thieves, murderers, &c. deified, doctor Franklin was elevating his devotions to the one all-perfect God, MOST GLORIOUS IN ALL MORAL EXCELLENCE.
And how has it come to pass that while they, imitating their bloody idols, could take pleasure in sacrificing their prisoners of war! beholding murderous fights of gladiators! and even giving up their own children to be burnt alive! Franklin, by imitating the moral character of God, attained to all that gentle wisdom and affectionate goodness that we fancy when we think of an angel? To what, I ask, can we ascribe all this, but to the very rational cause assigned by Mr. King, viz. his having been born and brought up in a land of Gospel light and love? Indeed, who can read the life of doctor Franklin, attentively, without tracing in it, throughout, that true Christian charity which bound him, as by the heart-strings, to his fellow men—on every occasion going out of self to take an interest in them. "Rejoicing with them, when they acted wisely and attained to honour."—"Weeping with them when they acted foolishly and came to shame." Never meeting with any good fortune, through wise doings of his own, but he made it known to them for their encouragement in similar doings—never falling into misfortunes, by his own folly, but he was sure to publish that too, to deter others from falling into the like sufferings.
Now what was it but this amiable oneness of heart, with his fellow men; this sweet Christian sensibility to their interests and consequent generous delight in doing them good, that filled his life with such noble charities. "Where love is," said the great William Penn, "there is no labour; or if there be, the labour is sweet." And what was it but this, that bore him up so bravely under his many toils and hardships for his selfish brother James?
What made him so liberal of his money and services to the base Collins and Ralph?
What made him so patient and forgiving of the injuries done him by the worthless Keimer and Keith?
What made him so importunate with his young acquaintance in London, to divert them from their brutalizing and fatal intemperance?