JONATHAN EDWARDS AND THE OLD CLERGY.
Of late years the attention of many thinking men has been much turned to the early clergy of America. One reads of St. Peter's Church that, notwithstanding its immense size above ground, it has an equal amount of masonry under ground. Of the iceberg even more can be said, since its submerged proportions are of vastly greater extent than its visible surface. One may well inquire how much of American greatness is hidden in its foundation. How massive indeed must be the hidden corner-stone on which rests the structure of national character. New England is now turning its attention to the histories of ancient families; genealogy is no small feature in modern literature, and thus the age seems to confess that such research is a token of advance.
I believe that the strength of our ancestors was owing to their pure and simple piety; indeed, one can not go back even for a century without meeting this element in clear developement. The old New England preachers were of a character peculiarly adapted to the severe exigencies of their day. They stood as iron men in an iron age. However rude in other social features, the early settlers, as they worked their way to the frontier, demanded the soothing influences of pastoral care, and the first institution reared in the forest was the pulpit, the next the school-house. The pastors were settled for life, and minister and people abode in communion, with little change but that of age. In seeking a field, the youth just launched into his profession 'candidated' among vacant churches, and was heard with solemn attention by the selectmen and bench of deacons. Notes were taken by the more fastidious for subsequent criticism, and the matter was discussed with all the importance of a national treaty. When the call had been accepted, the stipend was generally fixed at one hundred pounds, and a rude parsonage opened its doors of welcome. To this was almost invariably attached a farm, whose native sterility called for such expenditure of toil that it might truly have been said,
'The furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke.'
These men indeed united mental and physical labor in a remarkable degree. The long winters were devoted to study, to sermons, or to meetings,—the summer to the plow and the harvest. One instance is on record in which the entire stock of a year's sermons were written between December and April. But, notwithstanding the inevitable drudgery of such a life, the ministry was, upon the whole, noted for study. The course held at Harvard required close application, and even at the chapel exercises the Scriptures were daily read in the original languages. These labors and studies are recorded in that quaintest of all American books, Mather's Magnalia. Whatever be the pedantry and vanity of its author, he is undeniably worthy of rank among the men whom he chronicled. Indeed, the Mathers, father and son, illustrated a race of rare moral and intellectual power. The first of these, who enjoyed the profitable name of 'Increase,' was equally popular and successful as president of Harvard or pastor of the church of Cambridge, and the son takes little pains to conceal his filial pride as he blazons the virtues of 'Crescentius Madderus.' He is particular in recording him as the first American divine who received the honorary title D.D. As one looks back upon the primitive days of the nascent university, he is struck by the contrast between the present numerous and stately array of halls, the magnificent library, and all the pomp of a modern commencement, and the slender procession of rudely clad youth led by Increase Mather. As they marched out of the old shaky college and filed into the antique meeting-house, what would they have said to a glimpse of Gore Hall and its surroundings? But those were the beginnings of greatness, simple as they were.
The pages of the Magnalia are filled with portraits hit off in a masterly style. Mather was a true 'Porte Crayon,' and knew how to bring out salient points with a few happy touches. His picture-gallery is like an ancient Valhalla, full of demigods. Among their characteristics are strong contrasts. Here are piety and poverty and learning, hand in hand. These men, as we have stated, could swing the axe, or chop logic, at a moment's notice; could pull vegetables, or dig out Hebrew roots, with alternate ease. Notwithstanding their long days of labor, their minds kept their edge, being freshly set by incessant doctrinal disputations. Such, indeed, was the public appetite for controversy that polemic warfare never slumbered. Our view of their character is assisted by a contrast with the English clergy of the same day, and which reveals shameful deformities on the part of the latter—avarice, indolence, and gluttony. Of such, Milton spake in Lycidas, with withering contempt, as those who
'for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold.'
If the Puritan poet be charged with prejudice, we have only to turn to the pages of Macaulay for confirmation. Where, indeed, if this be true, did Fielding obtain the originals for the ordinary at Newgate, or 'parson Trulliber' in Joseph Andrews?
Sad and strange was that disappointment which awaited the first emigrants to Massachusetts Bay. But there was a divine mercy in it; they came to seek peace, but a sword awaited them. I refer to the famous Anne Wheelright controversy, which rent the infant settlement of Boston for more than ten years. The excitement extended through the entire colony, affording many a bitter and vindictive argument. The pulpit belabored it in sermons of two hours' length, after which the deacons in their official seats occasionally expatiated to audiences whose patience on this theme was inexhaustible. As the controversy waxed hot, it got into the hands of the civil authorities, and some of its disputants were thrust into jail as heretical. Anna Wheelright was a woman of great mental vigor, and could hold her own in a debate with her reverend disputants. Unfortunate as this controversy may appear, it proved a benefit, by sharpening the public mind to a prodigious degree. Indeed, the very children of Boston could define the terms of the covenant of grace. Weary of a controversy bordering on persecution, Anne Wheelright sought a new home in the wilderness, and was subsequently murdered by the Indians. But the force of mental exercise which she had put in motion still continued. It is worthy of remark that almost the only intellectual peculiarity to which Franklin refers, in speaking of his father, is 'a turn for polemics.' The great features of New England character were, at that day, opinion and faith. It was these, as boldly and defiantly expressed, which excited the fears and jealousy of Charles the Second, and instigated the deprival of the colonial charters.