We might characterize other minor religious bodies that have enacted their parts in our land, and had some influence. But these to which we have glanced, are gentes majores among our sectarian clans; not, however, to speak disrespectfully, but merely to indulge in some variety and sport of figure. These, it will be granted, have taken the lead in those religious enterprises which have recently signalized our history, and among these the descendants of the puritans have not been the least distinguished.
If there be any truth and faithfulness in the portraiture of puritanical character, drawn in the review of Milton's posthumous writings, in the Edinburgh Review, some few years ago, it would appear, that a belief in the marvellous was one of its prominent traits. The faith of a puritan always had power to call to its aid celestial agencies; and that which goes deeply into the belief of enthusiastic religionists, is likely to come to pass in some manner to satisfy their dreams and visions. If they believe in witches, they will have them; in ghosts, they will muster in throngs; and their existence will be so well attested, that incredulity itself must yield to the verdict. The faculty of high and mysterious communion with heaven, might be set down as one of the definitions of the genius of puritanism. So was it in the mother country; so was it in New-England. Cotton Mather's writings are a conscientious record of facts; of facts, the existence of which the reverend author never entertained a doubt, and which was the creed of the time.
We may add, there was a spice of the faith of miracles in the puritanical creed; miracles in the natural and moral world. Was not a generation that could swallow such marvellous accounts as Cotton Mather's and the like, easy of faith?
And it should be borne in mind, that this disposition was an all-powerful element of the moral world in that age; that it naturally descended from father to son; and that ages must necessarily pass away, under any modifying causes whatever, before it could be entirely effaced. New-England, and some other parts of our country, had long reposed under the shadow of this great tree. Its fruit dropped into their lap, and they lived on it.
Neither is it any less notable, that this character has been principally developed in the religious form. The civil right of religious liberty was, indeed, the original element of strife, which stirred up the action of religion in extravagant modes. But religion was the ruling passion. It was religion that brought the puritan emigrants to this country; religion was the basis and soul of their empire; religion was in all their thoughts, and feelings, and plans. But it was a religion of their own order; a religion with their own characteristic peculiarities; a religion asserting what might be called a rampant freedom; a religion paying great respect to the dreams of enthusiasts; which had learned to trample on authority civil and ecclesiastical, and which, ever after, could ill brook control of any description.
It was also a religion of enthusiastic expectation. Based on the marvellous, infused with the marvellous, it could be satisfied with nothing but the marvellous. Impatient of being controlled, it was equally impatient to use control. Like the abolitionists of this hour, it distilled principles up to the highest possible proofs of the art, and then swallowed and administered them, to turn men's brains. 'Slavery is wrong,' say these more modern theorists; 'therefore, be it enacted, there shall be no more slavery from this moment.' 'Christianity is designed to bring in the millenium; therefore,' reasoned the puritan fathers, 'we will have it forthwith. We will set up society, in this new world, on this model.' The theory was, as we suppose, that a code-millenial would bring about the millenium. Certain it is, that the fathers of New-England attempted, by statutory provisions, to enact a religious and perfect state of society. They, doubtless, believed it could be done. Confident of the correctness of the theory, the failure was, probably, regarded as a mistake, or some defect in the mode of its application; or, as owing to some adverse influences; for, from that day to this, there has been prevalent, by fits, a sort of religious epidemic, more or less extensive, in our community, developing symptoms of a like faith, that it is possible, by a single stage, to pass from all our imperfections to perfection; and from the immediate conversion of our own country, to the immediate conversion of all the world. In no part of the world, and in no age, has there been so much abortive and disastrous scheming for moral reform, and religious enterprise, as among us. The original theory of a politico-religious state of society, undertaken by the fathers of New-England, as we need not say, was necessarily abandoned at an early period. A brief experiment proved it to be impracticable. But this leaven of undefined and enthusiastic expectation has ever been at work. It has appeared, in various forms, in almost every religious sect known in the country, older or younger, larger or smaller.
In the revivals of the time of Jonathan Edwards, and onward, it was confidently believed that the millenium had dawned. The deep religious feeling of the time was every where pervaded by this sentiment—an innocent state of mind, indeed, and very romantic. It was the natural fruit of the stock which had borne and matured it. Good as was the tree, in the main, these faulty excrescences were constantly shooting forth. The sap was deeply infused with a diseased virus, and the roots were planted in a not uncongenial soil. And the worst of it was, that the culture, for the most part, kept in check the better qualities, and nourished the more vicious. As much reverence as we have been taught, and accustomed to feel, for the name, character, and talents of Jonathan Edwards, it can hardly be denied, that he was greatly influenced by the peculiar atmosphere of his time. 'Would to God,' many, doubtless, will say, 'that the theologians of our day had more of his spirit!' To which we cordially say, 'Amen!' Were not the Tennents enthusiasts? And with all the eloquence of Whitfield, had he not many of the qualities of a ranter? Admitting that he gave an impulse to the religious action of the age, what has been the subsidence? In England we have the two hives of the Tottenham Court and Moorfields Chapels, not very productive of honey. The Lady Huntington Connection scarcely subsists by a semi-conformity to the Church of England. In this country, the vehemence of its career left behind it such fruits, and developed itself in such forms, as the Davenport faction. Doubtless there may be a different opinion as to this connection, as cause and effect; but with us it seems to be legitimate. Had Whitfield been as skilful a tactician as Wesley, and organized his corps, he might have left the field in a better plight. But the effect of his career was, to set things loose, with no abiding power to regulate them. Separatism, disorder, and devastation, were the natural consequence. That Whitfield did good, who will deny? That his mode of operation was a germ of evil, is scarcely less evident. To balance these influences, and estimate the difference, is a nicer task than we can presume to undertake. This much, however, we will venture to say: that no calculation can determine this question, which does not weigh well the importance of order to the welfare of society, in the long run. The time, we believe, has come, even in our country, when this item of moral arithmetic is getting to be appreciated.
Come we, then, after so long a discussion, to the more astounding facts of our recent religious history. If, indeed, it should be thought or said, there are more things in heaven and earth than our philosophy has dreamed of; though doubtless some will account us as having made good search, and perhaps will accuse us of too much philosophy; or, if they who may feel any urgent reasons for rejecting our conclusions, shall aver, that we have labored in vain to establish a connection where no connection exists, which we partly opine may happen, not so much from a consciousness of weakness in our argument, as for the anticipated convenience of our adversaries; we nevertheless think, that all concerned will agree in the necessity of philosophizing a little on the phenomena subjected to our consideration. There must be a cause for these great and impressive developments; and the cause lies deep in the past. Human society, in the aggregate, never comes to such results, independent of antecedent stages and influences, that are competent to produce them; and at no time can they be so distinctly traced, as when the long line of events which has at last brought on a crisis, is laid under the eye of the observer, and is capable of being calmly examined.
We pause, then, in this place, to ask: 'What is the more prominent and distinctive religious symptomatic feature of our age and country?' If we may credit the press, in all its disclosures, we are strongly inclined to the conviction, that all the sober men in our religious world, of all sects, will agree in the verdict, that it is a something, which can be defined by no single and comprehensive term so well as that of Charlatanry. The science of history seems to have been discarded, and all professional advice growing out of it in a great measure has gone into contempt. A regular education, based on the experience of ages, is supplanted by schools of quackery, of mushroom growth, each propounding its own specific for the cure of all the social and moral evils that have visited, and which are now afflicting, mankind.
We mean not to quarrel with the advocates and promoters of revivals, the more sober and more reasonable class of which is to be found in our history; nor to deny that there is a philosophy in the theory of them, when properly chastened and regulated, which can be vindicated by scripture, and the social character of man. But who does not know, that this theory has been over-worked in the application, and produced the most disastrous results? Because some apparent good had come out of public religious awakenings, it was very natural for ardent religionists, ministers, and laymen, to desire them more frequently and extensively. Hence the inquiry into their causes, or immediate occasions; and hence the gradual formation and application of a theory, as the means of producing them. The same disposition which began to theorize, continued to theorize; and as the common proverb hath it, 'Practice makes perfect,' so in this matter, practice has at least altered the theory, and continued to alter it in every hand that took it up. Some twenty years ago, or less, as is very well known, the great and leading revivalist of the day theorized so minutely, not to say extravagantly, as to be scrupulously exact in the selection of time and circumstance for his operations; in the kind of room; preferring any other rather than a church; any place rather than a pulpit; in the arrangement of seats, in the grouping of his hearers, in the position and number of lights, etc., etc. The physical-mechanical was as much a study as the mechanical-moral. Like the lawyer who could not pursue his argument without the thread which he had been accustomed to have on his finger, no more could this revivalist operate with effect, independent of his own peculiar machinery. When this came to be generally understood, the charm of it vanished with the discovery. The power of this genius consisted in the art of insinuation—we mean not in the bad sense—but in coming at the mind and affections in a still and quiet way, by the action of an unperceived machinery, in connection with Bible truth. It is to be observed, that the theory then prevalent among the great body of those who sympathized with these transactions, was, that this was the way to subdue and convert the world; that every thing else should yield to, and fall in with, this. It was a religious catholicon. For a considerable time the most stirring portions of our religious world were under this species of influence. It was a particular and new form of revivals; and we know not why it should have been distinguished from that which immediately succeeded, by calling the latter a system of 'new measures,' except as one differed from the other. Both, certainly, were new, and both prescribed one capital and fundamental principle-'the anxious seat.'