One of the fun things about teaching is that oftentimes, students raise questions that I as a professor have not really thought about before. If you've read some of my earlier posts, you know that The Mainline was largely shaped in the classroom, so there should be little surprise that I've surely been influenced by this trend professionally. That being said there is one question that has been raised several times by students over the past few years that I have a hard time figuring out, and since writing sometimes leads to answers, I thought I'd devote today's post to the issue, if not the answer.
Here is the basic outline. While teaching the first half of the US Survey (roughly discovery/colonization through the Civil War/Reconstruction), I always make sure to spend time talking about the First and Second Great Awakenings. Though there is debate over exact dates (as an aside, it is a pet peeve of mine how often historians get labeled as purveyors of dates, since History is rarely planned out and even when it is, its not as if things "just happen" on a given date or end a certain time), generally the First Great Awakening ran from the 1710s into the 1740s (give or take), and the Second Great Awakening ran from the 1790s into the 1830s (again, give or take). The FGA was trans-Atlantic in scope, and was marked by the preaching of such divines as Jonathon Edwards, George Whitefield, and the Wesley brothers. The SGA was more American in focus, and showcased the preaching talents of the Beechers, Charles Finney, Barton Stone and Alexander Campbell. The FGA is often construed as having saved orthodoxy from the clutches of Deism and reinvigorated a sense of "the Protestant Interest" (to borrow from Thomas Kidd's excellent work on the topic). For American Historians, the FGA also is a precursor event to the American Revolution (at least in some circles). The SGA, while starting off as a religious revival (geared towards making sure that churches got planted in the newly opened Western states) eventually morphed into a movement that was also (at least in the Northeast and much of the Midwest) interested in reforming society (including, of course, anti-slavery).
So far, so good. But then the questions start. Consistently I have students who "embrace" or "support" the FGA (how can you not like Edwards' Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God?). But just as consistently, I have students who berate the very idea of the SGA. Many of those who take on the SGA cite its calls for Christian activism in the public sphere, or with specific reforms that became a part of it. But probably the most persistent critique is that the SGA appealed not to the "head" but only to the "heart". That its emotional appeals led to "shallow" conversions, which contributed to later problems in American Christianity.
I admit that the first time this happened in a classroom, I was sort of taken aback. It was certainly new to me. I generally point out that the same type of critiques were and could be leveled at the FGA (again, take a look at Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God -- it is pretty scary stuff to think that God's grace is the only thing keeping you from falling into hell, and maybe you should get right with Him before he removes His grace!). I've also had to counter claims that "nothing like this (ie appeals to emotion) ever happened in the Bible" -- by asking those interested to take a look at Acts Chapter 2 and try not to hear the emotional appeal in it.
When we dig a bit deeper the "head vs. heart" debate eventually gets us into discussion about theology. Now, I'm not a theologian (and I don't think I've yet had one as a student), but the gist of this animosity towards the SGA in some circles is the belief that it was the start of liberal theology within American Protestantism. There maybe some truth to that, but I'd also argue that it isn't the whole truth. Saying that someone like Henry Ward Beecher (whose theology eventually diverged quite a bit from that of his father Lyman -- and both men were standard bearers for the SGA) would be comfortably classified as a liberal today is problematic for several reasons. Did the SGA get everything "right" (whether theologically or in the manner of reform)? No. But then again, I'd argue that most of the people (including one favorite target for some modern theological conservatives, Charles Finney) weren't attempting to forge a coherent theology at all. For some, but only some (like Washington Gladden) that came later.
In the end (for me at least) talking about the FGA/SGA has prompted some interesting discussions, which I enjoy. They've made me question assumptions I've had about these events, as well as raise questions for me about how we (including my students) understand them. Oftentimes, it seems "we know what we know because we know it," my hope is that with some study and reflection we can see that both the FGA and SGA utilized a sort of balanced witness of the Christian faith, of both "head and heart", that it wasn't an "either/or" kind of thing. If that makes for a more complicated history, so be it. Because it is also probably more accurate.
Showing posts with label Beecher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beecher. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
The Souls of Real People
Historians have an awesome responsibility. As a profession, we deal with the past of course. But it is a real past, the real past, which was constructed, inhabited by real people (just like us). In telling their story then, historians have the task of both constructing an argument about the past, as well as doing justice to the past and the people we are writing about.
Today, I had a chance to really ponder those sentiments. Before heading downtown to teach, I stopped off at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. The final resting place of Hoosiers since the mid-1860s, those interned there include the politicians (governors, senators, vice presidents, and a president), the infamous (John Dillinger), powerful businessmen and community leaders, as well as average citizens. My purpose in driving through the cemetery grounds was to find a few graves of people I have studied and written about over the past few years. It was both intellectual curiosity as well as hoping to find a few new details for my current project.
What does this have to do with The Mainline? Well, quite a bit actually, at least insofar as we are thinking of the Mainline in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Chapter 2). I am currently researching the life and times of Preston Davidson, a native Hoosier from a distinguished family in Indianapolis (his maternal grandfather was governor of the state), who fought for the South during the Civil War. Indeed, his life is full of virtually every Civil War cliche one can think of, and in many ways he remained unreconstructed to the end of his life. What makes his story compelling in terms of The Mainline, however, was more to do with his religious life. His paternal grandfather was a Presbyterian minister in Virginia. The Reverend Andrew Davidson was a church planter along Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, centered in and around Lexington. The Reverend Davidson was an Old School Presbyterian, a devout Calvinist, and could by all accounts deliver a powerful sermon. As such, he represents both a doctrinal divide within American Protestantism, the tensions involved in early nineteenth century America over slavery, and desire for evangelicals to find both acceptance and to help shape American culture (the Davidson family was a product and protector of Lexington's chief school of higher education, now known as Washington and Lee University, for virtually all of the nineteenth century).
Two of the Reverend's sons were part of the "Virginia exodus" that helped settle Indiana. One, the Reverend Charles Baker Davidson, followed in his father's ministerial footsteps -- though exhibiting a denominational fluidity that seems much more modern than perhaps is often admitted. Baker joined the Methodist Church in Indiana, serving congregations in and around the Evansville area, and by the time of the Civil War, left that branch of Protestantism for the Episcopal Church. Preston's father, Alexander Davidson, became intrinsically linked to his father-in-law's political career and ambitions. But when it came to religion, Alexander exhibited more of the evangelical streak of his family: Helping to found Indianapolis's Second Presbyterian Church, whose first pastor (who married Alexander and Catherine Noble) was Henry Ward Beecher. Beecher introduced his sister, Harriet, to a former Noble family slave whom the governor had brought to Indiana after the deaths of his own parents. The former slave's name was Tom, and the Beechers often visited with him in his cabin on the Noble family farm.
To add a further layer, while Preston eventually enrolled in the then Washington College in Lexington (from which he went on to fight for the Confederacy alongside his cousins, other family members, and under the command of Lexington's famed Presbyterian warrior, Stonewall Jackson), his first taste of higher education was in Indianapolis at North Western Christian University -- which is today known as Butler University. The driving force behind the school was Ovid Butler, who was a staunch free soiler and devout evangelical. This was the world that produced Preston Davidson, and as numerous scholars have argued, we cannot really grasp why the Civil War was fought, or why it lasted so long, unless we appreciate the role religion played in American life during the first half of the nineteenth century.
But the Noble-Davidson plot was not the only one I visited. I also tracked down the grave of the man who was the subject of my first book, the Reverend Edward S. Shumaker. Not unlike Davidson, Shumaker was the product of the evangelical Midwest; though of the second half of the nineteenth century. And while anti-slavery had been the main reform of Shumaker's father's generation, for Edward, who became a Methodist minister, the chief reform was Prohibition. He became a champion for the dry crusade and eventually the leader of the Indiana branch of the Anti-Saloon League. Shumaker became more a political operative than minister, fought battles against wets, damps, and even amongst his fellow drys. Despite the ups and downs, thankfully for Shumaker, his death came before repeal of his beloved 18th Amendment.
Shumaker's story reminds us yet again of the power of evangelical Protestantism to shape American culture. To forget that, is to forget not just one of the chief reasons why Prohibition became a reality, but also why Protestants were so invested in such a reform -- combating societal evils was sometimes easier than dealing with doctrinal and theological issues.
To forget these types of stories, to neglect religious aspect of reforms, of life, and their impact on American culture, is to miss a huge part of our history. It also does something else: It downplays the potential that religion has to continue to shape that culture today. Ponder that, and for those whose graves I visited today:
Today, I had a chance to really ponder those sentiments. Before heading downtown to teach, I stopped off at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. The final resting place of Hoosiers since the mid-1860s, those interned there include the politicians (governors, senators, vice presidents, and a president), the infamous (John Dillinger), powerful businessmen and community leaders, as well as average citizens. My purpose in driving through the cemetery grounds was to find a few graves of people I have studied and written about over the past few years. It was both intellectual curiosity as well as hoping to find a few new details for my current project.
What does this have to do with The Mainline? Well, quite a bit actually, at least insofar as we are thinking of the Mainline in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Chapter 2). I am currently researching the life and times of Preston Davidson, a native Hoosier from a distinguished family in Indianapolis (his maternal grandfather was governor of the state), who fought for the South during the Civil War. Indeed, his life is full of virtually every Civil War cliche one can think of, and in many ways he remained unreconstructed to the end of his life. What makes his story compelling in terms of The Mainline, however, was more to do with his religious life. His paternal grandfather was a Presbyterian minister in Virginia. The Reverend Andrew Davidson was a church planter along Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, centered in and around Lexington. The Reverend Davidson was an Old School Presbyterian, a devout Calvinist, and could by all accounts deliver a powerful sermon. As such, he represents both a doctrinal divide within American Protestantism, the tensions involved in early nineteenth century America over slavery, and desire for evangelicals to find both acceptance and to help shape American culture (the Davidson family was a product and protector of Lexington's chief school of higher education, now known as Washington and Lee University, for virtually all of the nineteenth century).
Two of the Reverend's sons were part of the "Virginia exodus" that helped settle Indiana. One, the Reverend Charles Baker Davidson, followed in his father's ministerial footsteps -- though exhibiting a denominational fluidity that seems much more modern than perhaps is often admitted. Baker joined the Methodist Church in Indiana, serving congregations in and around the Evansville area, and by the time of the Civil War, left that branch of Protestantism for the Episcopal Church. Preston's father, Alexander Davidson, became intrinsically linked to his father-in-law's political career and ambitions. But when it came to religion, Alexander exhibited more of the evangelical streak of his family: Helping to found Indianapolis's Second Presbyterian Church, whose first pastor (who married Alexander and Catherine Noble) was Henry Ward Beecher. Beecher introduced his sister, Harriet, to a former Noble family slave whom the governor had brought to Indiana after the deaths of his own parents. The former slave's name was Tom, and the Beechers often visited with him in his cabin on the Noble family farm.
To add a further layer, while Preston eventually enrolled in the then Washington College in Lexington (from which he went on to fight for the Confederacy alongside his cousins, other family members, and under the command of Lexington's famed Presbyterian warrior, Stonewall Jackson), his first taste of higher education was in Indianapolis at North Western Christian University -- which is today known as Butler University. The driving force behind the school was Ovid Butler, who was a staunch free soiler and devout evangelical. This was the world that produced Preston Davidson, and as numerous scholars have argued, we cannot really grasp why the Civil War was fought, or why it lasted so long, unless we appreciate the role religion played in American life during the first half of the nineteenth century.
But the Noble-Davidson plot was not the only one I visited. I also tracked down the grave of the man who was the subject of my first book, the Reverend Edward S. Shumaker. Not unlike Davidson, Shumaker was the product of the evangelical Midwest; though of the second half of the nineteenth century. And while anti-slavery had been the main reform of Shumaker's father's generation, for Edward, who became a Methodist minister, the chief reform was Prohibition. He became a champion for the dry crusade and eventually the leader of the Indiana branch of the Anti-Saloon League. Shumaker became more a political operative than minister, fought battles against wets, damps, and even amongst his fellow drys. Despite the ups and downs, thankfully for Shumaker, his death came before repeal of his beloved 18th Amendment.
To forget these types of stories, to neglect religious aspect of reforms, of life, and their impact on American culture, is to miss a huge part of our history. It also does something else: It downplays the potential that religion has to continue to shape that culture today. Ponder that, and for those whose graves I visited today:
Requiescat in pace
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