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By Rev John Gaffney: posing as William Ellery
Channing
October 25, 2009
I’m pleased that the Rev. John Gaffney has invited me to speak to
you today, even though I had to come back from the grave at the age
of 228. Too often our wonderful Unitarian Universalist history is
either unknown or forgotten and the powerful lessons of those who
have gone before are lost, and thus we are unknowingly impoverished.
Today I would like to redress this weakness. I will tell you of my
life and how our glorious movement began.
I was born in Newport, Rhode Island on April 7, 1780, only four
years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. My
birthplace was, perhaps, a harbinger of things to come. According to
the historian, Bertram Lippincott, the town and territory in which I
was born was distinguished for packing "more bizarre and incredible
history per square foot than any other state in the Union". Newport
was haven to both Captain Kidd, pirate, and Anne Hutchinson,
heretic. Rhode Island was the first settlement in the New World to
foster religious liberty yet it was one of the world's busiest slave
ports. Rhode Islanders declared their independence from Great
Britain a month before any other colony but were the last of the
original thirteen to ratify the Constitution of the United States.
We were a fiercely independent and diverse lot.
The ravages of the American Revolution had reduced the population of
Newport from twenty two thousand to less than four thousand. British
troops, with a fanatical concern for firewood, had defoliated the
landscape and chopped up the furnishings of most public buildings,
including the pews of our family church. It was a grim and desolate
town when I was born.
I was the third of ten children. My father, William, was self
educated, well read in the law with a large library of well selected
books. He abounded in respectability and public involvement. The
most noted thinkers and political figures of day were frequent
guests at our dinner table. My father was a devoted promoter of
America's liberation but was not a social revolutionist. He saw
little problem in slavery. He was very popular in the State, was
attorney-general and district attorney at the same time and held
both offices at the time of his death. He died suddenly and with no
money in the bank.
My mother, Lucy Ellery, was the daughter of one of the signers of
the Declaration of Independence. She was keen, candid, assertive,
spirited and with a simplicity of mind and firmness to see the
truth.
I was small, slight, muscular and agile and quite popular. My
playmates called me "Little King Pepin", after the diminutive father
of Charlemagne, ruler of the Franks. I loved books but I also loved
to roam alone over Newport's fields and shores and this affinity
with Nature was a part of me to the day I died.
One of my earliest religious memories was attending the revival
meeting of an itinerant preacher with my father. The preacher spoke
in very graphic detail of the lost condition of the human race
rushing into hell. It filled my imagination with horror. On the way
home my father remarked: "Sound doctrine that! Leaves no rag of
self-righteousness to wrap the sinner in!" These words stayed with
me in the long years ahead. My father began to whistle on the ride
home and at home he smoked his pipe and read the newspaper. I
realized then that the preacher’s words had no effect on my father
and that actions, and not words, reveal more accurately what one
really believes.
From my grandfather, William Ellery, an amateur religious scholar, I
found much to mull over in the realms of piety. I learned that a
clear conviction of truth was essential to religion. The want of
reverence for truth manifest in the rash teaching of our times
shocked me greatly. I was building a liberal faith on the actions of
which human nature is capable.
By the time I was twelve my parents decreed that I had exhausted
Newport's educational opportunities. I was dispatched to New London,
Connecticut. to ready myself for Harvard with my Uncle Henry
Channing, a distinguished divine of liberal reputation.
In religious thought he was "Armenian",
that is he believed that human beings are born with the capacity
both for good and evil; that they can respond to the impulse toward
virtue as well as the temptation toward sin. It was a declaration of
human competence which contrasted sharply with the popular Calvinism
which said that we had an inborn talent for sin alone and God had
decreed eternal bliss to some and eternal torment to others and that
salvation comes as the undeserved gift of God's Holy Spirit. Ah, the
wonderful insight of human competence!
Midway in my stay at Uncle Henry's my father unexpectedly and
suddenly died. Overnight my advantaged, independent family found
itself in chilling financial straits. Fortunately my Channing
household was extremely well connected. One writer noted that "being
a member of New England's birthright aristocracy was as natural to
William Ellery Channing, and as uncomplicated, as putting on his
socks". Through these connections, though lacking in funds, I was
able to attend Harvard. I was 14 years old.
Harvard in 1794 was vastly different from the large prestigious
University of today. There were two dormitories, and two other
buildings, one a chapel. A president, three professors, and several
young tutors constituted the faculty. Total enrollment was 173.
I was attracted to English and Scottish rationalists, some of them
followers of Socinius, a contemporary of Calvin, who argued for the
simple humanity of Jesus. I delved into the writings of Joseph
Priestly, the scientist and English Unitarian. What joy I found in
Hutcheson's assertions of the human capacity for unselfish
affection. Enough of Calvinism with its predestination and human
depravity. Now I could appreciate the dignity of human nature.
The Shakespeare revisal that burst on Harvard at that time awakened
a dramatic inner tension that would affect my future preaching. I
was elected president of the Speaking Club and was in great demand.
Especially I was entranced by the life of reason. At the same time I
longed to know God beyond reason. I would use the rest of my years
to embrace the inherent ambiguity of these themes. I began at the
unlikely age of seventeen an exhaustive scrutiny of the evidences
for Christianity, finding, as I liked to put it, "for what I was
made." Reason drove me on but I always sought conciliation not
confrontation and division. I had a lifelong bias against wrangling.
At age 18 I finished my undergraduate degree. I returned to my
family in Newport but deep down there was turbulence. I wanted to
enter the ministry but the lack of money seemed to make this
impossible. Restless and unsettled, as in earlier years, I wandered
along the beach seeking solace. My emotions were erratic and I felt
determined to control them. I wrote to my classmate William Shaw:
"In my view religion is but another name for happiness, and I am
most cheerful when I am most religious".
By a stroke of luck my life took a felicitous turn. David Meade
Randolph, Esq. of Richmond, Va. was visiting in Newport and took a
liking to me. He needed a tutor for his children and asked if I
would accept the position. Spending those years in Virginia rather
than in New England probably prevented me from becoming just another
Proper Bostonian. I compared the selfish prudence of a Yankee with
the generous confidence of a Virginian. Their sensuality both
surprised and intrigued. I envied it but the Brahmin in me resisted
it.
For the first time in Virginia I saw slavery in all of its terrible
aspects. My father's acceptance of slavery, my philosophical musings
about it were now startled with the stark reality. Because of my
cautious, studious nature, which wanted to study every facet of a
subject, I wrestled for a lifetime with the morality of slavery and
could only reach a position of staunch opposition, in the final
years of my life. The Virginia experience, however, made that
personal imprint that would play such a major role in my final
decision against slavery.
Religiously Deism flourished in Virginia and emptied the churches
there. This system believed that God, after creating the world and
the laws governing it, refrained from interfering with the operation
of these laws. All supernatural intervention was rejected. This
appealed to my rationalism which so much believed in the goodness
and creativity of mankind.
In Richmond I was a schoolmaster, charged with taming the energies
of twelve students who lacerated my conscience. I recoiled from
being too hard on them and when I was too easy, they took advantage
of me. I was a failure as a pedagogue.
During those youthful, idealistic days I exaggerated my poverty by
refusing to buy new clothes or to spend any money on myself. I
punished my flesh by fasting and sleeping on the hard floor as the
only answer I know for my "shameful passions". Sensuality is
something I could not deal with. The anxiety, stress and exhaustion
that I tried to wrestle with alone, without help or guidance, took a
terrible toll. My lifelong physical wretchedness was pervasive and
the cause can be traced to those early days. O would that I was not
such a proper, puritanical Bostonian! When I returned to Newport
some 21 months later, my family was stunned by this pallid shadow of
the compact sturdy young person they had sent off to Richmond.
Happily I assumed the role of head of household in Newport but I
envied my classmates who were pursing graduate studies at Harvard. I
avoided all social life but that of the family circle. I was
determined not to risk again the fleshly tingles aroused by the
parties on the Randolph veranda. My habits of solitariness,
seclusion, introspection, and self-searching were jelling to an
alarming degree. Once again I turned daily to my beloved shoreline
for a renewed sense of freedom and strength. I began to realize that
I was more of a pagan than I thought
President Willard of Harvard noticed my isolation and gave me a plum
of a job as regent or dorm master for undergraduate students. This
afforded me the opportunity of completing a Master's degree in
Theology. My scholarship and preaching skill became well known. On
June 1, 1803 at the age of 23 I was ordained and installed in the
only pulpit I was ever to call my own, the Federal St. Church in
Boston.
The first thing I did was panic. What was I but a midget with a
trembling voice. I was still too wrapped up in my own problems to
turn my attention to the world around me. The thought of being
sociable repelled me. I wanted to get back to my brooding, my
compulsive brooding. I indeed was a reluctant minister as I would
later be a reluctant radical.
A highly self-conscious Boston, 25,000 strong in 1803 ,was ready to
make its moves in a nation that had just embraced the Louisiana
Purchase and acquired a vast new frontier. Boston resembled an
insulated English market town. Boston was both stuffy and stirring,
proper and yet curious. Boston's "codfish aristocracy" meant not
only to do well but to do good. They searched for prosperity but
also had a social conscience. They were convinced that they were the
vanguard of sound progress -- genial, prideful and prudent. They
detested monarchy and believed in the politics of merchants and
philanthropists. There was much good will here and a call to service
but mixed with a certain arrogance and superiority.
Theologically Calvinism reigned --- this belief in the basic human
depravity, the absolute need of God's grace or gift and the notion
of predestination, whereby some were selected for heaven or hell.
Material prosperity was the sign of God's pleasure and thereby a
sign of eternal reward. Yet something else loomed on the horizon.
German rationalism had drifted to this new continent. A group of New
England Congregational ministers, of whom I was one, were much
influenced. As you remember, the Puritans of England, who tried to
reform or "purify" the Anglican Church which they thought had
regressed in the spirit of the Reformation by clinging to such Roman
practices as sacraments, priesthood and hierarchy, had been
persecuted in England. These Puritans came to America, renamed
themselves "Congregationalists", and they held to the strict notion
of "congregational polity" whereby each local congregation was
independent and free of any Bishop or Synod. I was proud to be a
Congregationalist minister and hoped to always remain one.
The German rationalist theologians, beside extolling and encouraging
the use of reason, studied the Bible with the finest tools of
literary criticism. Their method, which was called "form criticism",
explored the literary style of the Bible, and particularly of the
Gospels. Their conclusion was that the Gospels had different
literary styles, from the very simple to the very complex, from the
simple sayings of an itinerate bucolic preacher to the highly
polished, philosophically Greek distinctions that are found in the
Gospel according to St. John. The simple sayings are probably those
of Jesus and the more complicated, hierarchical pronouncements,
including that of the convoluted Trinity, were probably of later
addition. Using this "form criticism" the Congregationalist
ministers of New England were convinced that Jesus only considered
himself to be a man, to be human. The Bible speaks of Unitarianism
not Trinitarianism.
I, the reluctant radical, who so valued reason with its potential
for human growth, was led step by logical step to embrace the
theology of Unitarianism. Many ministers agreed with me, others were
shocked. My cohorts and I wanted to keep open the dialogue. The
orthodox, more fundamentalist opponents wanted faithful unanimity
that allowed no discussion. They attacked our Unitarian faction in
the press. They refused to exchange pulpits with us and this had
been a long standing tradition.
Finally arrived that fateful, that glorious day in Baltimore. It was
time to take a public stand, to clearly define in the public forum
what indeed was the Unitarian position. My good friend, the
brilliant, gifted, gregarious Joseph Stevens Buckminister, was the
leader and obviously the one to be the spokesman. Tragically he had
died several years before of epilepsy at the age of 28. Now I, the
shy, frail, studious one, reluctant though I was, ascended the steps
to the pulpit of the First Independent Church of Baltimore on May 5,
1819 to preach the ordination sermon for the Rev. Jared Sparks and
in the preaching Unitarianism was clearly proclaimed for the first
time.
The reaction was swift and powerful. The sermon was quickly rushed
into print. So great was the demand that it has been asserted that
no pamphlet, save only Tom Paine's "Common Sense" had ever before
circulated so widely in this country.
There were three parts to my sermon:
1 The Bible is a human book, written by human beings
and
must be interpreted in a human way.
2 From the Bible it can only be concluded that Jesus
was
human. Unitarianism not Trinitarianism is biblical.
3 Unassisted reason can establish doctrines of natural
religion.
*This last point, the confidence in reason
and the
encouragement to use it, has had the greatest influence
on our Movement and has led to a wide variety of
beliefs and an unending search for meaning in life.
The "die was cast", the "Rubicon was crossed". There was no turning
back. Immediately after this monumental sermon I turned away from
controversy and gave my full energy to concerns for the poor. I was
a reluctant radical. For six years I remained aloof from
controversy. In 1825 Ezra Stiles Gannett, my longtime associate and
my successor in the pastorate of the Federal Street Church, using
his organizational skills, formed the American Unitarian Association
and asked me to be its president. I refused. I was not
temperamentally suited to piece together a forceful, disciplined
movement.
Being a reluctant radical I chose to remain in my Federal St. Church
for 23 more years. My later years were very much absorbed in the
campaign against slavery. I served the Federal St church for 39
years.
What is my message for you. Be true to yourself and follow the truth
wherever it will lead you, difficult and frightening though this may
be. Let your words and actions be one. Please bring this message to
all --- not just to the educated and the financially secure. Though
you may be small and frail of body and spirit as I am, you are
called to do brave things. Always try to build bridges, to
communicate and to unify as I always tried to do. Be reluctant to be
radical and shocking but when the right moment comes, do not be
afraid to be a reluctant radical.
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