As we celebrate the Fourth of July in Philadelphia, we hear a lot about our local Founding Father, Ben Franklin. Author, businessman, scientist, statesman, he was an extraordinary man in a crucial time. As a waiter told me at lunch yesterday, “I love Franklin. He was Bruce Wayne. He did everything.”
In 1776, this superhero was already 70 years old. Much of his influence had already been wielded in the previous half-century. But there was another important figure in that era, whose effect on America was just as great as Franklin’s, maybe greater. George Whitefield was “probably the best known personage in all colonial history,” according to historian Mark Noll. Between 1739 and 1770, Whitefield preached to huge crowds in every colony, urging his hearers to receive the new birth in Jesus.
Historians call this the Great Awakening. Sparked by a 1735 revival in Massachusetts that was reported and analyzed by the brilliant Jonathan Edwards, the Awakening spread through the American colonies in the following decades, mostly carried by Whitefield’s dramatic preaching.
And Ben Franklin helped.
Sermons, journals, tracts, and treatises from Whitefield were published by Franklin, whose first career was printing. His newspaper, the Pennsylvania Gazette, had news of Whitefield nearly every week. He also assembled a network of printers and newspapers to provide local coverage and distribution from New England to the Carolinas. As one scholar told me, “Franklin made Whitefield famous. Whitefield made Franklin rich.”
A Working Friendship
Along the way, these two business partners became friends. We have about a dozen letters that passed between them, with references to other letters and meetings. There’s reason to think Whitefield stayed in the Franklin home when he visited Philadelphia, and that the two men connected in London as well. Their letters contain some business, but also personal matters.
As you might guess, Whitefield the evangelist kept urging Franklin the skeptic to be born again. Franklin kept refusing. He liked Jesus as a role model, but he had trouble with the Incarnation. In his autobiography, Ben noted that George used to “pray for my conversion, but never had the satisfaction of believing that his prayers were heard.”
Researching a recent book on this relationship, I found myself wondering why they remained friends for so long (more than 30 years). Long after they stopped needing each other for business purposes, they kept writing to each other. Ben mused about starting a new colony with George on the Ohio River, where they could gather “a large strong body of religious and industrious people.” George still inquired about Ben’s spiritual state. They seemed to have a genuine regard for each other, a connection that overcame George’s repeated urgings and Ben’s regular refusals.
New Inventions
My book is subtitled, “The Surprising Friendship that Invented America,” and some readers have wondered whether that’s true. Part of my point is that, long before the Revolution, each of these men created some essential aspects of American identity. Franklin was setting up social institutions—library, newspaper, postal service, fire company, hospital, college—that created community. Whitefield was calling people into a personal relationship with God, independent of their church connections. (In fact, this independence from the established church was especially appealing to Franklin.)
But did their friendship “invent America”? I think so. This nation has always been an amalgam of skeptic and believer. Franklin was the Enlightenment thinker and Whitefield the Evangelical. These two strands have long been twirling together in the American DNA. George and Ben started a friendship for pragmatic reasons—a business connection—but they apparently grew to appreciate each other at a deeper level. They listened, they learned, they supported each other in tough times. They recognized their differences and remained friends.
The Challenge for Us
Our world is very different from theirs, but it has some points of similarity. Whitefield was lighting a fire under the church, bringing passion to a dry Christianity—and he faced serious opposition from church authorities. We still have those dynamics today. Some of us are excited about the Bible and its message. Like Whitefield, we strive to proclaim God’s truth as creatively and dramatically as we can. Others feel threatened by all that.
And we still have skeptics, like Franklin. But perhaps we should use a different term for him: inventor. Ben kept trying to invent a religion that made sense to him. At least four times throughout his life he put pen to paper to map out his own principles for living. Though he generally rejected traditional faith, he kept tinkering with its elements.
Whenever I hear people describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious,” I think of Franklin. And I wonder how we Bible-believers can establish meaningful relationships with that tribe of spiritual “inventors.” Can Whitefield-types connect with Franklin-types in the modern world?
That will surely require listening and learning, courage and creativity, recognizing the differences while respecting their quest.
