THE RELIGION OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN W E stand in need of a liberal spirit and a considerable share of modesty when we attempt an appraisal of the spiritual state of a man who has been dead for more than a century. The task is complicated when that hundred years has been marked by such fundamental changes in spiritual conceptions as has this last. If our subject were an ecclesiastic or a theologian the task would apparently be easier; apparently only, because we have learned to know the very great difference between a man's religion, which is his actual experience of spiritual things, and his theology, which is his effort to account for his experience. So we say it would have appeared to be easier. We could somewhat easily classify his theology, but we might not then be quite sure that we had the real description of what he himself actually believed and practiced. Without being dogmatic, we ought to be able to arrive at a fairly close estimate of Franklin's I religion because he has left us such an endless ar ray of evidence. He was a letter writer of the first rank both in quantity, and in the freedom and charm with which he expressed himself. Franklin is a bright exception to the rule that real wisdom does not go with a loquacious disposition. He was both wise and talkative. Most of his letters were not written with one eye on the publisher, but bear the marks of genuine simplicity and directness of personal intent. This is much less true, of course, with regard to the autobiography which was confessedly written to be read. Between the letters and the autobiography we have a most unusual personal record. Another cause for hesitation in such an inquiry is that there is such an abysmal gulf between what one man and another call religion. Let us assume, therefore, that by that term we mean a man's experience of God and his manner of conduct flowing therefrom. This, of course, sounds as if we were confusing religion and ethics, but we are not, for a man's religion is the foundation of his ethical standard, and his ethical conduct is the signpost of his actual beliefs. We must try to play fair with our subject, too, in the matter of perspective. If we start to compare him with religious men of our own time o to compare his ideas with the conceptions of religion in our day we are unfair to him, just as we are often unfair to those New Englanders who burned witches at the stake. They did it, it is true, but they were slower to begin and quicker to stop than their contemporaries across the water and the total number of their witch-burnings was infinitesimal in comparison with other groups of their day. Their conduct in the witch-burning era was distinctly humanitarian. Franklin must be looked at and judged by the men and religion of his own lifetime. The inquiry has a certain practical value because Franklin was the spring from which flowed one of the most formative influences in our national character. It is of real value to endeavor to find out the spiritual nature from which such an influence came. The idea has gained ground among Americans that Franklin was not at all religious. But he was certainly not a Gallio. He never could be classed among these amiable modern pagans, who seldom if ever entertain any thought of God and scarce know what one is talking about when God is mentioned. He was not dissociated from the religious life of his own day. Indeed we shall see he had a fairly active share in it. What we want to find out is just how far that association went. |