Puritan Religion Essay Contest
Puritanism and Predestination
Christine Leigh Heyrman
Department of History, University of Delaware
©National Humanities Center
The Puritans were a varied group of religious reformers who emerged within the Church of England during the middle of the sixteenth century. They shared a common Calvinist theology and common criticisms of the Anglican Church and English society and government. Their numbers and influence grew steadily, culminating in the English Civil War of the 1640s and the rule of Oliver Cromwell in the 1650s. With the restoration of the Stuart monarchy in 1660, Puritanism went into eclipse in England, largely because the movement was identified with the upheaval and radicalism of the Civil War and Cromwell’s tyrannical government, a virtual military dictatorship.
But it persisted for much longer as a vital force in those parts of British North America colonized by two groups of Puritans who gradually cut their ties to the Church of England and formed separate denominations. One group, the Congregationalists, settled Plymouth in the 1620s and then Massachusetts Bay, Connecticut, and Rhode Island in the 1630s. Another group, the Presbyterians, who quickly came to dominate the religious life of Scotland and later migrated in large numbers to northern Ireland, also settled many communities in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania during the late seventeenth century and throughout the eighteenth century.
“The Wicked mans Portion,” 1675.
“That excesse in wickedness doth bring untimely Death.”Puritans in both Britain and British North America sought to cleanse the culture of what they regarded as corrupt, sinful practices. They believed that the civil government should strictly enforce public morality by prohibiting vices like drunkenness, gambling, ostentatious dress, swearing, and Sabbath-breaking. They also wished to purge churches of every vestige of Roman Catholic ritual and practice—the ruling hierarchies of bishops and cardinals, the elaborate ceremonies in which the clergy wore ornate vestments and repeated prayers from a prescribed liturgy. Accordingly, New England’s Congregational churches were self-governing bodies, answerable to no higher authority; mid-Atlantic Presbyterian churches enjoyed somewhat less autonomy because a hierarchy of “presbyteries” and “synods” made up of leading laymen and clergymen set policy for individual congregations. But both Congregationalist and Presbyterian worship services were simple, even austere, and dominated by long, learned sermons in which their clergy expounded passages from the Bible. Perhaps most important, membership in both churches was limited to the “visibly godly,” meaning those men and women who lead sober and upright lives. New England Congregationalists adopted even stricter standards for admission to their churches—the requirement that each person applying for membership testify publicly to his or her experience of “conversion.” (Many Presbyterians also regarded conversion as central to being a Christian, but they did not restrict their membership to those who could profess such an experience.)
Guiding Student Discussion
Puritan catechism in The New-England Primer, 1646
“I was conceived in Sin &
Born in iniquity.”Explaining most of the above to your students will be easy enough, except, of course, this matter of conversion. At the very mention of that term, a sea of blank faces will shimmer before your unhappy eyes. Nonetheless, gamely pursue the subject with them. Pull out all the stops to convey what conversion meant—because it is key to understanding the spirituality of the Puritans (as well as all later evangelicals). What’s more, explaining this religious experience is a surefire way to get students thinking and talking. No matter how confused they seem at first, most will “get it” and even “get into it” if you give them a chance.
You might tell them about the Puritan belief in predestination, which provides the wider context for understanding conversion. This doctrine was first elaborated by John Calvin and then adopted by Congregationalists, Presbyterians, and a variety of other religious groups. Calvin held that human beings were innately sinful—utterly depraved by inheriting the original sin of Adam and Eve, the biblical parents of the human race.
Elizabeth Clarke Freake and Baby Mary,
Boston, ca. 1670 (artist unknown).
“a profound sense of inner
assurance that they possessed
God’s ‘saving grace’”
But Calvin also taught that God, in his infinite mercy, would spare a small number of “elect” individuals from the fate of eternal hellfire that all mankind, owing to their corrupt natures, justly deserved. That elect group of “saints” would be blessed, at some point in their lives, by a profound sense of inner assurance that they possessed God’s “saving grace.” This dawning of hope was the experience of conversion, which might come upon individuals suddenly or gradually, in their earliest youth or even in the moments before death. It is important to emphasize to students that, in the Calvinist scheme, God decided who would be saved or damned before the beginning of history—and that this decision would not be affected by how human beings behaved during their lives. The God of Calvin (and the Puritans) did not give “extra credit"—nor, indeed, any credit—for the good works that men and women performed during their lives.
Once you have gotten this far, some students will be wondering (aloud, with any luck) why any sane person would accept the doctrine of predestination. The gist of their objections will be, to echo some of my own students, that predestination “is, like, TOTALLY unfair.” Some may observe that the Puritans’ God was a distinctly undemocratic sort of deity, an unfeeling tyrant rather than a loving parent. Many more may notice that the Puritans’ God offered no incentive for upright moral behavior: this deity had decided who will be saved or damned before the beginning of human history, and no good actions on the part of men and women could change that divine decree and alter their preordained fates. (The brighter kids may also point out that Calvinist theology denied human beings any free will.) That being the case, lots of students will ask you why the Puritans didn’t sink into despair—or decide to wallow in the world’s pleasures, to enjoy the moment, since they could do nothing to affect their eternity in the afterlife.
Title page (detail) of the 1560 “Geneva Bible,”
which reflected Calvinist doctrine and was probably
the Bible taken by the Puritans to the New World.
Scriptural verses surrounding the image:
“Great are the troubles of the righteous;
but the Lord delivereth them out of all.”
“FEARE YE NOT, STAND STIL, AND BEHOLDE
the salvation of the Lord,
which he will shewe to you this day.
THE LORD SHALL FIGHT FOR YOU; THEREFORE
holde you your peace.”
—Exodus 14:13–14 Once students have aired these opinions (and it’s important to let that conversation run its course, perhaps even writing their objections on the blackboard), your most important job is to REFOCUS the class discussion. You can do that by emphasizing one simple fact—namely, that many men and women, in both Europe and America (the Puritans among them), wholeheartedly embraced the belief in predestination. Indeed, they often referred to predestination as “a comfortable doctrine,” meaning that it afforded them great solace and security. What’s crucial here, in other words, is that you encourage students to shift from talking about why Puritanism doesn’t appeal to them and into speculating about the HISTORICAL QUESTION of WHY, indeed, it DID appeal to so many early modern Europeans and British colonials. What you’re striving for here is to encourage your students to develop EMPATHY with people in the distant past—to get them to IMAGINE the sort of historical circumstances, the kind of social existence, that might have made predestination a compelling (and reassuring) belief for large numbers of men and women.
To prod them into thinking along these lines, you might talk a bit about the sweeping changes (and uncertainties) overtaking the lives of most western Europeans in the early modern period (ca., 1400–1800). It was during this era that the beginnings of modern capitalism—both the growth of trade and the commercialization of agriculture—were yielding handsome profits for merchants and large landowners, but creating inflation and unemployment that produced unprecedented misery for many more people. The rich were getting richer, and the poor much poorer: growing numbers of unemployed people became vagrants, beggars, and petty criminals. To add to the sense of disruption and disarray, the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century had ruptured the unity of late medieval Christendom, spawning bloody religious wars that led to lasting tensions between Catholics and Protestants. Finally, Europeans had “discovered” and begun colonizing what was to them an entirely new and strange world in the Americas. All of these momentous changes were profoundly unsettling to ordinary men and women, heightening their need for social order, intellectual and moral certainty, and spiritual consolation.
The Bay Psalm Book, printed in Boston, 1640: the first book printed in the British colonies.For many, the doctrine of predestination answered these pressing inner needs. Its power to comfort and reassure troubled souls arose from its wider message that, beyond preordaining the eternal fates of men and women, God had a plan for all of human history—that every event in the lives of individuals and nations somehow tended toward an ultimate triumph of good over evil, order over disorder, Christ over Satan. In other words, Calvin (and his many followers among groups like the Puritans) saw human history as an unfolding cosmic drama in which every person had a predestined role to play. True, men and women had no free will, but they had the assurance that their existence—indeed, their every action—was MEANINGFUL and that their strivings and sufferings in the present would ultimately produce a future of perfect peace and security—a kind of heaven on earth.
That confidence made people like the Puritans anything but passive or despairing. On the contrary, they were an extraordinarily energetic, activist lot, constantly striving to reshape both society and government to accord with what they believed to be the will of God as set forth in the Bible. Gravestone of Phebe Gorham, d. 1775,
Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
Henceforth my Soul in sweetest Union join
The two supports of human happiness,
Which some erroneous think can never meet,
True Taste of Life, and constant thought of DeathThey strove, too, to lead godly and disciplined lives—but not because they hoped that such righteous behavior would earn them salvation. Instead they believed that their very ability to master their evil inclinations provided some evidence that they ranked among the elect of saints. In other words, the Puritans did not regard leading a godly, moral life as the CAUSE of a person’s salvation, but rather as an encouraging sign of the EFFECT of being chosen by God to enjoy eternal bliss in heaven. It was impossible, of course, to be entirely confident of one’s eternal fate, but that edge of uncertainty only made believers redouble their efforts to purify their own lives and society as a whole. And nothing was more important to early modern men and women than gaining greater reassurance of salvation.
John Eliot, ca. date (unknown artist).
Eliot, a Puritan minister in 17th-century Massachusetts, was known as the
“Apostle of the Indians.”Few subjects in early modern history have received more attention from scholars than Puritanism, and historians of early America have focused the most intense scrutiny on the Congregationalists of colonial New England. The most profound modern interpreter of that Puritan culture is Perry Miller, whose work first appeared in the middle decades of the twentieth century and whose influence endures to the present with such works as The New England Mind (1929/1953) and Errand into the Wilderness (1956). Miller was the first scholar to appreciate the importance of Puritanism as a complex set of ideas, a magisterial theology that set forth a rich, compelling depiction of the relationship between God and humankind. In Miller’s view, Puritanism was also a dynamic, protean, intellectual force, constantly adapting to keep pace with the rapidly shifting social conditions and cultural climate over the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.
Thomas Smith, Self-Portrait, ca. 1680.
Smith, a mariner, painter, and (sources
indicate) a Puritan, included this
inscription on the white sheet
under the skull:
Why why should I the World be minding
therein a World of Evils Finding.
Then Farwell World: Farwell thy Jarres
thy Joies thy Toies thy Wiles thy Warrs
Truth Sounds Retreat: I am not sorye.
The Eternall Drawes to him my heart
By Faith (which can thy Force Subvert)
To Crowne me (after Grace) with Glory. Many of the historians who followed Miller in the 1960s and 1970s concluded that the vitality and integrity of Puritanism as a cultural force was sapped and finally spent by broader social and intellectual challenges. In their view, the growth of commercial capitalism in New England and the spread of “enlightened” learning had yielded, by the opening decades of the eighteenth century, a far more secular, competitive, litigious, and materialistic society—one in which “Puritan” piety was rapidly being eroded by “Yankee” worldliness. (The best treatment of this thesis is Richard Bushman, From Puritan to Yankee .) But more recently, in the 1980s and 1990s, other scholars have argued that Puritanism’s influence held sway even among the cosmopolitan merchants of bustling New England seaports well into the eighteenth century and that all inhabitants of the region as a whole long remained steeped in Puritan values and spirituality. Indeed, they contend that the Puritan emphasis on social hierarchy and communal obligation, as well as its ascetic piety and intolerance of competing faiths, actually contained the force of capitalist expansion within New England and limited the extent to which the participation in a market economy and the quest for profit could reshape social relations and values. (To sample this revisionist scholarship, see Stephen Innes, Creating the Commonwealth .)
Puritan church with pulpit, pews, and,
significantly, no altar. Old Ship Meeting House, Hingham, Mass., built in 1681. While scholars continue to debate the strength of Puritanism among eighteenth-century New Englanders, broader agreement has emerged about the region’s religious culture during the seventeenth century. The then “new” social historians of the 1970s were inclined toward the suspicion that the Puritan doctrine being handed down from the pulpit may have mattered little to many ordinary New England lay people. But subsequent research has now left little doubt that Puritan theology compelled the loyalties of early New Englanders of all classes and that even the humblest farmers and fisherfolk were often well versed in the basic doctrines pertaining to predestination and conversion. What they heard from their preachers, they both understood and generally accepted as the essence of true Christian faith.
Even so, both ordinary New Englanders—and their “betters,” including college-educated clergymen—also lived in what one historian has aptly called “worlds of wonder.” These “wonders” include the belief in witches, the power of Satan to assume visible form, and a variety of other preternatural phenomena that are still routinely chronicled today in supermarket tabloids—the foretelling power of dreams and portents, strange prodigies, “monstrous” births, and miraculous deliverances. To appreciate just how rich and bizarre this range of beliefs was, check out the chapter on “wonders” in David Hall, World of Wonders, Days of Judgment (New York, 1989). It’s a great way to enliven a dull hour—and a quick way to get some sense of the complexity of beliefs about the supernatural among early New Englanders of every rank and education.
But these remarks don’t even begin to do full justice to the lively scholarship on New England Puritanism that has evolved over the last half of the twentieth century. If you want to know more about other topics, please read under Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: Religion, Women, and the Family in Early America or Religion and the American Revolution.
Christine Leigh Heyrman was a Fellow at the National Humanities Center in 1986–87. She holds a Ph.D. from Yale University in American Studies and is currently Professor of History in the Department of History at the University of Delaware. Dr. Heyrman is the author of Commerce and Culture: The Maritime Communities of Colonial New England, 1690–1740 , Southern Cross: The Beginning of the Bible Belt , which won the Bancroft Prize in 1998, and Nation of Nations: A Narrative History of the Republic, with James West Davidson, William Gienapp, Mark Lytle, and Michael Stoff [3rd ed., 1997].
Address comments or questions to Professor Heyrman through TeacherServe “Comments and Questions.”
Links to online resources
To cite this essay:
Heyrman, Christine Leigh. “Puritanism and Predestination.” Divining America, TeacherServe©. National Humanities Center. DATE YOU ACCESSED ESSAY. <http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/tserve/eighteen/ekeyinfo/puritan.htm>
Wading into the controversy surrounding an Islamic center planned for a site near New York City’s Ground Zero memorial this past August, President Obama declared: “This is America. And our commitment to religious freedom must be unshakeable. The principle that people of all faiths are welcome in this country and that they will not be treated differently by their government is essential to who we are.” In doing so, he paid homage to a vision that politicians and preachers have extolled for more than two centuries—that America historically has been a place of religious tolerance. It was a sentiment George Washington voiced shortly after taking the oath of office just a few blocks from Ground Zero.
But is it so?
In the storybook version most of us learned in school, the Pilgrims came to America aboard the Mayflower in search of religious freedom in 1620. The Puritans soon followed, for the same reason. Ever since these religious dissidents arrived at their shining “city upon a hill,” as their governor John Winthrop called it, millions from around the world have done the same, coming to an America where they found a welcome melting pot in which everyone was free to practice his or her own faith.
The problem is that this tidy narrative is an American myth. The real story of religion in America’s past is an often awkward, frequently embarrassing and occasionally bloody tale that most civics books and high-school texts either paper over or shunt to the side. And much of the recent conversation about America’s ideal of religious freedom has paid lip service to this comforting tableau.
From the earliest arrival of Europeans on America’s shores, religion has often been a cudgel, used to discriminate, suppress and even kill the foreign, the “heretic” and the “unbeliever”—including the “heathen” natives already here. Moreover, while it is true that the vast majority of early-generation Americans were Christian, the pitched battles between various Protestant sects and, more explosively, between Protestants and Catholics, present an unavoidable contradiction to the widely held notion that America is a “Christian nation.”
First, a little overlooked history: the initial encounter between Europeans in the future United States came with the establishment of a Huguenot (French Protestant) colony in 1564 at Fort Caroline (near modern Jacksonville, Florida). More than half a century before the Mayflower set sail, French pilgrims had come to America in search of religious freedom.
The Spanish had other ideas. In 1565, they established a forward operating base at St. Augustine and proceeded to wipe out the Fort Caroline colony. The Spanish commander, Pedro Menéndez de Avilés, wrote to the Spanish King Philip II that he had “hanged all those we had found in [Fort Caroline] because...they were scattering the odious Lutheran doctrine in these Provinces.” When hundreds of survivors of a shipwrecked French fleet washed up on the beaches of Florida, they were put to the sword, beside a river the Spanish called Matanzas (“slaughters”). In other words, the first encounter between European Christians in America ended in a blood bath.
The much-ballyhooed arrival of the Pilgrims and Puritans in New England in the early 1600s was indeed a response to persecution that these religious dissenters had experienced in England. But the Puritan fathers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony did not countenance tolerance of opposing religious views. Their “city upon a hill” was a theocracy that brooked no dissent, religious or political.
The most famous dissidents within the Puritan community, Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson, were banished following disagreements over theology and policy. From Puritan Boston’s earliest days, Catholics (“Papists”) were anathema and were banned from the colonies, along with other non-Puritans. Four Quakers were hanged in Boston between 1659 and 1661 for persistently returning to the city to stand up for their beliefs.
Throughout the colonial era, Anglo-American antipathy toward Catholics—especially French and Spanish Catholics—was pronounced and often reflected in the sermons of such famous clerics as Cotton Mather and in statutes that discriminated against Catholics in matters of property and voting. Anti-Catholic feelings even contributed to the revolutionary mood in America after King George III extended an olive branch to French Catholics in Canada with the Quebec Act of 1774, which recognized their religion.
When George Washington dispatched Benedict Arnold on a mission to court French Canadians’ support for the American Revolution in 1775, he cautioned Arnold not to let their religion get in the way. “Prudence, policy and a true Christian Spirit,” Washington advised, “will lead us to look with compassion upon their errors, without insulting them.” (After Arnold betrayed the American cause, he publicly cited America’s alliance with Catholic France as one of his reasons for doing so.)
In newly independent America, there was a crazy quilt of state laws regarding religion. In Massachusetts, only Christians were allowed to hold public office, and Catholics were allowed to do so only after renouncing papal authority. In 1777, New York State’s constitution banned Catholics from public office (and would do so until 1806). In Maryland, Catholics had full civil rights, but Jews did not. Delaware required an oath affirming belief in the Trinity. Several states, including Massachusetts and South Carolina, had official, state-supported churches.
In 1779, as Virginia’s governor, Thomas Jefferson had drafted a bill that guaranteed legal equality for citizens of all religions—including those of no religion—in the state. It was around then that Jefferson famously wrote, “But it does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.” But Jefferson’s plan did not advance—until after Patrick (“Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death”) Henry introduced a bill in 1784 calling for state support for “teachers of the Christian religion.”
Future President James Madison stepped into the breach. In a carefully argued essay titled “Memorial and Remonstrance Against Religious Assessments,” the soon-to-be father of the Constitution eloquently laid out reasons why the state had no business supporting Christian instruction. Signed by some 2,000 Virginians, Madison’s argument became a fundamental piece of American political philosophy, a ringing endorsement of the secular state that “should be as familiar to students of American history as the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution,” as Susan Jacoby has written in Freethinkers, her excellent history of American secularism.
Among Madison’s 15 points was his declaration that “the Religion then of every man must be left to the conviction and conscience of every...man to exercise it as these may dictate. This right is in its nature an inalienable right.”
Madison also made a point that any believer of any religion should understand: that the government sanction of a religion was, in essence, a threat to religion. “Who does not see,” he wrote, “that the same authority which can establish Christianity, in exclusion of all other Religions, may establish with the same ease any particular sect of Christians, in exclusion of all other Sects?” Madison was writing from his memory of Baptist ministers being arrested in his native Virginia.
As a Christian, Madison also noted that Christianity had spread in the face of persecution from worldly powers, not with their help. Christianity, he contended, “disavows a dependence on the powers of this world...for it is known that this Religion both existed and flourished, not only without the support of human laws, but in spite of every opposition from them.”
Recognizing the idea of America as a refuge for the protester or rebel, Madison also argued that Henry’s proposal was “a departure from that generous policy, which offering an Asylum to the persecuted and oppressed of every Nation and Religion, promised a lustre to our country.”
After long debate, Patrick Henry’s bill was defeated, with the opposition outnumbering supporters 12 to 1. Instead, the Virginia legislature took up Jefferson’s plan for the separation of church and state. In 1786, the Virginia Act for Establishing Religious Freedom, modified somewhat from Jefferson’s original draft, became law. The act is one of three accomplishments Jefferson included on his tombstone, along with writing the Declaration and founding the University of Virginia. (He omitted his presidency of the United States.) After the bill was passed, Jefferson proudly wrote that the law “meant to comprehend, within the mantle of its protection, the Jew, the Gentile, the Christian and the Mahometan, the Hindoo and Infidel of every denomination.”
Madison wanted Jefferson’s view to become the law of the land when he went to the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia in 1787. And as framed in Philadelphia that year, the U.S. Constitution clearly stated in Article VI that federal elective and appointed officials “shall be bound by Oath or Affirmation, to support this Constitution, but no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.”
This passage—along with the facts that the Constitution does not mention God or a deity (except for a pro forma “year of our Lord” date) and that its very first amendment forbids Congress from making laws that would infringe of the free exercise of religion—attests to the founders’ resolve that America be a secular republic. The men who fought the Revolution may have thanked Providence and attended church regularly—or not. But they also fought a war against a country in which the head of state was the head of the church. Knowing well the history of religious warfare that led to America’s settlement, they clearly understood both the dangers of that system and of sectarian conflict.
It was the recognition of that divisive past by the founders—notably Washington, Jefferson, Adams and Madison—that secured America as a secular republic. As president, Washington wrote in 1790: “All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunity of citizenship. ...For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens.”
He was addressing the members of America’s oldest synagogue, the Touro Synagogue in Newport, Rhode Island (where his letter is read aloud every August). In closing, he wrote specifically to the Jews a phrase that applies to Muslims as well: “May the children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants, while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and figtree, and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
As for Adams and Jefferson, they would disagree vehemently over policy, but on the question of religious freedom they were united. “In their seventies,” Jacoby writes, “with a friendship that had survived serious political conflicts, Adams and Jefferson could look back with satisfaction on what they both considered their greatest achievement—their role in establishing a secular government whose legislators would never be required, or permitted, to rule on the legality of theological views.”
Late in his life, James Madison wrote a letter summarizing his views: “And I have no doubt that every new example, will succeed, as every past one has done, in shewing that religion & Govt. will both exist in greater purity, the less they are mixed together.”
While some of America’s early leaders were models of virtuous tolerance, American attitudes were slow to change. The anti-Catholicism of America’s Calvinist past found new voice in the 19th century. The belief widely held and preached by some of the most prominent ministers in America was that Catholics would, if permitted, turn America over to the pope. Anti-Catholic venom was part of the typical American school day, along with Bible readings. In Massachusetts, a convent—coincidentally near the site of the Bunker Hill Monument—was burned to the ground in 1834 by an anti-Catholic mob incited by reports that young women were being abused in the convent school. In Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, anti-Catholic sentiment, combined with the country’s anti-immigrant mood, fueled the Bible Riots of 1844, in which houses were torched, two Catholic churches were destroyed and at least 20 people were killed.
At about the same time, Joseph Smith founded a new American religion—and soon met with the wrath of the mainstream Protestant majority. In 1832, a mob tarred and feathered him, marking the beginning of a long battle between Christian America and Smith’s Mormonism. In October 1838, after a series of conflicts over land and religious tension, Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs ordered that all Mormons be expelled from his state. Three days later, rogue militiamen massacred 17 church members, including children, at the Mormon settlement of Haun’s Mill. In 1844, a mob murdered Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum while they were jailed in Carthage, Illinois. No one was ever convicted of the crime.
Even as late as 1960, Catholic presidential candidate John F. Kennedy felt compelled to make a major speech declaring that his loyalty was to America, not the pope. (And as recently as the 2008 Republican primary campaign, Mormon candidate Mitt Romney felt compelled to address the suspicions still directed toward the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.) Of course, America’s anti-Semitism was practiced institutionally as well as socially for decades. With the great threat of “godless” Communism looming in the 1950s, the country’s fear of atheism also reached new heights.
America can still be, as Madison perceived the nation in 1785, “an Asylum to the persecuted and oppressed of every Nation and Religion.” But recognizing that deep religious discord has been part of America’s social DNA is a healthy and necessary step. When we acknowledge that dark past, perhaps the nation will return to that “promised...lustre” of which Madison so grandiloquently wrote.
Kenneth C. Davis is the author of Don’t Know Much About History and A Nation Rising, among other books.
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