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“Some Account of the Religious Exercises of David Hudson, written by himself,” The New-York Missionary Magazine, and Repository of Religious Intelligence, vol. 2, no. 4 (4 January 1801), pp. 294–302.
David Hudson
David Hudson (1761–1836) here demonstrated a real-life context for the fear, often expressed in less-memorable ways by others who wrote in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, of the impact of Hume’s “Of Miracles” essay. The New-York Missionary Magazine was produced by Cornelius Davis (dates unknown) of the New York Missionary Society. It was published from 1800 to 1803 in New York City by Thomas and James Swords (on them, see selection #97). On The New-York Magazine, see Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, p. 133.
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Some Account of the Religious Exercises of David Hudson, written by himself.
I WAS born of religious parents, and received an early education in the principles of religion, according to the Calvinistic Presbyterian plan professed in the state. At a very early age I was taught the Assembly of Divines Catechism, and made the Bible a great part of my reading. I was taught a very great reverence for divine revelation, and the strict observance of the Sabbath.
Unfortunately for me, when I was about nine years of age, my father embraced the sentiments of the Baptists, and made a public profession of their principles and worship. He then undertook to unlearn a part of the Catechism, which relates to Baptism, and taught his children, that although the Catechism was true in the main, yet some of the answers were utterly false. I had a brother of uncommon sagacity, about two years older than myself. This conduct of my father gave such a shock to our tender minds, that he never regained his authority over us in the belief of any religious sentiment.
Children naturally look up to their parents for instruction. Their belief, in early life, is hereditary; and it is an indispensible duty in parents to be firm and consistent in their instructions, and to do their duty without wavering. From this period of time we began to be sceptical, and dispute upon the reasonableness of the eternity of punishment, and divine sovereignty, original sin, vicarious sufferings, &c.
Our respect and reverence for the Bible, Catechism, holy time and ordinances, gradually diminished till another more severe shock assaulted us.
When I was about fifteen years of age, my father quitted his Anabaptist sentiments, and embraced Quakerism; he was naturally dogmatical, and his being very confident in three different ways of thinking, naturally increased my suspicions of the truth of all religion. I now felt a disposition, if possible, to disprove the truth of divine revelation; I though the principle of self-denial and mortifications unreasonable; and as pleasure was the natural pursuit of every human being, I viewed every abridgement as a kind of monastic penance.
At about the age of twenty-two years I read the Essays of Lord Kaimes, and was much pleased to find any thing in his writings which operated against the Mosaic account of the creation of the world. Soon after this, I read Hume’s Essays, and drank deep of the poison of that subtle reasoner. I was peculiarly pleased with his Essay on Miracles, and from this date I was confirmed in infidelity. Hume took away all foundation, and left the belief of nothing.
That artful sceptic slily undermined almost all principles, and left nothing certain. I almost doubted my very existence, and felt uncertain, whether all which I thought I saw, felt, or heard, was merely ideal, or whether I really existed. I disbelieved the existence of good or evil angles, the future state of retribution, &c. Upon the whole, I thought, I reasoned, that mankind came into the world with infant minds and bodies; that the mind and body acquired maturity together, and would probably perish together. I reasoned hard upon the very existence of God, whether the beautiful creation was occasioned by the fortuitous effect of chance. Upon the whole, I could not make myself an Atheist; the light of nature taught, that chance could not possibly produce the order of nature: indeed, the small knowledge which I had acquired in astronomy and the study of nature, and the wonderful works of God, naturally refer to an Almighty workman. Besides, a strong sense of accountability which I could not eradicate, and the desire of the soul for something which this world could not afford, exceedingly perplexed me.
In this very uncomfortable state of mind I lived many years; I tried hard to establish myself in some foundation which would satisfy my own mind; and, upon the whole, I determined to live a moral life, and trust in the mercy of God for forgiveness of the failings I might fall into. But this plan did not satisfy me. I was not authorised, on my own principles, to trust in the mercy of God: human reason shewed me no way of reconciliation with an angry God. These thoughts, at times, gave me great trouble; but, however, I could not think of abandoning my sceptical principles, if an utter doubt of every principle can with propriety be called principles.
I felt, or thought I felt myself an exceeding great friend to my country, and I really thought all religion a barbarous mummery, and believed it to consist entirely of a mixture of superstition and enthusiasm, and, on that ground, I heartily wished my country clear from the imposition. I was much pleased when informed that the enlightened French had burnt their Bibles, and abolished the Sabbath; and entertained great hopes of seeing mankind completely good and happy, under the guidance of pure and illuminated reason.
I was greatly confirmed in these sentiments, by comparing myself with many professing Christians, and I felt a degree of triumph, that my moral character was better, far better than some of theirs; I lived upon their failings and immoralities.
In this temper of mind, I could read, with pleasure, Volney, Bolingbroke, the Oracles of Reason, the vile blackguardism of Thomas Paine, or the more uncandid and disingenuous squibs of Boulinger. I now meant to hold and keep my ground, valued myself on my abilities to argue against revelation, and did not design any event of providence should move me.
I now waited the event with anxiety, expecting to behold, in the French nation, an example of morality, far exceeding any thing of the kind which had hitherto happened, and was a little disappointed to find some of their conduct exceptionable; but I endeavoured to excuse them by the plea of necessity: but how were my feelings shocked at their conduct in the sequel! Language fails in the description! The powers of rhetoric fail in accounting their enormities! Compared with some of their leaders, a Nero appears a saint, or a Cataline immaculate! The nation at large is sunk into the lowest imaginable degree of vice, and their enormities almost exceed belief.
I was so exceedingly shocked at this disappointment, that before I was aware, I found myself (if I may use the expression) a Political Christian! I sincerely lamented that I had ever used my influence to bring the Christian religion into disrepute, because I fully believed mankind could not be governed, or even civilized without it. I had scarcely opened my Bible for 20 years: I now began to look into it again, to examine whether the principles of Christianity were of that intrinsic excellence, that mankind must be governed by its precepts or not at all.
My knowledge of history and geography convinced me, that were Christianity was not known, the human race were completely wretched, and that where its precepts were most regarded, and Christianity practised in its greatest purity, the condition of mankind was most ameliorated, and that every intermediate state of happiness which mankind enjoyed, was in a pretty exact ratio to the degree of genuine Christianity which was professed and practised.
These being the real facts, from whence is the cause of these things? Is it not fair and just to ascribe the reason to the superior excellence of Christianity itself?
The transition from political Christianity to what is called speculative Christianity is short and easy. I now called to the bar of mature reason the evidences of Christianity, which I had formerly, but very partially examined, and that at a very early period of life; and, upon a re-examination, I found I could not possibly account for the existence of the Jewish nation in its present divided state, scattered over the whole earth, upon any rational principles. It appeared without a parallel in history, and it is undoubtedly much of the nature of a standing miracle in support of divine revelation. There are other external evidences of great weight, but this appeared the most formidable — it being an argument which I never did, or could disprove to my own satisfaction. I now found myself in a situation I had not experienced since my very childhood; I mean a speculative faith; and was astonished how mankind, professing to believe the bible, could possibly act so exceedingly inconsistent with themselves. The truth of the gospel appeared all-important, and well deserving the immediate attention of every reasonable being; and yet mankind, professing to believe those truths, were as stupid and unconcerned as if they expected to continue in this world for ever.
These feelings operated powerfully on my mind in the course of the summer of 1798. But I had not long time to stand amazed at the conduct of others. I soon found myself acting the inconsistent part which I inwardly so much censured in others. I felt an heavy weight of guilt accumulating upon me, for which I saw no forgiveness. I had spoken so many severe things and blasphemies against the gospel, against Jesus Christ, and the operations of the Spirit, and against divine revelation, that there appeared for me no mercy. In the autumn of 1798, my conviction increased upon me; but as I had formerly treated such feelings with ridicule, my pride would not permit me to unburden my soul to any person living. I hated company, but when in it I endeavoured to appear cheerful, and took pains to deceive the world. I felt a great desire to pray to God for his assistance and mercy, but I had been such a great sinner, that I felt as if it would be a gross piece of effrontery to address my Maker. I thought it would be a great privilege if I could feel a freedom to ejaculate the short prayer of the publican, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” In this state of despair I continued some time, until my feelings became so powerful, that one evening I unburdened myself to the Rev. Mr. Hooker, and in a few words told him my situation, which gave me a little relief. I now had to contend with a formidable enemy, namely the pride and naughtiness of my own heart. I felt it my indispensible duty immediately to begin a religious life: I felt some freedom in secret prayer, and at times a small ray of hope would penetrate the gloomy darkness. I felt a great desire to pray in my family, and to teach and instruct my children; but the cross was too great. I distrusted my ability to make a prayer which would be acceptable to God, or decent and proper before my family. I considered a formal one as mere mockery, and would, undoubtedly, be an “abomination in the sight of the Lord;” and I thought likewise, that it would be much better not to make the attempt than to begin and not persevere; but, above all, my pride was wounded: I had lived a long time in the open profession of infidelity, and could not willingly meet the scoffs of all my neighbours and acquaintance, who I expected would call me a turncoat, a fool, or an enthusiast: indeed, “the fear of man, which bringeth a snare,” restrained me for months from coming openly forward in so unpopular a thing as experimental religion. In the midst of these cogitations, I, like Jonah of old, formed a design of fleeing from the presence of the Lord, and removing myself to the solitary wilds of the Connecticut western reserve, and there commence a life of religion, where my former way of thinking was unknown; and I conceived the cross would be much less there, than to confess Christ in this place. I had a number of times determined on some particular time when I would commence family religion, but the above reasons deterred me. Still, however (although I enjoyed some freedom in secret prayer), the burden of guilt increased; I felt my desire still continue to instruct my children to pray, but felt myself in an awkward situation in attempting to instruct them in what they never saw me practise. I now found that it was almost as easy for an Ethiopean to change his skin, or the leopard his spots, as for one who had got habits of evil fixed to learn to do well. I lamented exceedingly the hardness of my heart, and mourned, in vain, the loss of those days of childhood wherein my mind was tender, and feelings susceptible of religious impressions.
The consciousness of being entirely alone added to the weight of my feelings and the darkness of the gloom. I felt hedged in on every side. My own morality forsook me: my righteousness appeared to me as filthy rags. I saw and realized myself as the chief of sinners. I had lived to the meridian of life in a most decided opposition to God, and had exerted my feeble influence entirely on the side of the grand adversary. I felt the wonderful goodness and condescension of God, in sending his Son to die, the just for the unjust; and yet my heart was so proud I could not submit to his government, and acknowledge him before men, or even engage in social prayer, for the vile fear of many which bringeth a snare.
After much earnest, humble entreaty with God in private for his grace and assistance to perform all my Christian duties aright, and for perseverance therein (thanks to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ), I commenced family worship, and I think I may say, that in the first attempt at social prayer in my family, I found that peace which passeth all understanding; a peace which the world cannot give nor take away, which was exceedingly refreshing indeed, after so long and tedious a night of gloomy fears and darkness. I most earnestly entreated the Almighty for his spirit to guide me into all truth, and I had a strong faith that my prayers were well pleasing to God, as the humble petition of the prodigal is represented in the parable, who, “while he was yet a great way off, the Father had compassion on him, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.” Indeed, the whole parable appeared to be strictly applicable to my case. I immediately sat down to breakfast with my family, admiring in my heart the goodness of God in giving such undeserved and unexpected comfort and serenity of mind; my thoughts turned on the dependence of my children, who came round my table lisping their wants; and feeling for them as I did for myself, the following text came to my mind as very deeply to affect me. “If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father bestow the Holy Spirit to them that ask him,” I immediately felt strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might, and felt as if I could hardly forgive myself the very idea of being ashamed of the cross. I felt my inclinations and desires entirely changed. I wanted all my neighbours to partake with me of the waters of life. I wanted them to cry out with me in the words of the Psalmist, “Oh, that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men.” I did not want now to flee five hundred miles into the wilderness to confess Christ in private; but I had an ardent desire, that as far as my deism had been published, my recantation might be known. “Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, and good will to men.”
DAVID HUDSON.
Goshen (Connecticut), April 8, 1799.