Whitefield’s Complex Legacy

Review of Geordan Hammond and David Ceri Jones, eds., George Whitefield: Life, Context, and Legacy (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016).

As many Wesleyans tell the story of the eighteenth-century Evangelical Revival, John Wesley was the permanent fixture at its center. We come to this naturally, much of it from Wesley’s own hand. This lofty view of the founder of Wesleyan Methodism – there were many forms of Methodism from the beginning – has in recent years been challenged. The challenge comes in part from scholarship (W. Reginald Ward, John Walsh, Steve O’Malley, etc.) that has shown that the Evangelical Revival did not start in England. Rather, the Revival was a trans-Atlantic movement that spanned, as David Hempton notes, “from the Alps to the Appalachians.” Wesley couldn’t possibly be the center of such a multifaceted trans-continental event. But challenges to the Wesley-centric view have also come from revived interest in other major figures within early Evangelicalism itself, including George Whitefield. This renewed interest hasn’t been without its challenges, as noted by Geordan Hammond and David Ceri Jones in the Introduction of their new book, George Whitefield. Various streams of the Evangelical Revival have held to differing historiographical approaches, sometimes built upon theological debates of the eighteenth century that continue to be divisive to the present day.

George Whitefield is a superb addition to the field of Evangelical Studies and early Methodism and a reminder of the common Evangelical heritage that Wesleyans share with their Evangelical brothers and sisters in the broader movement. The book, composed of chapters from various American and British authors including its editors, Hammond and Ceri Jones, will serve as a vital introduction to the life of Whitefield, the context in which his own trans-Atlantic ministry took place, and the legacy that he left in Methodism and in the broader Evangelical context.

I will not have space aptly to describe each of the sixteen chapters, but I will highlight aspects of the larger work. Boyd Stanley Schlenther – author of a groundbreaking book on another eighteenth-century Evangelical luminary, Selina Countess of Huntingdon – begins the book with an account of Whitefield’s character, complexities and all. Whitefield was bullied as a Gloucester youth, a lover of the theater, and servitor at Oxford who found experiential religion while at the University. The picture of Whitefield that emerges from Schlenther is almost like reading a tabloid (not a criticism of the author). Whitefield was an introverted and nearly friendless figure, inept in personal relationships, particularly with his wife whom he ignored. He was also arrogant, bad with money, flighty, a racist advocate of slavery, emotional, and fat. In the end, Schlenther alludes that it’s best to focus on Whitefield the preacher rather than the man.

Mark K. Olson aptly describes the complexities of Whitefield’s theological maturation, moving from Oxford Methodist to Evangelical Methodist to Calvinistic Methodist. This maturation is key to understanding Whitefield. Olson often treats the Church of England as one denomination among others in Britain at the time, and distinctly High Church, rather than the nearly-comprehensive Church it was, in which Evangelical, Latitudinarian, and High Church streams all found a home. But William Gibson follows in the next chapter to provide an examination of the Church’s view of Whitefield. In this, Gibson’s approach is unique in that most scholars look at it the other way around, to examine Whitefield’s view of the Church (i.e. frustrated). Gibson identifies four concerns held by the Church: episcopal authority, popery, Jacobitism, and antinomianism. He describes the continued good will of Bishop Benson toward Whitefield despite the latter’s treatment of him. Whitefield’s bombastic volleys with the Bishop of London and his American commissaries set him at odds with much of the hierarchy on both sides of the Atlantic, where they suspected him of undermining society and embracing Jesuits. Whitefield appears as one set against “bounds and order” while seeking “freedom” within a stifling system. Or like an insubordinate name-calling bull in a china shop. For many of the clergy, Whitefield’s efforts undermined the Church from within when it had other battles to wage from without, including Dissent and deism.

Frank Lambert dives into the question of Whitefield’s relationship to the Enlightenment, especially the “clash of Enlightenments as Protestants in the eighteenth century contested the meaning of the gospel” (66). For Whitefield, enlightened reason itself could only be understood Christologically. Lambert delves into the differing “Enlightenments” of the period, Whitefield’s often strawman-driven arguments against Bishop Tillotson, as well as Whitefield’s own maturation related to toleration and the use of reason. Whitefield does not represent an anti-Enlightenment perspective but rather one that calls for the centrality of the new birth, rejecting a purely rationalist interpretation of Christian claims.

Carla Gardinia Pestana explores Whitefield and Empire, showing Whitefield to be an awkward participant in English colonial expansion. Whitefield refused directly to participate in the link of Empire and Church, but nonetheless existed within it and became the first celebrity of a newly-emerging world power. Geordan Hammond explores Whitefield, Wesley, and the leadership of the revival in his chapter, with particular interest in how the relationship between Wesley and Whitefield developed from mentor and mentee to one of equals – teaching one another – and even rivals. Hammond explores this development both as Whitefield matures as a leader but also as Whitefield’s own theological perspective diverges from Wesley’s. One fascinating approach that Hammond takes is to analyze the way that Whitefield ended his letters to Wesley in the 1730s. Whitefield moves from “humble servant,” to “son and servant,” to “brother and servant.” After 1739, Whitefield never referred to himself as Wesley’s “son.” Hammond also focuses on Wesley’s use of lots in the early revival and how that usage, along with debates about predestination, created a fissure between the two leaders and their followers from the early 1740s onward.

Braxton Boren’s chapter, Whitefield’s Voice, dives into basic questions that so many have asked, including how people heard Whitefield’s voice in a period before microphones. Highlighting Benjamin Franklin’s own 1739 Philadelphia experiment to determine the number of persons who could hear Whitefield preach, Boren uses contemporary scientific advances to analyze the question. Particularly, “Franklin’s measured data, combined with modern understandings of sound propagation and psychoacoustics” (169) to estimate the reach of Whitefield’s voice. Boren also addresses questions of Whitefield’s own crowd estimates, showing them to have been honest assessments, and actual numerical estimates rather than simple guesses. His analysis, detailed down to an examination of brick size in colonial Philadelphia to measure reflective surfaces and weather patterns affecting the reach of a human voice, is a fascinating read that provides details necessary to understand the actual reach of outdoor preaching. The chapter expands beyond Philadelphia to include London and here Boren analyzes Moorfields, Kennington, and Mayfair, all areas where Whitefield preached and claimed to have reached crowds between 50,000 and 80,000 persons. Boren’s conclusion does not differ much from these estimates, even if he doubts the larger number was possible. Computer simulation based on environmental factors, crowd noise, and even the loudest human voice, showed that in the best of conditions, Whitefield could have preached to crowds up to 50,000. The analysis is well worth reading. Boren notes, “Whitefield probably spoke directly to more individuals than any unamplified orator in history” (188).

The book ends with an enjoyable, if macabre, essay by Andrew Atherstone describing what can best be called Whitefield post-mortem. Of all the major figures of the Revival, only Whitefield the Anglican cleric could be buried in a Presbyterian church that he founded in Congregationalist New England. That alone is noteworthy, but so is the story of his remains and those who visited him, including Benedict Arnold, and the travels that his forearm and thumb have taken. Atherstone expertly weaves together the odd narrative of Whitefield after his death, laid to rest as the great preacher that he was, a Protestant relic underneath a pulpit.

There are many other chapters in the book, all worthy of note. The book contains a “who’s who” of evangelical scholarship. I can honestly say that I enjoyed reading the work due to the quality of the chapters and also the diversity of perspectives within the volume. Contributors I have not covered in this review include: Kenneth P. Minkema, Keith Edward Beebe, David Ceri Jones, Brett C. McInelly, Emma Salgârd Cunha, Stephen R. Berry, Peter Choi, Mark Noll, and Isabel Rivers. The choice of publisher will limit the availability of this text due to cost. So while it is unlikely to be used in college and seminary courses as a required text, it should be added to library collections. Scholars in the Wesleyan tradition should also use it as an excellent tool to broaden and deepen their understanding of Whitefield, his legacy, and his role within the larger Methodist/Evangelical tradition that is part of our Wesleyan heritage.

Ryan Danker is Associate Professor of Church History and Methodist Studies at Wesley Theological Seminary.