RELIGIOUS BELIEFS.—THE JUNTO

Franklin reached Philadelphia some time in October, 1726, and found many things had changed during his absence. Keith was no longer governor, but walked the streets as a common citizen. He seemed a little ashamed at seeing Franklin, and passed him by without saying anything. Miss Read, too, whom he had left under the pledge of an engagement, had grown tired of his long neglect, and at the insistence of her friends had married a potter named Rogers. The union, however, had proved unfortunate, and the lady was again living at home under her maiden name, it being believed that Rogers had a previous wife.

Franklin at once entered the employment of his friend Denham, who opened a thriving business on Water Street. But after an engagement of four months he was left idle by Mr. Denham's death, and, finding nothing better to do, returned to his old employer, Keimer. Here he received good wages as foreman of the shop, but soon discovered that he was engaged only to teach Keimer's raw hands the trade, and was to be dismissed as soon as this was accomplished. Franklin had a habit apparently of breaking with a burdensome friend by means of a judicious quarrel. He had done so with his brother James, with Collins, with Ralph, and now he parted with Keimer in the same way. After an interval of a few months, during which he was again for a while in the employment of Keimer, he entered into partnership with one of the hands, Meredith by name, and in the spring of 1728 started an independent printing-house.

At this point Franklin interrupts the narrative of his life to give some account of his religious beliefs, and we will follow his example. And first of all let us say frankly that Parton, whose work is likely long to remain the standard biography of Franklin, gives a false color to the religious experience of his hero. Of regeneration there is in Franklin no sign, but instead of that a constant growth,—which is far more wholesome. He was always an amused and skeptical observer of the revivals and wild enthusiasms kindled by his friend Whitefield and by the inspired preacher of Northampton. And it is quite absurd to speak of Franklin as "the consummate Christian of his time." There was in him none of the emotional nature and little of the spirituality that go to make the complete Christian. His strength lay in his temperance, prudence, justice, and courage,—eminently the pagan virtues; and indeed he was from first to last a great pagan, who lapsed now and then into the pseudo-religious platitudes of the eighteenth century deists.

His family had early adopted the reformed faith, and had possessed the courage to continue of this faith through the bloody persecutions of Queen Mary. Under Charles II. Benjamin's father went a step further, casting in his lot with the non-conformist Presbyterians; and it was the persecutions of that society which drove him with his family to America. Independence, or even recalcitrance, together with broad toleration of the faith of others, was in the family blood, and Benjamin continued the good tradition. From revolt against Rome to revolt against the established English Church, and from this to complete independence of individual belief, was after all a natural progression.

Among the books which Franklin had read in Boston were Shaftesbury and Collins, representative deistical writers of the time, and he had been led by them, as he says, to doubt "many points of our religious doctrines." Now there are in religion two elements quite distinct and at times even antagonistic, though by the ordinary mind they are commonly seen as blended together. These are the emotional and the moral natures. In many religious ceremonies of the Orient, religion is purely an emotion, an exaltation of the nerves, accompanied at times by outbreaking immorality; and unfortunately the same phenomena have been too often seen in our own land. This emotional element is always connected with the imagination and with belief in some form of revelation. The other element of religion is the law of morality which has been taught the world over by true philosophers, and which depends at last on the simple feeling that a man should to a certain varying extent sacrifice his personal advantage for the good of the community. Now the deists of the eighteenth century, of whom Voltaire was the great champion, denied revelation and sought to banish the emotions from religion. They believed in a God who manifested himself in the splendid pageantry of nature, and this they called natural revelation. They laid especial emphasis on morality, but in their attempt to sever morals from enthusiasm (enthousiasmos, god-in-us) they too often reduced human life to a barren formula. From this brief account it will be seen how naturally Franklin, with his parentage and particular genius, fell a prey to the teachings of Shaftesbury.

After a little while, however, he began to notice that certain of his friends who protested most loudly against religion were quite untrustworthy in their morals as well. Moreover he attributed several errata of his own early life to lack of religious principles, and to remedy this defect he now undertook—deliberately if we may credit his later confessions—to build up a religion of his own. There is, one must acknowledge, something grotesque in this endeavor to supply the warmth of the emotional imagination by the use of cold reason, and had Franklin possessed less wit and more humor he would never have fallen into such bathos. The little book still exists in which Franklin wrote out his creed and private liturgy. The creed expresses a belief in "one Supreme, most perfect Being, Author and Father of the gods themselves." Finding this God to be infinitely above man's comprehension, our religionist goes on to say: "I conceive, then, that the Infinite has created many beings or gods vastly superior to man, who can better conceive his perfections than we, and return him a more rational and glorious praise.... It may be these created gods are immortal; or it may be that, after many ages, they are changed, and others supply their places. Howbeit, I conceive that each of these is exceeding wise and good, and very powerful; and that each has made for himself one glorious sun, attended with a beautiful and admirable system of planets. It is that particular wise and good God, who is the author and owner of our system, that I propose for the object of my praise and adoration." Thereupon follows the form of adoration, or liturgy, including an invocation, psalm, indication of philosophic reading to take the place of the lessons, singing of the Hymn to the Creator from Milton's Paradise Lost, and litany. The whole is not without elevation, and the litany, composed as it is by a young man of twenty-two, touches one with a feeling almost of pathos for its true humility and reaching out after virtue.

Franklin continued to use this form of worship for a number of years; but its fantastic nature seems to have dawned on him at last, and he gave it up for a still simpler creed consisting merely in reverence for the Deity and in respect for the moral law. In the matter of public worship he was of the same opinion as Spinoza and many other philosophers. He esteemed public worship salutary for the state, and paid an annual subscription to the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia; but he also esteemed it his privilege to stay away from service, and indulged in this privilege to the full, making Sunday his chief day of study. Though affiliated in this way to the Presbyterians, he showed perfect impartiality, or even indifference, to the various denominations of the Christian world. The only sect he ever really praised was the Dunkers, whom he commended for their modesty in not formulating a creed. He quotes with pleasure the character given himself of being merely "an honest man of no sect at all." Tolerance in religion and in every other walk of life was indeed a marked and distinguishing trait of his character. He was of the mind of Bishop Warburton, when he said, "Orthodoxy is my doxy and Heterodoxy is your doxy."

It is a little disconcerting to find our philosopher himself proposing a new sect, which should be called the Society of the Free and Easy, and which actually progressed so far as to possess two enthusiastic disciples. The creed of this projected sect may be taken as an expression of Franklin's mature belief:—

The real religion of his life consisted in the practice of virtue with a minimum of emotional imagination. His methodical mind found it convenient to tabulate the virtues in a manner more precise, as he thought, than they usually appear. His table is not without interest:—

These virtues he has arranged in such an order that the acquisition of one naturally leads to the acquisition of the following. As regards chastity, he says himself: "The hard-to-be-governed passion of youth" had more than once led him astray. But there is every reason to suppose he exercised great self-control in this as in all other passions. We may remark here that Franklin had an illegitimate son, William, whom he reared in his own home, but who caused him great pain by siding with the Tories in the Revolution. An illegitimate son of William, born in London and named William Temple Franklin, adhered to the grandfather and was a great comfort to him in his old age. One other of these virtues Franklin could never acquire. He confesses sadly that try as he might he could never learn orderliness. But in general it may be said that few men have ever set before themselves so wise a law of conduct, and that still fewer men have ever come so near to attaining their ideal. This was both because his ideal was so thoroughly practical, and because he was a man of indomitable will who had genuinely chosen true Philosophy as his guide. "O vitæ Philosophia dux! O virtutum inda-gatrix expultrixque vitiorum!"—O Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou searcher out of virtues and expeller of vices!—he wrote as one of the mottoes on his little book of conduct, and to him the words were a living reality.

The virtues in Franklin were eminently human. Though dwelling in a community of Quakers and often identified with them, he looked to anything rather than the inner light for guidance, nor could he conceive the meaning of those "divine pleasures" which William Penn declared "are to be found in a free solitude." On his voyage home from London the boy philosopher had written in his journal: "Man is a sociable being, and it is, for aught I know, one of the worst of punishments to be excluded from society." Accordingly on his return to Philadelphia he began to cultivate seriously his "sociable being."

Among the few clubs famous in literature is the Junto which Franklin established in 1727, and which lasted for forty years. This club was a little circle of friends, never more than twelve, who met on Friday evenings to discuss matters of interest. Twenty-four questions were read, with a pause after each for filling and drinking a glass of wine. Two or three of these questions will suffice to show their general aim.

Besides the answering of these questions, there were regular debates, declamations, and the reading of essays; while the wise Franklin took care always that no undue heat should enter into the proceedings. Singing and drinking and other amusements also claimed a fair share of the time. It is curious to observe that in his Autobiography Franklin half apologizes for mentioning the Junto, and declares that his reason for so doing was to show how the various members of the club aided him in his business. Were the Autobiography our only source of information, we might sum up the lessons of Franklin's life in the one word Thrift. The truth is that many of Franklin's schemes for public improvement first found a hearing in the secrecy of these friendly meetings.