Old-Fashioned Preaching (1816)

BY JOSIAH QUINCY

WE had come to Andover to get religion, and the pursuit of this object was seldom interfered with by such episodes as the one just related. During the first years of my stay we were taken to worship in the church of the town, which was supported by a tax laid upon all citizens. What the winter services were in that old meeting-house no description can reproduce. The building was in decay, anti the windows rattled with every blast. There was no pretence of stove or furnace, and the waters of life, which were dispensed from the pulpit, froze to solid ice before they reached us. There were, to be sure, a few pans of ignited charcoal, which the sexton carried to certain old ladies of great respectability, and which were supposed to impart some warmth to their venerable feet. But this luxury was never provided for the voting sex; and boys, as a matter of course, received their ghostly instruction with the chill on. We muffled ourselves up in comforters, as if to go a sleigh ride, and shivered through the long services, warmed only by such flickering flames of devotion as they were calculated to kindle. The vivid descriptions of those sultry regions to which the vast majority of the human race were hastening lost something of the terror they were meant to excite. If we could only approach the quarters of the condemned near enough to get thoroughly warmed through, the broad road that led to them might gain an additional_ attraction. The boys were required to remember the text, as well as the heads of the discourse, and were duly examined thereupon the next day. My own memory was good, — so good, indeed, that some of those sermons stick there yet. And they were not difficult to remember either; for, give the preacher his premises, and let him start his machine of formal logic, and the conclusions ground themselves out with unerring certainty. An exception to this rule was found in the doctrine of election as not inconsistent with individual freedom. This was a craggy theme with which the Andover divines were accustomed to grapple with great spirit. They certainly showed, or appeared to show, that we were perfectly free to choose a destiny which, nevertheless, had been absolutely decreed beforehand; but the reasoning which dissolved this formidable paradox was altogether too subtle for the youthful brain to follow.

A report of an occasional sermon may give some idea of the gallant style in which the Andover ministers faced sin — or what seemed to them sin — under difficulties. It happened that a proposition to teach dancing in the town had been made by some rash professor of that accomplishment. Under this visitation there was clearly but one subject for the next Sunday’s discourse. The good minister rose in the pulpit fully armed for the encounter; but he was not the man to take unfair advantages. The adversary should be allowed every point which seemed to make in his favor. In pursuance of this generous design, a text was given out which certainly did seem a little awkward in view of the deductions which must be drawn from it. It was taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes, and was announced with unflinching emphasis, "There is a time to dance." The preacher began by boldly facing the performance of King David,

"When before the Ark His grand pas seul excited some remark!"

But, notwithstanding the record, we were assured that David did not dance. A reference to the original Hebrew made it plain that "he took no steps." All he did was to jump up and down in a very innocent manner, and it was evident that this required no professional instruction. And now, having disposed of the example of the father, the way was clear to take up the assertion of Solomon that there was a time to dance.

Were this the case, it were pertinent to consider what that time might be. Could a man find time to dance before he was converted? To ask such a question as that was to answer it. The terrible risks to which the unregenerate were exposed, and the necessity that was upon them to take summary measures for their avoidance, clearly left no time for dancing. And how was it with a man while he was being converted? Overwhelmed with the sense of sin, and diligently seeking the remedy, it was simply preposterous to imagine that he could find time for dancing. And how was it with the saints who had been converted? Surely such time as they had must be spent in religious exercises for the conversion of others; obviously they had no time to dance. And so the whole of human life had been covered, and the conclusion was driven home with resistless force. What time for dancing Solomon might have had in mind it was unnecessary to inquire, for it was simply demonstrable that he could not have referred to any moment of the time allotted to man on this earth. After this discourse it is needless to say that no dancing-master showed his face in Andover during my acquaintance with the town.

But if it shall happen that I speak freely of forms which have no longer the spiritual meaning that once filled them, I must also emphasize the fact that a stern pressure towards morality was characteristic of the school. Emulation was abandoned because it appealed to lower motives than Christians should entertain, and the phrase "unhallowed ambition" was applied to the pursuit of excellence for any selfish end. A society for the cultivation of the moral virtues, composed of candidates for the Divinity Department and some of the smaller boys, existed in the school, and a pledge to abstain from intoxicating liquors was exacted from its members.

During the six years I spent in Andover there were several revivals of religion. The master believed in their utility and did everything in his power to encourage them. We had prayer-meetings before school, after school, and in recess, and a strong influence was exerted to make us attend them. I am tempted to give a little circumstance in this connection because it shows the absolute sincerity with which our teachers held their religious views. One summer’s day, after a session of four hours, the master dismissed the school in the usual form. No sooner had he done so than he added, "There will now be a prayer-meeting: those who wish to lie down in everlasting burning may go; the rest will stay." It is probable that a good many boys wanted to get out of doors. Two of them only had the audacity to rise and leave the room. One of those youngsters has since been known as an eminent Doctor of Divinity; the other was he who now relates the incident. But no sooner was the prayer-meeting over than Mr. ADAMS sought me out, asked pardon for the dreadful alternative he had presented, and burst into a flood of tears. He said with deep emotion that he feared that I had committed the unpardonable sin and that he had been the cause. His sincerity and faith were most touching; and his manliness in confessing his error and asking pardon from his pupil makes the record of the occurrence an honor to his memory.

Josiah Quincy, (Boston, 1883), 6–11.