|
Origins
Founding Fathers
Tufts and the Universalist Tradition
By David Reich, A70
|
A stained glass window in Goddard Chapel depicts St. Paul,
one of Christ's apostles, whose conversion to Christianity
and subsequent preaching inspired the early Universalist Hosea
Ballou.
|
Writing in the 1970s, Tufts history professor Russell E. Miller
asserted that the University's founding and its nurturing for many
years by the Universalist religious denomination had long been "forgotten
or were never known."
I suspect Professor Miller--a Universalist himself and author of
a two-volume history of the denomination, as well as Light on
the Hill, a history of Tufts-was overstating his case for dramatic
effect. When I entered Tufts as a freshman in 1966, not only did
publications like the college catalogue mention the Universalists,
but the denomination still had an official, if dwindling, presence
on campus in the form of Crane Theological School (which closed
its doors in 1968, after a 99-year run). Still, I think Miller had
a point. Even if the Universalist name was known to some on campus,
it's my guess that many Tufts undergraduates knew as much about
Universalism as I did--which is to say, nearly nothing.
In my view, insofar as I had one, the Universalists were a high-minded
bunch, connected with old money, Beacon Hill men's clubs and New
England transcendentalism. Of course, I had them mixed up with their
more patrician cousins the Unitarians, with whom they had teamed
up in 1961 to form the Unitarian Universalist (UU) religious denomination,
known today for its ultra liberal theology and social activism.
While the 19th-century Unitarian church boasted members such as
John and John Quincy Adams, famous Universalists were usually people
of more modest station, like Clara Barton and Horace Greeley.
In the long run, I learned to distinguish the two groups. I spent
most of the 1990s as editor of the World (now the UU World),
the group's national magazine. By the time I was through, I knew
more than I had ever dreamed I would about the Universalists, which
in turn gave me some insight into why they founded Tufts and how
their influence shaped the institution.
The theological term universalism denotes the belief that God,
being infinitely good and loving, would not condemn humanity to
infinite torture in the afterlife. It means, in other words, universal
salvation-or "no hell," as the Universalists pithily expressed
it in their best-remembered 19th-century slogan.
|
Hosea Ballou
|
The Universalist idea has been around since the birth of Christianity,
or so argued Tufts founding president and Universalist minister
Hosea Ballou 2d in his scholarly treatise The Ancient History
of Universalism. Indeed, Ballou maintained tained that until
the third century, all Christians were Universalists. The belief
in eternal damnation for the wicked gained currency not long after
that, for by the fifth century, according to Ballou, Universalist
theology was sufficiently unpopular, at least with the church authorities,
to be declared a heresy.
As a heresy it endured, however, until the Reformation, when it
reasserted itself with a vengeance, becoming part of the theology
of many of the Protestant sects and sub-sects that proliferated
all over Europe in the 1500s. But Universalism as a distinct religion
didn't come along until late in the 18th century, and not in Europe
but New England. It was started by John Murray, an obscure Englishman
who had come to America-and to Universalism, for that matter-through
a string of coincidences.
John Murray was born in 1741. As a boy, he was beaten for minor
infractions and threatened with an afterlife in hell by his father,
a devout Calvinist. Somehow, Murray came out of childhood as an
outgoing, cheerful young pillar of the church. As such, he was commissioned
to visit a young woman who had "fallen into error," having
become, in Murray's words, an "unwavering believer of universal
redemption." Murray tried to reason with the woman, but by
his own admission she tied him in knots with the logic of her arguments.
Far from driving a wedge between Murray and his beliefs, the episode
convinced him to steer clear of Universalists.
Yet the idea of universal salvation worked on him over the succeeding
months, especially after he borrowed a book by Universalist preacher
James Relly. After reading the book, Murray and his wife checked
Relly's arguments against the Bible, prayed about the results, and
found themselves more and more in doubt about the Calvinist doctrines
of predestination and eternal damnation. Finally, they went to hear
Relly preach. Years later, Murray recalled having noticed that the
congregation "did not appear very religious; that is, they
were not melancholy." This must have made a hugely favorable
impression on the optimistic Murray. As for Relly's sermon, Murray
is said to have remarked to his wife that it was "the first
consistent sermon I have ever heard." Before long, he was a
confirmed believer in Universalism and a close friend of Relly.
The next few years would test Murray's optimism and his faith,
at times beyond their limits. First, he was voted out of his church
because of his new theology. Then, in quick succession, came the
deaths of his infant son, his wife, one of his brothers and three
of his sisters. Unsurprisingly, he became depressed, and his own
health, as well as his finances, suffered. Meanwhile, his friend
Relly was urging him to go out into the world to preach. Murray
replied that he preferred "to pass through life, unheard, unseen,
unknown to all, as though I had never been." He finally landed
in debtors' prison. Rescued by a loan from his brother-in-law, he
decided to leave the world he knew and disappear into America. It
was the next best thing to suicide.
Murray embarked for New York City in July 1770. Near the end of
the voyage his ship was grounded on a sandbar off southern New Jersey.
Murray waded ashore, where he stumbled upon one Thomas Potter, a
prosperous but illiterate farmer who himself had arrived at a belief
in the doctrine of universal salvation 20 years before under the
influence of a group of American Universalist Baptists. Potter had
built a chapel on his land for the itinerant preachers who sometimes
passed through. Described by Russell Miller as "a deeply religious
man with mystical tendencies," he must have thought Murray
a godsend, quite literally, and he insisted that Murray preach at
the chapel.
Murray himself saw the hand of God in his fortuitous meeting with
Potter. Despite his wish "to pass through life unheard,"
Murray accepted Potter's invitation.
He must have been a compelling preacher, even at the start. Word
of his sermons spread up and down the East Coast, and soon he was
filling preaching engagements from Philadelphia to New York City
and eventually New England. There, the optimistic gospel of no hell
must have seemed good news to churchgoers accustomed to the dour
Calvinist theology of the Puritan church. In Boston, he drew large
crowds but also the unwelcome attentions of orthodox clergy and
believers, who called his doctrines "pernicious" and "damnable."
Murray was himself "unprincipled" and "dangerous";
they threw stones through the windows of the meetinghouses and tried
to have him banished from the colony as a vagrant.
Murray's years as an itinerant preacher ended in 1779 when his
followers in Gloucester, Massachusetts-16 refugees from the hellfire
preaching of the town's established church-formed a congregation
around him and built a meetinghouse, American Universalism's first
church building. In addition to its role in the new denomination,
this small group would have a profound effect on church-state relations
in America. No sooner had the new congregation formed than the town's
theocratic authorities demanded that members continue to pay their
church tax to their former congregation. The Universalists refused,
and in 1782 some members' possessions were seized and sold at auction,
and one member was briefly thrown in jail. The Universalists sued
under the Massachusetts Bill of Rights, arguing that the church,
though not favored by the town authorities, was a distinct and legitimate
congregation that didn't fall under First Parish's jurisdiction.
In 1786 the state's Supreme Judicial Court ruled for the Universalists.
It was the first victory in their long campaign for church-state
separation.
From the small group that gathered around John Murray in Gloucester,
Universalism grew by the late 1840s into the young nation's fifth-
or sixth-largest denomination, depending on whose statistics you
believe, with a membership perhaps of 600,000 or 700,000, about
3 percent of the U.S. population. Unlike the Unitarian movement-which
grew mainly by taking over government-supported Puritan churches
whose members had broken with Calvinism-Universalism grew by word
of mouth and public preaching. Universalist clergy, who knew by
heart all the Bible verses that denied the reality of eternal damnation,
also took part in spectacular debates with their Calvinist opposition
that sometimes lasted for days and brought more converts to Universalism.
Though to my knowledge no transcripts of these debates survive,
stories told today by Unitarian Universalist clergy give the flavor
of what might have been said. In one story, the itinerant preacher
Hosea Ballou-namesake and great-uncle of the Tufts president and
Universalism's first important theologian-is spending the night
at a farmhouse. The farmer worries aloud to Ballou that his son,
a drinker and ladies' man, will burn in hell for his transgressions.
Ballou suggests they go outside and build a big log fire, and when
the young man comes home from his carousing, ambush him and throw
him into it. Shocked, the farmer refuses: "He's my son, and
I love him!" To which Ballou retorts, "If you, a human
and imperfect father, love your son so much that you wouldn't throw
him in a fire, how can you believe that God, the perfect father,
would do such a thing!"
Given the denomination's pattern of growth, its embattled position
vis-à-vis New England's established churches, and the fact
that Universalist congregations required no profession of belief
from their members, it should come as no surprise that the group
attracted a large contingent of anti-authoritarians. In fact, historian
Stephen A. Marini calls the early 19th-century Universalists "a
sect imbued with individualism of anarchistic proportions."
Thus, according to the covenant of the country's first rural Universalist
church, in Richmond, New Hampshire, members were "free to accept
the church's outward ordinances or not." Similarly, members
of the Egremont, Massachusetts, church, in refusing to sign on to
a proposal for denominational governance, explained that they doubted
"whether a particular compact can be entered into to satisfy
[all members] of the congregation." One small congregation
in New York even refused to meet on Sunday mornings because it would
have "smacked of institutionalism."
The Universalists' issues with authority led to outcomes both good
and bad. On the positive side, Universalists were perhaps the nation's
strongest defenders of religious freedom. In the early 1830s, for
instance-half a century after the Gloucester Universalist congregation
refused to pay taxes to support a church whose doctrine they rejected-the
Universalist minister, journalist and Massachusetts legislator Thomas
Whittemore led a successful fight to amend the state constitution,
ending the system of government establishment and support of churches
and thus doing away with one of the last and most repugnant vestiges
of the Puritan theocracy. In doing so, Whittemore, a founding trustee
of Tufts, had to contend with Unitarians in the legislature and
in the general population, who, having taken over many Puritan churches,
now benefited from state support.
Massachusetts Universalists also fought such practices as government-declared
religious fast days and an annual sermon delivered to state legislators
by a rotating cast of ministers. More importantly, Universalists
in New England, New York and elsewhere stridently opposed the teaching
of religion in state-supported schools, which at the time were run
by religious bodies, mostly orthodox. While supporting Unitarian
Horace Mann's push for state-run sectarian educational institutions,
the Universalists in the meanwhile set up their own academies (preparatory
schools), which accepted students with no regard to faith and steered
clear of all religious teaching-"creed drilling" in the
Universalist phrase. A somewhat extreme case was the Universalist-founded
Clinton Liberal Institute in New York, whose small faculty included
one layperson each from the Episcopalian and Presbyterian churches,
as well as a Lutheran minister. One of the school's bylaws prohibited
the establishment of a professorship of theology, and another declared
that "no minister, of any denomination, shall have liberty
to perform the services of public worship within the Institute,
on any occasion whatever."
The Universalists' anti-authoritarian and radically democratic
bent also had some negative consequences. Churches attracted few
members from among the country's wealthy and powerful classes, who
could have contributed much-needed funds to the denomination's work.
(Whittemore once wrote, "It is well known that Universalists
are poor and they are not ashamed to acknowledge it.") In addition,
the denomination suffered from weak institutions. One glaring instance
was in the area of education. While the Unitarians, by the middle
1800s, controlled Harvard University, the Universalists lacked even
a seminary at which to train their ministers.
A first attempt to set up such an institution--on Walnut Hill in
Medford, Masschusetts, the eventual site of Tufts--succumbed, at
least in part, to Universalist anti-institutionalism. (There was
also the matter of insufficient funds, another chronic problem for
the impecunious denomination.) The project was quietly sabotaged
in the early 1840s by Hosea Ballou the elder, who had picked up
the skills of a minister on the fly and felt others would be best
off doing the same. There was also some feeling in the denomination
that, with all their strong talk against sectarian education, it
would ill suit the Universalists to set up a theological school.
Then there was the fear that, as Russell Miller puts it, formal
theological education would promote "an artificial aristocracy
not in keeping with the simplicity and democracy of Universalism."
Yet the idea of Universalist post-secondary education didn't die
with the failed attempt. Tufts College's three main founders-Ballou's
great-nephew Hosea Ballou 2d, Thomas Whittemore, and Universalist
minister and educator Thomas Jefferson Sawyer, who later became
the first dean of Crane-all felt an acute need for colleges and
seminaries to train their future laypeople and ministers. Whittemore,
though he lacked a college degree, wrote that the time had passed
when a person could prepare for the ministry solely "by immediate
communication from heaven." Sawyer had bachelor's and master's
degrees from Middlebury College, but he prepared for the clergy,
like the non-degreed Ballou, in what was then the standard Universalist
manner-by apprenticing himself to a minister. In Sawyer's case,
the apprenticeship lasted two months, and the minister in question
was barely out of his teens.
Another spur to start a college came from the less-than-glowing
public image suffered by Universalists, which probably resulted
in equal parts from class prejudice and simple observation. As the
Calvinist-leaning Boston Recorder noted, the poor Universalists
had "no colleges or schools of theology, or any literary institutions
other than second rate academies"; further, they had to fill
their pulpits "largely from the bench or shop" and with
ministers who had "little culture in manners or mind."
Of course, the Universalists could have sent their lay students
to one of the excellent colleges that already existed in New England
and their ministerial candidates to the liberal Harvard Divinity
School. But as Miller observes, "Not a single New England college
between 1830 and 1850 escaped Universalist censure
for their
alleged sectarianism." From the Universalist point of view,
institutions like Dartmouth, Brown and Williams were nothing more
than theological schools masquerading as universities. As for Harvard
Divinity School, with its heavy Unitarian influence, it was perhaps
a bit too liberal theologically for the liberal-enough Universalists.
They looked upon the place as overly rationalistic and not sufficiently
biblical for their future ministers.
Tufts was part of the solution. Though for a few years it lacked
a theological school, it was the first of five colleges founded
by Universalist denominational bodies. (Only two-Tufts and St. Lawrence
University in Canton, New York-still exist.) Space prevents me from
going into the details of the University's founding, but I will
take time here to point out a few instances of the heavy Universalist
influence on the College.
|
Tufts' oldest building, Ballou Hall (shown in 1875), named
for Hosea Ballou II, first president of Tufts and a Universalist
minister.
|
As most Tufts alumni know, Charles Tufts, a well-to-do Universalist
layman from Somerville, Massachusetts, donated the hill that became
the College campus and gave the school its name. Also, the College's
first four presidents-Hosea Ballou 2d, Alonzo Ames Miner, Elmer
Hewitt Capen and Frederick William Hamilton, all of whom have campus
buildings or parts of buildings named for them-were Universalist
ministers. Of these, Ballou is probably the most important. A Vermont
schoolteacher who heard the call to ministry, he apprenticed with
his distinguished great-uncle. Though a quiet, undramatic man, Hosea
2d was a gifted scholar who, despite his lack of formal education,
had picked up Greek, Latin, Hebrew, French and German, and served
as a trustee of Harvard University, which awarded him an honorary
Doctor of Divinity in 1844. A tireless organizer, he pushed single-mindedly
in the denomination for the creation of a college and then served
faithfully until his death, in 1861, not only as president, but
as preacher at Sunday chapel services, professor of philosophy and
history, librarian (he built the College library from scratch through
donations, including 6,000 volumes from his personal collection),
public relations officer, and semi-beleaguered fund-raiser. And
all for an annual salary of $800 (later raised to $1,000), not a
lot even in the 1850s. (T. J. Sawyer twice turned down the presidency
in the University's early days, saying he couldn't afford to work
for so little.)
Which brings up another Universalist part of the Tufts heritage.
In its early years, the College nearly went under for lack of funds
and had to be rescued by a last-minute donation and a timely infusion
of state money. For years the school also had to operate a farm
as a way of feeding students and adding to its meager income. Tufts'
early students, by the way, were mostly Universalists and mostly
as poor as the College itself. President Hamilton, who served from
1905 through 1912, remarked that even in his day there were "many
poor, very few rich."
As the 19th century unrolled, the Universalists' theology increasingly
spurred them to social activism, a trend that couldn't help but
have echoes at Tufts. The University's second president, A. A. Miner,
for example, was known beyond campus as a leader in the American
Peace Society, which favored arbitration as a means of settling
international disputes. Of more immediate concern on campus were
Miner's frequent abolitionist declamations. During the Civil War,
the size of the student body plummeted because of enlistment in
the Union army, presumably an index of campus antislavery sentiments.
While not as extremely secular as say the Clinton Liberal Institute,
Tufts also did its part to uphold the Universalist ideal of nonsectarian
education. President Ballou's address on the occasion of the College's
official opening contained not a single reference to Universalists
or Universalism. While the College required students to attend religious
services, non-Universalist students had the option of attending
services at whatever off-campus house of worship they chose. When
Tufts Theological School (later Crane) opened it doors in 1859,
pains were taken to give it a separate faculty and administration
and generally keep it at arm's length from the College, so as not
to taint the latter institution with sectarianism. Finally, the
College charter forbade religious tests for admission to the faculty
or student body-this at a time when other New England colleges had
quotas for religious minorities.
One area where Tufts lagged behind the Universalists generally
was equality of the sexes. The Universalists were the first American
denomination to ordain female ministers, and Universalist women
helped fill the ranks of the 19th-century feminist movement. (Universalist
minister, the Reverend Phoebe Hanaford, preached the funeral sermons
for feminist icons Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton,
both of whom she had worked with in the cause of women's suffrage.)
In this spirit, all Universalist educational ventures-both preparatory
schools and colleges-were coeducational from the start. That is,
except for Tufts. For years the College administration felt that
the presence of female students would disrupt the good order of
the place. When Tufts finally went coed, in the 1890s, it was thanks
to the pressure exerted by Universalist women such as Mrs. E. M.
Bruce of Melrose, Massachusetts, who for several years sponsored
resolutions in the General Convention-the denomination's central
governing body-directing the College to do the right thing.
After the 1890s and the coming of coeducation, the direct Universalist
influence over Tufts weakened until it disappeared altogether. For
one thing, as Tufts grew in reputation, it attracted more and more
students and faculty-and eventually administrators-from outside
the Universalist fold. At the same time, the Universalists suffered
a dramatic decline in numbers. (Commonly cited reasons include the
continuing weakness of Universalist institutions-by the turn of
the century many Protestant churches had dropped their emphasis
on hell, depriving the Universalists of some of their distinctiveness
and the movement among some clergy to turn Universalism from a Christian
group into a "world religion" that borrowed features from
many faiths.)
Yet when Miller points out that by 1970 few at Tufts knew anything
about the religious group that had founded the institution, he isn't
exactly lamenting the fact. Indeed, he also points out that if Tufts
had by and large forgotten the Universalists, it was only because
the school had "truly become the nonsectarian institution that
its founding fathers had planned it to be." How's that for
Universalist optimism?
top
|