Friday, March 02, 2007

Diderot’s vision of a heavenly city on earth where the last priest would be strangled with the entrails of the last king

Michael Novak and I are friends, and though we disagree about the religious beliefs of the Founding Fathers (see his post in response to my original blog on this subject), we share a common conviction that civil discourse and honest argument are the best paths to heaven. Michael’s posting on Tuesday was a model of the abovementioned civility. I hope my response can meet the same standard.
The core of our disagreement, as I see it, is the definition of religion. If the definition is quite broad, the belief that there are providential forces at work in the world which mere humans can never fully understand, or the belief that there are certain rights (i.e., life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness) that should be granted a semi-sacred status in America’s “civil religion,” then all the prominent Founders were religious.
If the definition is more narrowly Christian, to include the belief that Jesus was the divine son of God, and the belief there is life after death in a heavenly location where the saints communed everlastingly with God, then the matter gets much messier. Different Founders took somewhat different postures on these issues, and several of them changed their positions during their respective lifetimes.
Hamilton, for example, was an agnostic and deist for most of his life, who regarded attendance at Episcopal services as a social obligation rather than a devotional occasion. At the Constitutional Convention, when Franklin (of all people) proposed that the delegates invite a minister to bless their deliberations with a prayer, Hamilton observed that “I see no reason to call in foreign aid.” But in the last few years of his life, after his eldest son was killed in a duel defending his father’s honor, Hamilton became much more devoutly Christian, a decision that probably led to his death on the plains of Weehawken when he chose to waste his shot at Aaron Burr.
Jefferson was generally regarded as an atheist by most New England clergy and newspaper editors. (The president of Yale College once threatened to revoke the degree of any Yale graduate who voted for that man from Monticello.) In response to these attacks Jefferson prepared his own edition of the New Testament (still on sale at Monticello). But his correspondence with British Unitarians at the time clearly shows that Jefferson did not believe in the divinity of Jesus, but rather regarded him (or Him) as a wonderful role model, much like Socrates.
Adams began as a Congregationalist, though a staunch opponent of New Light evangelicalism, then ended up a Unitarian. His endorsement of a religious establishment in Massachusetts was rooted in political rather than religious convictions, a conservative belief that social change was always best when done gradually. In the famous correspondence with Jefferson in their twilight years, both men envisioned heaven as a place where they could continue their argument about the true meaning of the American Revolution and Adams could accost Benjamin Franklin for his depravities and inflated reputation. On the question of life everlasting Adams embraced a version of Pascal’s Wager. To wit, one might as well presume it is true, because if it proves incorrect one will never know it. Again, the Adams view of Christian doctrine about everlasting life was always driven by concerns about its function as a brake on human crime and misbehavior. “If it can ever be proved,” he noted near the end, “that there is no life ever-after, my advice to every man, woman, and child would be to take opium.”
As Michael has noted, George Washington always believed that American victory in the War for Independence was, as he said, “a standing miracle,” guided by other-worldly forces that he referred to as “providence” or “destiny.” He seldom used the word “God.” I regard him as a pantheist rather than a deist because he believed these other-worldly forces, whatever we called them, had earthly presences. Like Hamilton, he regarded his attendance at Episcopal services as a social obligation. In his last hours no ministers or chaplains were invited to his bedside. He died as a Roman stoic more than a Christian believer.
Two final points. The common conviction that bound together most of the Founders was the belief in the complete separation of church and state. As products of the Enlightenment, they shared Diderot’s vision of a heavenly city on earth where the last priest would be strangled with the entrails of the last king. This was a radical doctrine at the time, and even now in Iraq we can see that it is an idea yet to be regarded as, shall we say, self-evident. Let me acknowledge that it was easier to implement in the United States than elsewhere, because the vast majority of the populace were practicing Christians of various denominations that shared core values, and also because there was a century-old tradition of religious toleration generated by the multiplicity of sects. That said, it seems to me that the central legacy of the Founding Fathers was a “hands off” policy towards any specific religious doctrine. No faith was to be favored.
Finally, Michael has argued, quite correctly, that the secularists in this debate have their own prejudices, just as do the evangelicals. At the theoretical level, I concur. But at the practical level, out there on the lecture trail and the call-in radio shows, the evangelicals are the dominating influence. They care more about this debate than the secular humanists, they have the most edgy agenda, they seem to have more at stake. As with the creationism debate, they bring the energy of believers in a lost cause. I respect them, want to put my arms around them, regard Michael as their ablest defender, but in the end believe that this is a nation of citizens rather than Christians.

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