The God Machine Read Online Free PDF

delicate white hands that quivered like a pair of cabbage butterflies before him as he talked, Penn sported a long snow-white wig and a blue velvet coat with a gold-colored waistcoat beneath. He was chatting with Presbyterian Church Elder Jedediah Andrews, when he turned abruptly and pointed at a pair of outbuildings at the far end of the garden.
    “They're what my father called the Bake and Brew,” he said. “Where the cooks turn out roasts and meat pies. That's also where they wash the clothes, and there's a brewery t'other side. But, as you can see, they're in desperate need of repair. Juliana and I don't venture out to Pennsbury very often anymore. And those,” he pointed at another collection of outbuildings, “the joiner's shop; the ice house and plantation office, where my steward directs the labor of the manor; the smokehouse and woodshed.”
    “It's charming,” Church Elder Jedediah Andrews said. “Quite charming.” He waved his arm across the rows and rows of flowers and herbs, the lavender and lemon balm, spearmint and basil, pink foxglove and cream-colored columbine. A short man, slightly stooped, with a long pointed nose and gold spectacles, Andrews wore a seedy black tricorne over an oily gray wig that seemed molded about his head like melted candle wax. His frock coat was so long it dragged across the gravel pathways of the garden as he hobbled to and fro with the help of an old hickory cane. An invitation to the Proprietor's house, the master of all Pennsylvania, was a coveted thing, and Andrews was acting accordingly.
    “My father thought so,” said Penn. “But I'm inclined to be rid of the place. Who can stand the five-hour journey by barge from the city? It's simply too far. And the mosquitoes, the humidity…” He stopped, shook his head, looking back at the two-story mansion. “My father loved it, and the people of Pennsylvania loved him, but his Quaker generosity left the Penn household finances in a state of… What's the word?
Disarray
. Let's leave it at that. If one of your parishioners might be interested in the property, by all means, let me know.”
    “About this Hemphill affair,” Andrews said. “These fringe churches and preachers are dangerous, Proprietor. They incite the basest elements in all the new immigrants. It's bad enough we're surrounded by heathens. And now this Jonathan Edwards with his Evangelical Congregationalism. Great Awakening, indeed! Speaking in tongues and…”
    Penn sighed. “What happened with Hemphill?”
    Samuel Hemphill was a young preacher from Ireland who had come to Philadelphia in 1734 to work as deputy at the Presbyterian Church. It was a time of great religious revival, of fervent evangelism, known as theGreat Awakening, fomented by preachers like Jonathan Edwards. More interested in preaching about morality than Calvinist doctrines, Hemphill too started drawing large crowds. But the dearth of dogma in his sermons didn't endear him to church elders like Andrews. Hemphill was brought before the synod on charges of heresy. Then, an unexpected champion appeared at his side, defending his freedom to preach—Benjamin Franklin.
    In reality, few things could have been further from Franklin's theology, Penn thought, than the “terror” sermons of Jonathan Edwards and the other Protestant traditionalists who were whipping up congregations into convulsive conversions. While Edwards and the Great Awakeners sought to reconnect the colonists to the spirituality of Puritanism, Franklin claimed he wanted to bring America into an era of so-called Enlightenment, exalting rationality and reason over faith; pluck and personal merit over class distinctions; tolerance, good deeds and civic duty over dogma. Dangerous concepts to the monarchy. And to the established Churches as well. Hemphill was doctrinally pure by insisting salvation came only through grace. But he was also heavily involved in charitable work. It was this practical manifestation of his faith that