An EXTRACT of the LIFE
OF THE LATE
Rev. Mr. David Brainerd,
Missionary to the Indians.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THOSE parts of the following history that are included between brackets thus [ ], are the words of the publisher, Mr. Jonathan Edwards, minister of Northampton in New-England, for the most part summarily representing the chief things contained in Mr. Brainerd’s diary: the rest is the account that he gives of himself in his private writings, in his own words.
PART I.
From his birth to the time when he began to devote himself to the study of divinity.
[MR. David Brainerd was born April 20, 1718, at Haddam, a town belonging to the county of Hartford, in the colony of Connecticut, New-England. His father, who died when he was about nine years of age, was the worshipful Hezekiah Brainerd, Esq. one of his Majesty’s council for that colony, and the son of Daniel Brainerd, Esq. a justice of the peace, and a deacon of the church in Haddam. His mother was Mrs. Dorothy Hobart, daughter to the Rev. Mr. Jeremiah Hobart, who preached awhile at Topsfield, and then removed to Hempstead, on Long-Island, and afterwards came and settled in the work of the ♦ministry at Haddam; where he died in the 85th year of his age; of whom it is remarkable, that he went to the public worship in the forenoon, and died in his chair between meetings.
Mr. David Brainerd was the third son of his parents. They had five sons and four daughters. The eldest son is Hezekiah Brainerd, Esq. a justice of the peace, and for several years past a representative of the town of Haddam, in the general assembly of Connecticut colony; the second was the Rev. Nehemiah Brainerd, a worthy minister at Eastbury in Connecticut, who died of a consumption November 10, 1742; the 4th is Mr. John Brainerd, who succeeds his brother David as missionary to the Indians, and pastor of the same church of Christian Indians in New-Jersey; and the 5th was Israel, late student at Yale-college in New-Haven, who died since his brother David.—Mrs. Dorothy Brainerd having lived several years a widow, died when her son David was about 14 years of age: so that in his youth he was left both fatherless and motherless. What account he has given of himself follows.]
I WAS from my youth something sober and inclined to melancholy, but do not remember any conviction of sin, till I was seven or eight years of age; when I grew terrified at the thoughts of death, but this concern was short lived. However, I sometimes attended secret prayer; and thus lived at ease till I was above thirteen years of age. But in the winter 1732, I was something roused by the prevailing of a mortal sickness in Haddam. I was frequent, constant, and something fervent in duties, and took delight in reading, especially Mr. Janeway’s Token for Children; I was sometimes much melted in duties, and took great delight in the performance of them. The Spirit of God at this time proceeded far with me; I was remarkably dead to the world, and my thoughts were almost wholly employed about my soul’s concerns! I may indeed say, “Almost I was persuaded to be a Christian.” I was also exceedingly distressed at the death of my mother, in March, 1732. But afterwards I by degrees fell back into security, though I still attended to secret prayer.
About the 15th of April 1733, I removed to East-Haddam, where I spent four years. Here I went a round of secret duty. I was not much addicted to young company: but when I did go into it, it always added new guilt to me, and made me afraid to come to the throne of grace.
About the latter end of April 1737, being full nineteen, I removed to Durham, and began to work on my farm, and so continued till I was twenty years old; tho’ frequently longing after a liberal education. When I was about twenty, I applied myself to study, and was engaged more than ever in the duties of religion. I became very watchful over my thoughts, words and actions, because I designed to devote myself to the ministry.
Some time in April 1738, I went to Mr. Fiske’s, and lived with him during his life¹. He advised me wholly to abandon young company, and associate myself with grave elderly people: which counsel I followed; and my manner of life was now exceeding regular. I read my bible more than twice through in less than a year. I spent much time every day in secret-duties; I gave great attention to the word preached, and endeavoured to retain it. I agreed with some young persons to meet on sabbath-evenings for religious exercises; and after our meeting was ended, I used to repeat the discourses of the day to myself, though sometimes it was late in the night. On Monday mornings I used to recollect the same sermons. And I had sometimes considerable movings of affections in duties, and much pleasure therein.
After Mr. Fiske’s death, I proceeded in my learning with my brother, and was still very constant in religious duties. Thus I proceeded on a self-righteous foundation;¹ and should still had not the mere mercy of God prevented.
In the beginning of winter, 1738, it pleased God one sabbath-day morning, as I was walking out for secret duties, to give me on a sudden, such a sense of my danger, and the wrath of God, that I stood amazed, and was much distressed all that day, fearing the vengeance of God would soon overtake me. I kept much alone, and sometimes grudged the birds and beasts their happiness, because they were not exposed to eternal misery, as I saw I was. And thus I lived from day to day, in great distress: sometimes there appeared mountains before me to obstruct my hopes of mercy; I used, however to pray and cry to God, and perform other duties with great earnestness.
In February, 1738–9, I set apart a day for secret fasting and prayer, and spent the day in almost incessant cries to God, that he would open my eyes to see the evil of sin, and the way of life by Jesus Christ. And God was pleased that day to make considerable discoveries of my heart to me, and to shew me my helplessness. I constantly strove after whatever qualifications I imagined others obtained before the reception of Christ. Sometimes I felt the power of an hard heart, and supposed it must be softened before Christ would accept of me; and when I felt any meltings of heart, I hoped now the work was almost done; and hence, when my distress still remained, I was wont to murmur at God’s dealings with me.
*Sometimes I grew remiss without any great convictions for a considerable time together; but after such a season, convictions seized me more violently. One night in particular, when I was walking solitarily abroad, I had such a view of my sin, that I feared the ground would cleave asunder, and send my soul quick into hell. And though I was forced to go to bed, lest my distress should be discovered by others; yet I scarce durst sleep at all, for I thought it would be a great wonder, if I should be out of hell in the morning. But though my distress was thus great, yet I dreaded the loss of convictions, and returning back to my former insensibility; which made me exceeding exact in my behaviour, lest I should stifle the motions of God’s spirit.
The many distresses I met with, put me into a most horrible contesting with the Almighty: with an inward vehemence, finding fault with his ways of dealing with mankind. I found great fault with the imputation of Adam’s sin to his posterity; and my wicked heart often wished for some other way of salvation, than by Jesus Christ. I wished sometimes there was no God, or that there were some other God that could controul him. These thoughts frequently passed before I was aware; but, when I considered this, it distressed me, to think, that my heart was so full of enmity against God; and it made me tremble, lest God’s vengeance should suddenly fall upon me. I used before, to imagine my heart was not so bad, as the scriptures represented. Sometimes I used to take much pains to bring it into an humble submissive disposition; but on a sudden, the thoughts of the strictness of the law, or the sovereignty of God, would so irritate the corruption of my heart, that it would break over all bounds, and burst forth on all sides, like floods of waters when they break down their damm.
While I was in this distressed state, the corruption of my heart was especially irritated by these things following,
1. The strictness of the divine law. For I found it was impossible for me (after my utmost pains) to answer the demands of it. I often made resolutions, and as often broke them. I imputed the whole to want of being more watchful, and used to call myself a fool for my negligence. But when, upon a stronger resolution, and greater endeavours, fasting and prayer, I found all attempts fail, then I quarrelled with the law of God, as unreasonably rigid. I thought, if it extended only to my outward actions, I could bear with it; but I found it condemned me for the sins of my heart, which I could not possibly prevent. I was extremely loath to give out, and own my utter helplessness; but after repeated disappointments, thought that, rather than perish, I could do a little more still, especially if such and such circumstances might but attend my endeavours; I hoped, that I should strive more earnestly than ever: and this hope of future more favourable circumstances, and of doing something hereafter, kept me from utter despair of myself, and from seeing myself fallen into the hands of God, and dependent on nothing but boundless grace.
*2. Another thing was, that faith alone was the condition of salvation; and that God would not come down to lower terms; that he would not promise life and salvation upon my sincere prayers and endeavours. That word, Mark xvi. 16. “He that believeth not, shall be damned,” cut off all hope there; and I found, faith was the gift of God; that I could not get it of myself, and could not oblige God to bestow it upon me, by any of my performances. “This,” I was ready to say, “is a hard saying, who can bear it?” I could not bear, that all I had done should stand for a mere nothing, who had been very conscientious in duty, and had been exceeding religious a great while, and had (as I thought) done much more than many others that had obtained mercy. I confessed indeed the vileness of my duties; but then, what made them at that time seem vile, was my wandering thoughts in them; not because I was all over defiled, and the principle corrupt from whence they flowed, so that I could not possibly do any thing that was good. And therefore I called what I did, by the name of faithful endeavours; and could not bear it, that God had made no promises of salvation to them.
*3. Another thing was, that I could not find out how to come to Christ. I read the calls of Christ, made to the weary and heavy laden; but could find no way that he directed them to come in. I thought I would gladly come, if I knew how, though the path of duty directed to what was never so difficult. Mr. Stoddard’s Guide to Christ did not tell me any thing I could do, that would bring me to Christ, but left me as it were with a great gulph between me and Christ, without any direction to get through. For I was not yet experimentally taught, that there could be no way prescribed, whereby a natural man could of his own strength, obtain that which is supernatural, and which the highest angel cannot give.
*All this time the Spirit of God was powerfully at work with me; and I was inwardly pressed to relinquish all self-confidence, all hopes of ever helping myself by any means whatsoever; and the conviction of my lost estate was sometimes so clear, that it was as if it had been declared to me in so many words, “It is done, it is for ever impossible to deliver yourself.” For about three or four days, my soul was thus distressed, especially at some turns, when for a few moments I seemed to myself lost and undone: but then would shrink back immediately from the sight, because I dared not venture myself into the hands of God, as wholly helpless. I dared not see that important truth, that I was dead in trespasses and sins. But when I had thrust away these views of myself at any time, I was distressed to have the same discoveries again: for I greatly feared being given over of God to final stupidity. When I thought of putting it off to a more convenient season, the conviction was so powerful with regard to the present time, that it was the best time, and probably the only time, that I dared not to put it off. Yet my soul shrank away from it; I could see no safety in throwing myself into the hands of God, and that I could lay no claim to any thing better than damnation.
*But after a considerable time spent in such distresses, one morning, while I was walking in a solitary place, as usual, I at once saw that all my contrivances to procure salvation for myself, were utterly in vain: I was brought quite to a stand as finding myself totally lost. I had thought many times, that the difficulties were very great; but now I saw, that it was for ever impossible for me to do any thing towards delivering myself. I then blamed myself, that I had not done more, while I had opportunity; (for it seemed now as if the season of doing was for ever over and gone.) But I instantly saw, that let me have done what I would, it would no more have tended to my helping myself, than what I had done; that I had made all the pleas I ever could have made to all eternity; and that all my pleas were vain. The tumult that had been before in my mind, was now quieted; and I was something eased of that distress, which I felt, while struggling against a sight of myself. I had the greatest certainty that my state was forever miserable, for all that I could do: and was astonished that I had never been sensible of it before.
While I remained in this state, my notions respecting my duties, were quite different from what I had ever entertained in times past. Now I saw, there was no necessary connection between my prayers and the divine mercy: that they laid not the least obligation upon God to bestow his grace upon me; and that there was no more goodness in them, than there would be in my paddling with my hand in the water; and this because they were not performed from any love to God. I saw that I had heaped up my devotions before God, fasting, praying, &c. really thinking I was aiming at the glory of God; whereas I never once truly intended it.¹
I continued in this state of mind from Friday morning till the sabbath-evening following, July 12, 1739, when I was walking again in the same solitary place, and attempting to pray, but found no heart to engage in that or any other duty. Having been thus endeavouring to pray for near half an hour, (and by this time the sun was about half an hour high) as I was walking in a dark thick grove, unspeakable glory opened to the view of my soul: I do not mean any external brightness, but a new inward apprehension or view that I had of God, such as I never had before. I stood still and admired! I had never seen before any thing comparable to it for excellency and beauty; it was widely different from all the conceptions that ever I had of God, or things divine. I had no particular apprehension of any one person in the Trinity, either the Father, the Son, or the Holy Ghost; but it appeared to be divine glory that I then beheld; and my soul ♦rejoiced with joy unspeakable, to see such a God, such a glorious divine being; and I was inwardly pleased and satisfied, that he should be God over all for ever and ever. My soul was so captivated and delighted with the excellency, loveliness, greatness, and other perfections of God, that I was even swallowed up in him, so that at first, I scarce reflected there was such a creature as myself.
Thus God, brought me to a hearty disposition to exalt him, and to aim at his glory, as King of the universe.
I continued in this state till near dark, without any sensible abatement; and then began to think what I had seen; and was sweetly composed all the evening following. I felt myself in a new world, and every thing about me appeared with a different aspect from what it was wont to do.
*At this time the way of salvation opened to me with such infinite wisdom and excellency, that I wondered I should ever think of any other way of salvation; was amazed, that I had not dropped my own contrivances, and complied with this excellent way before. If I could have been saved by my own duties, or any other way that I had formerly contrived, my whole soul would now have refused. I wondered, that the whole world did not see and comply with this way of salvation, entirely by the merits of Christ.
The sweet relish of what I then felt, continued with me for several days, in a greater or less degree; I could not but sweetly rejoice in God, lying down or rising up. The next Lord’s day I felt something of the same kind, though not so powerful. But not long after, was again under great distress; yet not of the same kind with my distress under convictions. I was afraid and ashamed to come before God; was exceedingly pressed with a sense of guilt: but it was not long before I felt true repentance and joy in God.
In the beginning of September I went to college¹, and entered there; but with some degree of reluctance, fearing lest I should not be able to lead a life of strict religion, in the midst of so many temptations.——After this, before, I went to tarry at college, it pleased God to visit my soul with clearer manifestations of himself in prayer and self-examination; and the Lord so shined into my heart, that I enjoyed full assurance of his favour; and my soul was unspeakably refreshed. At this time especially, as well as some others, sundry passages of God’s word opened to my soul with divine clearness, power and sweetness, so as to appear exceeding precious, and with clear and certain evidence of its being the word of God. I enjoyed considerable sweetness in ♦religion all the winter following.
In January 1739–40, the measles spread much in college; and I having taken the distemper, went home to Haddam. For some days before I was taken sick, my soul mourned the absence of the Comforter: it seemed to me, all comfort was gone; I cried to God, yet found no relief. But a night or two before I was taken ill, while I was walking alone, engaged in meditation and prayer, I enjoyed a sweet, refreshing visit from above, so that my soul was raised far above the fears of death; O how much more refreshing this one season was than all the pleasures earth can afford! After a day or two I was taken with the measles, and almost despaired of life; but had no distressing fears of death. However, I soon recovered: yet by reason of hard studies, I had little time for spiritual duties; my soul often mourned for want of more time and opportunity to be alone with God. In the spring and summer following, I had better advantage for retirement and enjoyed more comfort: indeed my ambition in my studies greatly wronged the vigour of my spiritual life: yet “in the multitude of my thoughts within me, God’s comforts delighted my soul.”
One day in particular, (June 1740) I walked in the fields alone, and found such unspeakable sweetness in God, that I thought, if I must continue still in this evil world, I wanted always to be there to behold God’s glory: my soul dearly loved all mankind, and longed exceedingly that they should enjoy what I enjoyed.—It seemed to be a little resemblance of heaven.
In August following, I became so disordered, by too close application to my studies, that I was advised to go home, and disengage my mind from study, for I began to spit blood. I took advice, but being brought very low, I looked death in the face more stedfastly. The Lord was pleased to give me a sweet relish of divine things, and my soul took delight in the blessed God.
*Saturday, October 18. In my morning devotions, my soul was exceedingly melted for, and bitterly mourned over, my exceeding sinfulness and vileness. I never before felt so deep a sense of the odious nature of sin. My soul was unusually carried forth in love to God, and had a lively sense of God’s love to me. And this love and hope, cast out fear.
*October 19. In the morning I felt my soul hungering and thirsting after righteousness. In the forenoon, while I was looking on the sacramental elements, and thinking that Jesus Christ would soon be “set forth crucified before me,” my soul was filled with light and love, so that I was almost in an ecstasy; my body was so weak, I could scarcely stand. I felt at the same time an exceeding tenderness and most fervent love towards all mankind; so that my soul and all the powers of it seemed, as it were, to melt into softness and sweetness. This love and joy cast out fear; and my soul longed for perfect grace and glory.
*Tuesday, October 21. I had likewise experience of the goodness of God in “shedding abroad his love in my heart,” and all the remaining part of the week, my soul was taken up with divine things. I now so longed after God, and to be freed from sin, that when I felt myself recovering, and thought I must return to college again, which had proved so hurtful to me the year past, I could not but be grieved, and I thought I had much rather have died; but before I went, I enjoyed several other sweet and precious seasons of communion with God.
I returned to college about November 6, and through the goodness of God, felt the power of religion almost daily.
November 28. I enjoyed precious discoveries of God, and was unspeakably refreshed with that passage, Hebrews xii. 22, 23, 24, so that my soul longed to wing away for the paradise of God; I longed to be conformed to God in all things.
Tuesday, December 9. God was pleased wonderfully to assist and strengthen me; so that I thought nothing should ever move me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.—O! one hour with God infinitely exceeds all the pleasures of this lower world.
Towards the latter end of January, 1740–41, I grew more cold and dull in matters of religion, by means of my old temptation, ambition in my studies.—But through divine goodness, a great and general awakening spread itself over the college, about the latter end of February, in which I was much quickened, and more abundantly engaged in religion.
[This awakening was at the beginning of that extraordinary religious commotion through the land, which is fresh in every one’s memory. This awakening was for a time very great and general at New-Haven; and the college had no small share in it: the students in general became serious, many of them remarkably so, and much engaged in the concerns of their eternal salvation.
It could not be otherwise than that one whose heart had been so drawn to God, should be mightily animated, at the sight of such an alteration in the college, the town, and land; of mens reforming their lives, and turning from profaneness and immorality, to seriousness and concern for their salvation, and of religion’s reviving and flourishing almost every where. But as an intemperate zeal, soon mingled itself with that revival of religion: so Mr. Brainerd had the unhappiness to have a tincture of it. One instance of which it is necessary should be related.
In the time of the awakening at college, several students associated themselves, who were wont freely to open themselves one to another: Mr. Brainerd was one of this company. And it once happened, that he and two or three more of these his intimate friends were in the hall together, after Mr. Whittelsey, one of the tutors, had been to prayer there with the scholars; no other person now remaining in the hall, but Mr. Brainerd and these his companions. Mr. Whittelsey having been unusually pathetical in his prayer, one of Brainerd’s friends asked him what he thought of Mr. Whittelsey; he made answer, “He has no more grace than this chair.” One happening at that time to be near the hall over-heard those words, though he knew not who the person was, which was thus censured. He informed a woman who went and informed the rector. He sent for the man and examined him; and he told the rector the words that he heard Brainerd utter, and informed him who were in the room with him at that time. Upon which the rector sent for them: they were very backward to inform against their friend, of what they looked upon as private conversation, yet the rector compelled them to declare what he said, and of whom he said it.—Brainerd thought, that what he said in private, was injuriously extorted from his friends, and that it was injuriously required of him to make a public confession, before the whole college, for what he had said only in private conversation.—He not complying with this demand, and having gone once to the separate meeting at New-Haven, when forbidden by the rector, was expelled the college.
His expulsion was in the winter anno 1741–2, while he was in his third year in college.]