The Life of Rev. David Brainerd Chiefly Extracted from His Diary

By David Brainerd, Edited by Jonathan Edwards

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THE

LIFE

OF

REV. DAVID BRAINERD,

CHIEFLY EXTRACTED FROM HIS DIARY.

BY PRESIDENT EDWARDS.

SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED.

EMBRACING,

IN THE CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

BRAINERD’S PUBLIC JOURNAL

OF THE

MOST SUCCESSFUL YEAR

OF HIS

MISSIONARY LABORS.

PUBLISHED BY THE

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY,

It is a striking characteristic of the life of BRAINERD, from the time of his entering on the study of Theology till his death, that he _daily_ “walked with God,” or mourned the absence of the light of his countenance. President Edwards has endeavored to exhibit the state of his mind _each day_, as described in his diary. In this edition, many passages thus inserted by Edwards, especially such as much resembled those preceding or following, have been omitted.

CONTENTS

Page.

President Edwards’ Preface 5

CHAP I.—From his birth to the time when he began to study for the 9 ministry—containing his own narrative of his conversion, his connection with Yale College and the grounds of his expulsion

CHAP. II.—From about the time when he began the study of 32 theology, till he was licensed to preach

CHAP. III.—From his being licensed to preach, till he was 45 commissioned as a missionary

CHAP. IV.—From his appointment as a missionary, to his commencing 52 his mission among the Indians at Kaunaumeek, in New-York

CHAP. V.—His labors for nearly a year at Kaunaumeek—temporal 61 deprivations and sufferings—establishes a school—confession offered to the Faculty of Yale College—days of fasting—methods of instructing the Indians—visit to New-Jersey and Connecticut—commencement of labor among the Indians at the Forks of Delaware—ordination

CHAP. VI.—Labors for the Indians at and near the Forks of 95 Delaware—idolatrous feast and dance—journey through the wilderness to Opeholhaupung, on the Susquehanna—erects a cottage at the Forks of Delaware—some evidences of a work of the Spirit among the Indians—journey to New-England, to obtain funds to support a colleague—visit to the Indians on the Susquehanna—journey to Crossweeksung, in New-Jersey

CHAP. VII.—Being Part I. of his public Journal of “the Rise and 132 Progress of a remarkable Work of Grace among the Indians in New-Jersey and Pennsylvania; kept by order of the Society in Scotland for propagating Christian Knowledge”—commencement of his labors at Crossweeksung—renewal of labor at the Forks of Delaware—conversion of his interpreter—return to Crossweeksung—outpouring of the Spirit—visit to the Forks of Delaware and the Susquehanna—a powaw—a conjurer—renewal of labor at Crossweeksung—remarks on the work of divine grace

CHAP. VIII.—Being Part II. of his public Journal of “the 194 Continuance and Progress of a Remarkable Work of Grace among the Indians in New-Jersey and Pennsylvania; kept by order of the Society in Scotland for propagating Christian Knowledge”—renewal of labor at Crossweeksung—outpouring of the Spirit—remarkable case—signal displays of divine power—a convert—a number of Christian Indians accompany him to the Forks of Delaware—striking conversion at Crossweeksung—day of fasting—Lord’s supper—conversion of a conjurer—general remarks on the preceding narrative

CHAP. IX.—From the close of his public Journal, June 19, 1746, to 278 his death, October 9, 1747—continuance of labor at Crossweeksung and Cranberry—journey with six Christian Indians to the Susquehanna, and labors there—return to Crossweeksung—compelled by prostration of health to leave the Indians—confinement by sickness at Elizabethtown—farewell visit to the Indians—his brother John succeeds him as a missionary—arrival among his friends in Connecticut—visit to President Edwards, in Northampton—journey to Boston, where he is brought near to death—usefulness in Boston—return to Northampton—triumphs of grace in his last sickness—death

CHAP. X.—Reflections on the preceding memoir 345

FROM PRESIDENT EDWARDS’ PREFACE.

There is one thing, easily discernible in the life of BRAINERD, which by many may be considered an objection to the extraordinary evidences of his religion and devotion, viz. that he was, _by his constitution and natural temper, so prone to melancholy and dejection of Spirit_. There are some who think that all religion is a melancholy thing; and that what is called Christian experience is little else beside melancholy, disturbing the brain, and exciting enthusiastic imaginations. But that Brainerd’s temper or constitution inclined him to despondency, is no just ground for supposing that his extraordinary _devotion_ was only the fruit of a warm imagination. Notwithstanding this inclination to despondency, he was evidently one of those who usually are the farthest from a teeming imagination; being of a penetrating genius, of clear thought, of close reasoning, and a very exact judgment; as was apparent to all who knew him. As he had a great insight into human nature, and was very discerning and judicious in general; so he excelled in his judgment and knowledge in divinity, but especially in experimental religion. He most accurately distinguished between real, solid piety, and enthusiasm; between those affections that are rational and scriptural, having their foundation in light and judgment, and those that are founded in whimsical conceits, strong impressions on the imagination, and vehement emotions of the animal spirits. He was exceedingly sensible of men’s exposure to these things; how extensively they had prevailed, and what multitudes had been deceived by them; of their pernicious consequences, and the fearful mischief they had done in the Christian world. He had no confidence in such a religion, and was abundant in bearing testimony against it, living and dying; and was quick to discern when any thing of that nature arose, though in its first buddings, and appearing under the most fair and plausible disguises. He had a talent, which I scarcely ever knew equalled, for describing the various workings of this _imaginary enthusiastic_ religion, evincing its falseness and vanity, and demonstrating the great difference between this and true _spiritual_ devotion.

His judiciousness did not only appear in distinguishing among the experiences of _others_, but also among the various exercises of _his own mind_; particularly in discerning what within himself was to be laid to the score of _melancholy_; in which he exceeded all melancholy persons that ever I was acquainted with. This was doubtless owing to a peculiar strength in his _judgment_; for it is a rare thing indeed, that persons under the influence of melancholy are sensible of their own disease, and convinced that such things are to be ascribed to it, as are its genuine operations and fruits. Brainerd did not obtain that degree of skill at once, but gradually; as the reader may discern by the following account of his life. In the _former_ part of his religious course, he imputed much of that kind of gloominess of mind to spiritual _desertion_, which in the latter part of his life he was abundantly sensible was owing to the disease of _melancholy_; accordingly he often expressly speaks of it in his diary, as arising from this cause. He often in conversation spoke of the difference between melancholy and godly sorrow; between true humiliation and spiritual desertion; and the great danger of mistaking the one for the other, and the very hurtful nature of melancholy; discoursing with great judgment upon it, and doubtless much more judiciously for what he knew by his own experience.

Another imperfection in Brainerd, which may be observed in the following account of his life, was his being _excessive in his labors_; not taking due care to proportion his fatigues to his strength. Indeed, the seeming calls of Providence were very often such as made it extremely difficult for him to avoid laboring beyond his strength; yea, his circumstances, and the business of his mission among the Indians, were such, that great fatigues and hardships were altogether inevitable. However, he was finally convinced that he had erred in this matter, and that he ought to have taken more thorough care, and been more resolute to withstand temptations to such degrees of labor as injured his health; and accordingly he warned his brother, who succeeded him in his mission, to be careful to avoid this error.

Besides the imperfections already mentioned, it is readily allowed that there were some imperfections which ran through his whole life, and were mixed with all his religious affections and exercises; some mixture of what was natural, with that which was spiritual; as it evermore is in the best saints in this world. Doubtless, natural temper had some influence in the religious exercises of Brainerd, as it most apparently had in those of the devout David, and the Apostles Peter, John, and Paul. There was undoubtedly very often some mixture of melancholy with true godly sorrow and real Christian humility; some mixture of the natural fire of youth, with his holy zeal for God; and some influence of natural principles, mixed with grace in various other respects, as it ever was and ever will be with the saints, while on this side heaven. Perhaps none were more sensible of Brainerd’s imperfections than himself; or could distinguish more accurately than he, between what was natural and what was spiritual. It is easy for the judicious reader to observe that his graces ripened, that the religious exercises of his heart became more and more pure, and he more and more distinguishing in his judgment, the longer he lived. He had much to teach and purify him, and he failed not to profit thereby.

Notwithstanding all these imperfections, every pious and judicious reader will readily acknowledge that what is here set before him is a remarkable instance of true and eminent piety, in heart and practice—tending greatly to confirm the reality of vital religion, and the power of godliness; that it is most worthy of imitation, and in many ways calculated to promote the spiritual benefit of the careful observer.

The reader should be aware that what Brainerd wrote in his _diary_, out of which the following account of his life is chiefly taken, was written only for his own private use; and not to obtain honor and applause in the world, nor with any design that the world should ever see it, either while he lived, or after his death; except a few things which he wrote in a dying state, after he had been persuaded, with difficulty, not entirely to suppress all his private writings. He showed himself almost invincibly averse to the publishing of any part of his _diary_ after his death; and when he was thought to be dying at Boston, gave the most strict, peremptory orders to the contrary. But being by some of his friends there, prevailed upon to withdraw so strict and absolute a prohibition, he was finally pleased to yield so far, as that “his papers should be left in my hands, that I might dispose of them as I thought would be most for God’s glory and the interest of religion.”

JONATHAN EDWARDS.

=LIFE=

OF

=REV. DAVID BRAINERD.=

CHAPTER I.

_From his birth to the time when he began to study for the Ministry—containing his own narrative of his conversion, his connection with Yale-College, and the grounds of his expulsion._

April 20, 1718-Feb. 1741.

David Brainerd was born April 20, 1718, at Haddam, Connecticut. His father was Hezekiah Brainerd, Esq. and his mother, Dorothy Hobart, daughter of the Rev. Jeremiah Hobart.

He was the third son of his parents, who had five sons and four daughters. The oldest son was a respectable citizen of Haddam; the second was Rev. Nehemiah Brainerd, a worthy minister in Eastbury, in Connecticut; the fourth, Mr. John Brainerd, who succeeded his brother David as missionary to the Indians, and pastor of the same church of Christian Indians in New-Jersey; and the fifth was Israel, lately student at Yale-College, who died soon after his brother David. Their mother, having lived about five years a widow, died when the subject of this memoir was about fourteen years of age; so that in his youth he was left both fatherless and motherless. The following is the account he has himself given of the first twenty-three years of his life.

“I was from my youth somewhat sober, and inclined to melancholy; but do not remember any thing of conviction of sin, worthy of remark, till I was, I believe, about seven or eight years of age. Then I became concerned for my soul, and terrified at the thoughts of death; and was driven to the performance of religious duties: but it appeared a melancholy business that destroyed my eagerness for play. And though, alas! this religious concern was but short-lived, I sometimes attended secret prayer; and thus lived “without God in the world,” and without much concern, as I remember, till I was above thirteen years of age. In the winter of 1732 I was roused out of this carnal security by, I scarce know what means at first; but was much excited by the prevalence of a mortal sickness in Haddam. I was frequent, constant, and somewhat fervent in prayer; and took delight in reading, especially Mr. JANEWAY’s _Token for Children_. I felt sometimes much melted in the duties of religion, took great delight in the performance of them, and sometimes hoped that I was converted, or at least in a good and hopeful way for heaven and happiness; not knowing what conversion was. The Spirit of God at this time proceeded far with me. I was remarkably dead to the world; my thoughts were almost wholly employed about my soul’s concerns; and I may indeed say, “Almost I was persuaded to be a Christian.” I was also exceedingly distressed and melancholy at the death of my mother, in March, 1732. But afterward my religious concern began to decline, and by degrees I fell back into a considerable degree of security, though I still attended secret prayer.

“About the 15th of April, 1733, I removed from my father’s house to East-Haddam, where I spent four years; but still “without God in the world,” though, for the most part, I went a round of secret duty. I was not much addicted to the company and the amusements of the young; but this I know, that when I did go into such company I never returned with so good a conscience as when I went. It always added new guilt, made me afraid to come to the throne of grace, and spoiled those good frames with which I was wont sometimes to please myself. But, alas! all my good frames were but self-righteousness, not founded on a desire for the glory of God.

“About the end of April, 1737, being full nineteen years of age, I removed to Durham, to work on my farm, and continued about one year; frequently longing after a liberal education. When about twenty years of age I applied myself to study; and was now engaged more than ever in the duties of religion. I became very strict, and watchful over my thoughts, words, and actions; concluded that I must be sober indeed, because I designed to devote myself to the ministry; and _imagined_ that I _did_ dedicate myself to the Lord.

“Sometime in April, 1738, I went to live with Rev. Mr. Fiske, of Haddam, and continued with him during his life. I remember he advised me wholly to abandon young company, and associate myself with grave elderly people; which counsel I followed. My manner of life was now wholly regular, and full of religion, such as it was; for I read my bible more than twice through in less than a year, spent much time every day in prayer and other secret duties, gave great attention to the word preached, and endeavored to my utmost to retain it. So much concerned was I about religion, that I agreed with some young persons to meet privately on Sabbath evenings for religious exercises, and thought myself _sincere_ in these duties; and after our meeting was ended I used to repeat the discourses of the day to myself; recollecting what I could, though sometimes very late at night. I used occasionally on Monday mornings to recollect the same sermons; had sometimes pleasure in religious exercises, and had many thoughts of joining the church. In short, I had a very good _outside_, and rested entirely on my duties, though I was not sensible of it.

“After Mr. Fiske’s death I proceeded in my studies with my brother; was still very constant in religious duties, often wondered at the levity of professors, and lamented their carelessness in religion.—Thus I proceeded a considerable length on a _self-righteous_ foundation; and should have been entirely lost and undone had not the mere mercy of God prevented.

“Sometime in the beginning of winter, 1738, it pleased God, one Sabbath 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 my former good frames presently vanished. From the view which I had of my sin and vileness, I was much distressed all that day, fearing that the vengeance of God would soon overtake me. I was much dejected; kept much alone; and sometimes envied the birds and beasts their happiness, because they were not exposed to eternal misery, as I evidently saw that I was. Thus I lived from day to day, being frequently in great distress: sometimes there appeared mountains before me to obstruct my hopes of mercy; and the work of conversion appeared so great, that I thought I should never be the subject of it. I used, however, to pray and cry to God, and perform other duties with great earnestness; and thus hoped by some means to make the case better.

“Hundreds of times I renounced all pretences of any worth in my duties, as I thought, even while performing them; and often confessed to God that I deserved nothing for the very best of them, but eternal condemnation; yet still I had a secret hope of _recommending_ myself to God by my religious duties. When I prayed affectionately, and my heart seemed in some measure to melt, I hoped that God would be thereby moved to pity me. There was, then, some appearance of _goodness_ in my prayers, and I seemed to _mourn_ for sin. I could in some measure venture on the mercy of God in Christ, as I thought; though the preponderating thought, the foundation of my hope was some imagination of goodness in my meltings of heart, the warmth of my affections, and my extraordinary enlargements in prayer. Though at times the gate appeared so very strait that it looked next to impossible to enter; yet, at other times I flattered myself that it was not so very difficult, and hoped I should by diligence and watchfulness soon gain the point. Sometimes after enlargement in duty and considerable affection, I hoped I had made a _good step_ toward heaven, and imagined that God was affected as I was, and would hear such _sincere cries_, as I called them. And so sometimes, when I withdrew for secret prayer in great distress, I returned comfortable; and thus healed myself with my duties.

“In February, 1739, I set apart a day for secret fasting and prayer, and spent the day in almost incessant cries to God for mercy, that he would open my eyes to see the evil of sin, and the way of life by Jesus Christ. God was pleased that day to make considerable discoveries of my heart to me. Still I _trusted_ in all the duties I performed, though there was no manner of goodness in them; there being in them no respect to the glory of God, nor any such principle in my heart. Yet God was pleased to make my endeavors, that day, a means to show me my helplessness in some measure.

“Sometimes I was greatly encouraged, and imagined that God loved me and was pleased with me, and thought I should soon be fully reconciled to God. But the whole was founded on mere presumption, arising from enlargement in duty, or warmth of affections, or some good resolutions, or the like. And when, at times, great distress began to arise on a sight of my vileness and inability to deliver myself from a sovereign God, I used to put off the discovery, as what I could not bear. Once, I remember, a terrible pang of distress seized me; and the thought of renouncing myself, and standing naked before God, stripped of all goodness, was so dreadful to me that I was ready to say to it, as Felix to Paul, “Go thy way for this time.” Thus, though I daily longed for greater conviction of sin; supposing that I must see more of my dreadful state in order to a remedy; yet, when the discoveries of my vile, wicked heart were made to me, the sight was so dreadful, and showed me so plainly my exposedness to damnation, that I could not endure it. I constantly strove after whatever _qualifications_ I imagined others obtained before the reception of Christ, in order to _recommend_ me to his favor. Sometimes I felt the power of a 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. Hence, when my distress still remained I was wont to murmur at God’s dealings with me; and thought, when others felt their hearts softened, God showed them mercy; but my distress remained still.

“At times I grew remiss and sluggish, without any great convictions of sin, for a considerable time together; but after such a season convictions sometimes seized me more violently. One night I remember in particular, when I was walking solitarily abroad, I had opened to me such a view of my sin that I feared the ground would cleave asunder under my feet, and become my grave; and send my soul quick into hell, before I could get home. Though I was forced to go to bed, lest my distress should be discovered by others, which I much feared; yet I scarcely durst sleep at all, for I thought it would be a great wonder if I should be out of hell in the morning. And though my distress was sometimes thus great, yet I greatly dreaded the loss of _convictions_, and returning back to a state of carnal security, and to my former insensibility of impending wrath; which made me exceedingly exact in my behaviour, lest I should stifle the motions of God’s Holy Spirit. When at any time I took a view of my convictions, and thought the degree of them to be considerable, I was wont to trust in them; but this confidence, and the hope of soon making some notable advances toward deliverance, would ease my mind, and I soon became more senseless and remiss. Again, when I discerned my convictions to grow languid, and thought them about to leave me, this immediately alarmed and distressed me. Sometimes I expected to take a large step, and get very far toward conversion, by some particular opportunity or means I had in view.

“The many disappointments, the great distress and perplexity which I experienced, put me into a most horrible frame of contesting with the almighty; with inward vehemence and virulence finding fault with his ways of dealing with mankind. My wicked heart often wished for some other way of salvation than by Jesus Christ. Being like the troubled sea, my thoughts confused, I used to contrive to escape the wrath of God by some other means. I had strange projects, full of Atheism, contriving to disappoint God’s designs and decrees concerning me, or to escape his notice and hide myself from him. But when upon reflection I saw these projects were vain, and would not serve me, and that I could contrive nothing for my own relief, this would throw my mind into the most horrid frame, to wish there was no God, or to wish there was some _other_ God that could control him. These thoughts and desires were the secret inclinations of my heart, frequently acting before I was aware; but, alas! they were _mine_, although I was frightened when I came to reflect on them. When I considered, it distressed me to think that my heart was so full of enmity against God; and it made me tremble, lest his vengeance should suddenly fall upon me. I used before to imagine that my heart was not so bad as the Scriptures and some other books represented it. Sometimes I used to take much pains to work it up into a good frame, a humble submissive disposition; and hoped there was _then_ some goodness in me. 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 I had so watched over and hoped I had brought to a good frame, that it would break over all bounds, and burst forth on all sides, like floods of waters when they break down their dam.

“Being sensible of the necessity of deep humiliation in order to a saving close with Christ, I used to set myself to produce in my own heart the _convictions_ requisite in such a humiliation: as, a conviction that God would be just, if he cast me off for ever; that if ever God should bestow mercy on me, it would be mere grace, though I should be in distress many years first, and be never so much engaged in duty; and that God was not in the least obliged to pity me the more for all past duties, cries, and tears. I strove to my utmost to bring myself to a firm belief of these things and a hearty assent to them; and hoped that now I was brought off from _myself_, truly humbled, and that I bowed to the divine sovereignty. I was wont to tell God in my prayers, that now I had those very dispositions of soul which he required, and on which he showed mercy to others, and thereupon to beg and plead for mercy to me. But when I found no relief, and was still oppressed with guilt and fears of wrath, my soul was in a tumult, and my heart rose against God, as dealing hardly with me. Yet _then_ my conscience flew in my face, putting me in mind of my late confession to God of his _justice_ in my condemnation. This, giving me a sight of the badness of my heart, threw me again into distress; and I wished that I had watched my heart more narrowly, to keep it from breaking out against God’s dealings with me. I even wished that I had not pleaded for mercy on account of my humiliation; because thereby I had lost all my seeming goodness. Thus, scores of times I vainly imagined myself humbled and prepared for saving mercy. While I was in this distressed, bewildered, and tumultuous state of mind, the corruption of my heart was especially _irritated_ with the following things.