NARRATOR : The earnest seeker and hopeful discoverer of this new world always haunts the outskirts of his or her time. Our history is written in the lives of such individuals.
Henry Ward Beecher emerged from Amherst and Lane Seminary as one of the more promising Beecher sons, though his career started slowly. The Beecher family was hardly surprised at anything about Henry. He was bashful throughout his childhood, yet he also showed independence of mind, even to his father.

HENRY : I know you’re plagued good at twisting. But if you can twist your creed onto the Westminster Confession you can twist better than I think you can.

LYMAN : All my children are smart, and one of them is impudent.

NARRATOR : Henry had been Lyman Beecher’s constant companion on travels to Pittsburgh and all around. He’d been one of very few left at Lane when the senior class had defected over the right to speak out on slavery—after all, his father was president.
Despite his habit of rebelliousness at any constraint, Henry Ward Beecher was ordained, and he received a subsidy from the Home Missionary Society, which had sent many young men of the East into what it regarded as the spiritual desert of the Ohio Valley. His first post was Lawrenceburgh, Indiana, near Cincinnati.

HENRY : The fact is, I never had any choice about it.

NARRATOR : Lawrenceburgh was a deep disappoinment to Eunice, Henry’s bride—their first home was over a stable. Lawrenceburgh was also disappointed in the new minister—at one point, he resolved to give up preaching and get a farm. Often he would be out fishing or gathering driftwood by the river.

HENRY : The flock which I found gathered in the wilderness consisted of 20 persons. 19 of them were women, and the other was nothing. I remember the days of our poverty, or straitness. I was sexton of my own church at that time. There were no lamps there, so I bought some; and I filled them and lit them. I swept the church, and lighted my own fire. I did not ring the bell, because there was none to ring. I opened the church before prayer-meetings and preaching, and locked it when they were over. I took care of everything connected with the building.

NARRATOR : His early resolves set a direction for his career. He carried out all but one.

HENRY : Remember you can gain men easily if you get round their prejudices and put truth in their minds; but never if you attack prejudices.
My people must be alert to make the church agreeable, to give seats, and wait on strangers.
Secure a large congregation; let this be the first thing.

NARRATOR : On one issue, Henry’s Methodist rival could claim victory.

METHODIST : Mr. Beecher could outpreach me, but I could outvisit him.

NARRATOR : When Henry was invited to a larger church in Indianapolis, he declined to answer at first. After two years of prodding, Henry reluctantly accepted the call to the Second Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis. The state capital had 4,000 people and yellow clay and malaria. The Beecher’s first house was so damp that they both took sick and one child died.
Once in Indianapolis, he did reasonably well in attracting listeners. Henry’s preaching once brought his new congregation to tears. An elder told him they wanted tartar, not sugar, in their sermons. His topics ranged widely to include nudity in art, agricultural chemistry, phrenology, and Macaulay’s histories as well as the Gospel. But with all his success in filling the hall, Henry wanted also to change lives.
As relief from what he regarded as failure with his own congregation, Henry went on horseback to outlying congregations. Whenever possible, he rode out to wilderness camp-meetings, great gatherings of people who sought to recapture the spirit of the great Cumberland wilderness revival of 30 years before. He took back some of that enthusiasm, and roused his congregation—but no to revival pitch.
The work strained him, and he found relief in gardening, and writing for an agricultural gazette.
Just the year before, Henry and Edward Beecher had grappled intellectually in letters with the Campbellite insistence on primitive baptism. But when fellow ministers came around, Henry agreed to a grand union baptism with them, and he himself performed the sprinkling, pouring, or dunking in the White River according to the wishes of each convert. By such actions, Henry Ward Beecher won the respect of many Indiana clergymen. Through his revivals, sometimes three in one year, his fame spread to the East.
By carefully noting everything about revival meetings, he concluded that revivalism was not just a relic of the past, but a powerful expression of of people looking for a new focus of feeling and purpose. He saw that the minister’s duty was to channel this energy by any means available. In his case, this meant preaching.
By 1842, he had learned the trade of revivalist preacher, and was phenomenally successful—outside of Indianapolis.

HENRY : My heart was on fire; and it rained a stream of prayer all the way home from Terre Haute to Indianapolis. It was like an Aurora Borealis, I have no doubt, ray upon ray, for that whole distance, if angels could have seen it.

LYMAN : The revival here under Henry’s administration and preaching was, in the adaptation of means and happy results, one of the most perfectly conducted and delightful that I have ever known.

NARRATOR : He neglected his other pastoral duties to concentrate on his skills as a preacher. Doctrine didn’t interest him much. He began to make a study of the preaching of the Apostles. After the revival meetings, he had a basis for understanding their methods. He would present his truths in modern Hoosier language and examples.

HENRY : First, the Apostles had a foundation of historical truth, common to them and their auditors.
Second, they presented this truth in the form of an intense personal application and appeal.
Third, they spoke simply, in the language of common life.

NARRATOR : In a sermon he gave while visiting Lyman’s Cincinnati church, Henry demanded a new standard of preaching—the original disciples, he said, were like businessmen, not like scholars. They had facts to demonstrate to a skeptical audience.

HENRY : The complaint I utter against learned preaching is not that it is studious—not that it is accurate—but that it has become too dainty to walk among facts and chooses to fly among principles. The person who would work up the gospel to give it dignity is one who would tie ribbons on an oak to make it pretty, would criticize Niagara Falls to give it grace, and suggest amandments to a storm or the thunder of a raging ocean.

NARRATOR : Henry Ward Beecher’s confidence that religious truth could be achieved by anyone regardless of church or doctrine led him toward the idea of awakening human consciousness. This idea was not unlike the Unitarian ideas of William Ellery Channing that earlier had influenced Edward Beecher, and that Lyman Beecher had fought against in Boston.

HENRY : We were plunged into the very center and heat of that great controversy which was raging, in which my father was an eloquent thunderer on one side, and in which Dr. Channing was an eloquent silent man on the other side. Clearly, Dr. Channing was a great man, yet humankind behind him was greater, the time was greater, and the all-informing spirit of God was greater yet.

NARRATOR : In 1842, defeated Presidential candidate Martin Van Buren came to Indianapolis on a tour of the West. Democrats and Whigs alike crowded in to see the former President. Beecher was told that Van Buren intended to come to the Methodist chapel and to the Second Presbyterian Church—his church.

HENRY : He is certainly welcome. There is plenty of room there.

CITIZEN : We thought, possibly, you might like to know that he’s coming as it might make some difference.

HENRY : Oh, no, no difference. I should preach to him just as I would to any other sinner.

NARRATOR : Afterwards, Van Buren’s comments were relayed to Henry.

CITIZEN : Perhaps you would like to hear what the ex-President had to say about your sermon. He said he thought your trousers didn’t set too well

NARRATOR : Henry’s habits of dress were slovenly, haphazard, and altogether for convenience, not for show. Gloves were for severe cold, a dress coat he had none. During gardening season, his knees were often stained. He wore a soft felt hat, or in summer, a straw hat.
In 1843, Henry tried a new departure in his preaching, based on a method that grew out of his own abilities and limitations. If he could not memorize books, he would memorize people.

HENRY : I never hear of the experience of others who are troubled or struggling, or groping their way, that their condition does not instantly present itself as a drama before my eyes and I do not THINK of it, but I SEE it.

NARRATOR : This sense of drama, combined with graphic realism, gave these winter sermons on gambling, dishonesty, idleness, even prostitution, a power that Indianapolis had never heard before. Nor had the rest of the country. When these sermons were published as Seven Lectures for Young Man, the book became a classic, and Henry Ward Beecher’s reputation grew outside Indiana.
In one sermon, Gambling and Gamblers, Henry used realistic descriptions he had gotten by cultivating the acquaintance of a gambler from whom he drew all his details. In four scenes, he graphically described the downfall of a young man. Henry’s use of graphic realism led some to accuse the young pastor himself of profligacy, so accurate were his portrayals. In other sermons the crude sentimentalism of the frontier had an immediate impact on his listeners. A citizen’s committee was organized, driving out of town the worst offenders. At last he was having the effect he desired.
Henry at first was reluctant to have the sermons published because he felt they were inferior, but finally he gave in. Seven Lectures had a large scale in England and America.

HENRY : The daydreams of indolent youth glow each hour with warmer colors and bolder adventures. Mere pleasure, sought outside usefulness, existing by itself, it fraught with poison. Beware also the artful insinuations and mischievous polish which too often lurk in literature.
Laborious occupations are avoided. Money is to be earned by genteel leisure, with the help of fine clothes, and by the soft seductions of smooth hair and luxuriant whiskers.
All your companions have jewelry; you will want a ring, a seal, or a golden watch, or an ebony cane, a silver toothpick, or a quizzing-glass. Thus item presses on item, and you lose all sense of the value of property

NARRATOR : Finally, Henry Ward Beecher had struck home. But then, as if to balance things, he delivered his Dissuasive Against Moral Intolerance—which decried the very system of social morality that he had been building up. He attacked narrowness in sects, by clubs, societies, even political parties.

HENRY : Their authority, usually deemed moral, may be and full often is of the most enslaving kind. Perfect emancipation is effected only when the mind is permitted to form, to express, and to employ its own convictions of truth, on all subjects, as it chooses. The United States is, I believe, the only land in which offensive opinions are MOBBED.

NARRATOR : A more unlikely child to become the forceful preacher Henry Ward Beecher might be hard to find. His sister Harriet, closest to him in age and sentiment, explains.

HARRIET : The childhood of Henry Ward Beecher was unmarked by the possession of a single child’s toy as a gift from any older person, or a single fete.

HENRY : I had from childhood a thickness of speech arising from a large palate, so that when a boy I used to be laughed at for talking as if I had puddding in my mouth. When I went to Amherst, I was fortunate in passing into the hands of John Lovell, a teacher of elocution, and a better teacher for my purpose I cannot conceive. His system consisted in drill, or the thorough practice of inflections by the voice, of gesture, posture, and articulation. Sometimes I was a whole hour practising my voice on a word like ‘‘justice.’’

NARRATOR : It wasn’t long in Lovell’s class before Henry’s progress was noticeable, and much practice enabled him to overcome his embarrassment. He began to take part in plays, and to express his emotions.

HARRIET : Henry had precisely the organization which often passes for dullness. A poor writer, a miserable speller, with thick utterance, and a bashful reticence which seemed like solid stupidity.

HENRY : At intervals I cried and prayed. There was scarcely a retired place in the garden, in the woodhouse, in the carriage-house, or in the barn that was not a scene of my crying and praying. It was piteous that I should be in such a state of mind, and that there should be nobody to help me and lead me out into the light. I do not recollect that to that day one word had been said to me, or one syllable had been uttered in the pulpit, that led me to think there was any mercy in the heart of God for a sinner like me. So I used to live in perpetual fear and dread, and often I wished myself dead.

NARRATOR : Among his influences, Henry credits a black man.

HENRY : I am not ashamed to say that my whole life, my whole career respecting the colored race was largely influenced by the effect produced on my mind, when I was between eight and ten years of age, by a poor old colored man who worked on my father’s farm. He used to lie upon his humble bed (I slept in the same room with him) and read his Testament, unconscious apparently that I was in the room; and he would laugh and talk about what he read, and chuckle over it with that peculiarly unctuous throat-tone which belongs to his race. I never had heard the Bible really read before; but there, in my presence, he read it, and talked about it to himself and to God. He turned the New Testament into living forms right before me. It was a revelation and an impulse to me.

NARRATOR : Charles Beecher was at Lane Theological Seminary about the time Henry was—but Charles despaired of believing Jonathan Edwards on the will, and decided to pursue church music, even though Lyman was disgusted.
For a while, Charles taught music in Cincinnati, but then he took a job with a cotton factor, and traveled for him as far down the river as New Orleans, where he also played as church organist. He married at this time, and started a family—meanwhile observing the world of slavery, the world of plantations known to every black as the hell of being sold down the river.
When he came back, he moved to Indianapolis to help brother Henry with the church music; Henry also got him teaching Sunday school. That’s where he first met Julia Merrill and Elizabeth—Betty—Bates. Julia and Betty took an interest in Charles as they had in Henry. Julia had adopted Henry as her hero, while Betty was drawn to Charles, or so she told Julia.
As Henry Ward Beecher settled into his civic role in Indianapolis, he also took on more of a share in holding the family together. His influence on his brothers was generally positive. Charles Beecher had spent years of wandering in the wilderness of doubt, but through many conversations and simply by watching the example of Henry in action, Charles regained enough faith to reconsider the ministry. Thomas Beecher, after staying with brother Henry in Indianapolis, was convinced to return to Illinois College to complete his senior year; and plans were laid for James to stay with Henry.
Once Charles Beecher finally came out of his cloud of indecision, Henry didn’t give him the time to reconsider. He scheduled Charles for a series of sermons at the Second Presbyterian on the life of Christ—in which Charles characteristically mixed history and mysticism. They were well attended. On August 11, 1843, a Presbytery at the Second Presbyterian Church examined the candidate. Charles passed scrutiny. Thomas wasn’t convinced.

THOMAS : Charles’s mind is not as yet quite at rest upon all points—and I prophesy that it never will be. He is however apparently happy and may become useful.

NARRATOR : Henry and Lyman Beecher were present at the examination of Charles as a candidate. Lyman was seen repeatedly wiping his eyes. After the trial sermon, Henry gave a sermon, and then Dr. Beecher gave the charge to Charles.

LYMAN : My son, this day, much longed for and waited for, has come. You are now a minister of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the pastor of a Church of Christ.
In the view of the coming struggle, I charge thee, before God and the Lord Jesus Christ—
Be strong in thy determined purpose.
Count the cost, and give thyself wholly to thy work.
Preach the Gospel.
Take heed to thyself, to thy body, to thy mind. Take heed to thy heart. Take hed to thy doctrine; understand it clearly.
To plant Christianity in the West is as grand an undertaking as to plant it in the Roman empire, with unspeakably greater permanence and power.

NARRATOR : The Ft. Wayne Presbyterian Church pulpit came vacant just then—and Henry conceived the idea of installing Charles in this powerful seat. The Old School congregation sent for Hanover College’s William C. Anderson to forestall Henry Beecher’s efforts. Anderson arrived first, and did invite Beecher to give one sermon. But Henry then set up shop at the Courthouse, preaching twice daily, and making personal calls on everybody he thought might consider leaving the Old School church.
After two weeks, he had lured away only six—but these six asked for and received letters of dismissal. Another six joined them, and together they chartered the Second Presbyterian Church of Ft. Wayne. A month later, he saw Charles Beecher installed as pastor of the new church. On a visit to Ft. Wayne, Julia wrote to Betty.

JULIA : Do you see Henry Beecher any now, if you do give him my love, etc. Do you understand? I gave your message to Mr. Charles B. He laughed and said now he was a preacher he would try to do better.

NARRATOR : Charles began his ministry as sexton, bell-ringer, organist and choir leader as well as preacher. Both Henry and Lyman Beecher attended his first sermon, The Bible a Sufficient Creed—Charles’s uncompromising remarks were widely quoted throughout the country, but wrongly attributed to Henry, whose star was known to be on the rise.

CHARLES : Liberty of opinion in our theological seminaries is a mere form. To say nothing of the thumbscrew of criticism by which every original mind is tortured into negative propriety, the whole boasted liberty of the student consists in a choice of chains—a choice of handcuffs—whether he will wear the Presbyterian handcuffs or the Methodist, Baptist, Episcopal or other Evangelical handcuffs. Hence it has secretly come to pass that the ministers themselves dare not study their Bibles.
There is something criminal in saying anything new. It is shocking to utter words that have not the mould of age upon them.
And what then is to be done? I know not what others may say, but if ever I shrink from declaring that the Bible, the whole Bible and nothing but the Bible is the perfect and thorough furniture of the Christian minister and the Christian church, then may my right hand forget her cunning and my tongue cleave unto the roof of my mouth.

NARRATOR : A few months later, Henry learned that Charles was having troubles at his new post. This prompted a serious letter to Lyman, headed by this sentence:

HENRY : Do not show this to anyone but Mother and Harriet and then burn it.

NARRATOR : Julia Merrill in Ft. Wayne reported the news as she saw it.

JULIA : Mr. Charles Beecher is pretty well liked here, though not so much as I expected. The truth is they find too much fault with him, some think he’s conceited, that he knows and shows too often that he is Dr. Beecher’s son. Others say he preaches too plain, that no one ever did succeed that preached the Bible. He has not enough tact, etc., etc. He seems to be common property and anyone who pleases picks at him. He does not hear all that is said, or I should think he would become disheartened.

NARRATOR : When Harriet visited her brother Henry and Eunice, who was pregnant again, for several weeks, she wrote back home to Calvin:

HARRIET : I enjoy myself very well here at Henry’s. The cottage is still and quiet and I hear the clock tick with great satisfaction.

NARRATOR : During her stay, Harriet roused Henry’s interest in science by suggesting that they experiment with mesmerism, a kind of hypnosis.

HARRIET : The first session he succeeded in almost throwing me into convulsions—spasms and shocks of heat and prickly sensation ran all over me, my lungs were violently constricted and my heart in dreadful commotion, and I was so frightened that I called out for quarter.

NARRATOR : Charles, too, took a great interest in spiritualism. His researches were published later as a report to the church on the possibility of some connection between modern mediums, clairvoyants, seances and the Biblical descriptions of witches and sorcerers. Spiritualism swept Europe and America like a new style in fashion, a counterweight to the almost daily discoveries of scientific marvels previously undreamed of—radio waves, electricity, radium, X-rays, new planets, new fields of mathematics, chemistry, physics. People were ready for new ideas. Most of the Beechers examined Spiritualism; for a few, including Isabella, Harriet, and Charles, it was a lifelong fascination.