Americanism Contrasted with Foreignism, Romanism, and Bogus Democracy in the Light of Reason, History, and Scripture;: In which Certain Demagogues in Tennessee, and Elsewhere

In Short

This polemical work serves as a window into the fevered political climate of the mid-1850s, specifically the rise of the American (or "Know Nothing") Party. Through a collection of essays, letters, and speeches, the author attacks the Democratic Party and the influence of the Catholic Church, which he views as fundamentally incompatible with republican government. As a piece of campaign literature, the book captures the intense anxiety of the era, documenting the collapse of political decorum and the sharpening of sectional divides that would soon culminate in the Civil War.

The Story

The narrative begins with a passionate dedication to the young men of America, framed as a wake-up call to a nation in crisis. The author posits that the year 1856 is a definitive turning point, requiring "native and legal voters" to stand guard against perceived threats from foreign influence and the "rapid strides of Romanism." From this opening, the argument expands into a sprawling critique of contemporary politics. The author paints a picture of a nation where traditional virtues and Protestant values are under siege by a coalition of demagogues—primarily within the Democratic Party—who trade the national interest for the votes of immigrants and Catholics.

The middle section shifts to a detailed, often bitter account of the legislative chaos in Congress, specifically the protracted struggle to elect a Speaker of the House. By dissecting the parliamentary maneuvers of 1856, the author aims to expose the hypocrisy of Southern and Northern Democrats alike. He highlights how ideological lines blurred as politicians switched alliances, culminating in the election of Nathaniel Banks. The author uses these incidents to suggest that "bogus Democrats" are willing to abandon their own platforms to secure power, often by conspiring with those they publicly claim to oppose.

As the argument progresses, the author pivots to theological and historical polemics. He engages in a fierce debate regarding the compatibility of Catholicism with American citizenship. Drawing on selective historical interpretations, he argues that the Roman Catholic Church demands an allegiance to the Pope that supersedes loyalty to any secular government. He goes so far as to claim that a Catholic oath of office is inherently suspect, illustrating his point with anecdotes about legal testimony and the alleged power of the priesthood to control the voting patterns of "ignorant foreigners."

The arc of the book reaches a crescendo as the author defends his own reputation against personal attacks. He recounts heated confrontations in Tennessee, describing political opponents in derogatory, visceral language, and warns fellow Protestant ministers against associating with the secrecy-shrouded "Know Nothing" lodges—though he simultaneously defends his own involvement in Freemasonry. Finally, the book concludes by broadening the scope to the issue of slavery. Through a published sermon, the author adopts a pro-slavery stance rooted in his interpretation of Scripture, arguing that the institution is sanctioned by God and that the "fanaticism" of Abolitionists and "Black Republicans" is a direct threat to the social and religious order. The text ends on a note of militant vigilance, calling for a unified front of Protestant Americans to repel what he views as a "wall of fire" encircling the nation’s democratic institutions.

How It Unfolds

The Call to Vigilance The work opens with a dire warning that the American republic faces an existential threat from external influence and political treachery. It characterizes the 1856 election cycle as a final opportunity for native-born citizens to preserve their civil and religious heritage.

The Critique of Congressional Maneuvering The middle chapters analyze the legislative dysfunction of the Thirty-Fourth Congress, detailing the tactical betrayals among party leaders. These segments serve to depict the Democratic Party as a corrupt, directionless organization willing to facilitate the rise of political rivals to maintain its own relevance.

The Theological and Civic Inquest The argument deepens by questioning the loyalty of Roman Catholic citizens, utilizing historical documents to suggest that their religious tenets preclude patriotic allegiance. The author employs these arguments to justify the exclusion of Catholics from political office and influence.

The Defense of the Institution The concluding sections address the issue of slavery, framing it as an institution divinely ordained and essential to the stability of the social order. This serves to categorize his political opponents as dangerous radicals who, by agitating against slavery, threaten the nation's spiritual and constitutional foundations.

The People

The author, William G. Brownlow, acts as the central consciousness—a pugnacious, self-righteous editor who views himself as a sentinel of Protestant Americanism. He is motivated by a profound distrust of "foreign" institutions and a desire to see the American Party rise to power. His primary antagonists are the "demagogues" of the Democratic Party, figures like Stephen A. Douglas, whom he labels a "miserable little demagogue," and politicians like Samuel A. Smith, who allegedly manipulated Congressional rules.

Throughout the text, figures like the Catholic Archbishop and various "Jesuit" writers are depicted as the unseen puppeteers of American politics, allegedly controlling the votes of the immigrant masses. The author’s own allies include figures like Henry Clay, whom he holds up as a standard of statesmanship, and a variety of unnamed "young men of America" to whom he appeals for the preservation of the republic. By the end, the author remains entrenched in his views, having cast himself as a martyr of sorts, battling against a tide of "fanaticism" and "popery."

In Its Own Voice

"There never was a time known, since the dark days of the Revolution, when the civil and religious liberties of this country were so much endangered as at the present time."

The author sets the stage for his argument by suggesting that the mid-1850s represented a period of unprecedented crisis for the United States.

"To call the damnable and accursed system of political intrigue practised for past centuries by the Roman Church by the term Religion, is a solemn mockery of the hallowed word."

This statement captures the author's intense rhetoric regarding his opposition to the Roman Catholic Church, which he views as a political entity rather than a faith.

"The early Church not only admitted the existence of slavery, but in various ways, by her teachings and discipline, expressed her approbation of it, enforcing the observance of certain Fugitive Slave Laws which had been enacted by the State."

In his sermon on slavery, the author grounds his defense of the institution in what he claims to be the historical precedent of the early Christian Church.

What It's Really About

The book is a testament to the volatility of American political identity in the mid-19th century. At its core, the work explores the tension between the ideal of a pluralistic democracy and the desire for a homogenous, Protestant-centric state. It grapples with the question of whether a republic can survive the influence of "foreign" ideologies and whether the Constitution is sufficient to hold together a nation torn by sectional and religious anxieties. The argument is that America’s unique character is fragile and that the mere presence of "the other"—whether defined by religion, birth, or political affiliation—is a catalyst for national decay. It is a work of defensive nationalism, obsessed with maintaining a specific vision of American purity against an encroaching, modernizing world.

Why Read It Today

Readers today will find this book a challenging and revealing look at the rhetoric of fear and the historical roots of American nativism. It is not an easy read; the prose is dense, marked by 19th-century invective, and heavily laden with the period’s specific political grudges. For those interested in the evolution of American political discourse, the book offers a visceral experience of how an ideological conflict can be framed as a battle for the soul of a nation.

You will likely find the author’s vitriolic tone and his defense of slavery deeply troubling; he does not shy away from prejudices that are now recognized as foundational to the social conflicts of that era. However, the book remains a significant artifact. It illustrates how political actors used printing presses to mobilize public anxiety, creating a "us versus them" narrative that resonates with the darker chapters of political history. Read it as a primary source, not for its arguments, but for its documentation of how the American political imagination was once captured by the idea of an impending apocalypse. It is a sobering reminder of how quickly political rhetoric can descend into vitriol when the stakes are perceived to be the survival of the republic itself.