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WHAT AND WHERE IS GOD?
* * * * *
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK . BOSTON . CHICAGO . DALLAS
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MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON . BOMBAY . CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * *
WHAT AND WHERE IS GOD?
A Human Answer to the Deep Religious Cry of the Modern Soul
by
RICHARD LARUE SWAIN, PH.D.
New York
The Macmillan Company
1920
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1920,
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and electrotyped. Published, October, 1920
TO THE LOVED ONES
OF MY FATHER'S FAMILY
AND
TO THE DEAR ONES
OF MY OWN FAMILY
SO TRULY A PART OF THESE PAGES
I GRATEFULLY
_DEDICATE THIS BOOK_
PREFACE
The foreground of this book has largely to do with the answering of
vital questions that have sprung from the suffering souls of men and
women with whom the author has been sympathetically associated.
Considerable attention has been given to the natural sequence of these
questions in order that the answers might form a more or less orderly
line of discussion. While the method of answering a particular set of
questions does not permit of a strictly logical treatment of the themes,
yet in the background there is a definite and concrete picture of God,
of the universe, and of man as he is enfolded in God's world.
The chapters on immortality contain a further discussion of God, man,
and the universe as they move on in endless time. To know "what and
where" God is, it is necessary to understand how man and the universe
exist in God, and what God purposes to achieve through them.
If we are to reach people's minds, their questions are of supreme
importance because they show where the mind is focused. The average
person can, as a rule, proceed no farther with a subject until his main
difficulty is removed. Therefore, we have preferred the question to the
natural division of the subject, believing that the reader would be able
to see the logic that is beneath it all.
The chapters on the Bible are not closely related to the rest of the
book, but as the Scriptures contain the "specifications" and
"blue-prints" from God, it seemed important to include a description of
how we must approach them if we are not to misread their spiritual
content.
Though the material of this volume has been given in extemporaneous
addresses, yet no part of it has been reduced to writing until now. Its
appearance in book form is in response to many requests. Especially
helpful has been the encouragement of Professor Douglas Clyde Macintosh
of Yale University who has kindly read the manuscript and made valuable
suggestions.
R. L. S.
306 Golden Hill,
Bridgeport, Conn.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
LOSING GOD, OR THE HONEST ATHEIST 1
This chapter is a case study showing how false experiences
of religion and erroneous conceptions of God may result in
agnosticism or atheism.
CHAPTER II
HOW SCIENCE SAVES RELIGION, OR MODERN KNOWLEDGE AND RELIGION 39
Introduction 39
1. What is God? 43
2. Who is God? 48
3. Where is God? 53
4. What does God do? 62
5. If the Ancients made their gods, how do we know that
we are not making our God? 71
6. May we not be communing with a mere idea? 73
CHAPTER III
DOES MAN HAVE A SOUL, AND WHAT IS HIS PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE? 75
1. What is man? 75
2. Who is man? 77
3. Would the absence of man cripple God? 84
4. What could an infinite God care for such a little speck? 87
5. Is not socialism the best religion there is? 90
CHAPTER IV
DOES GOD HAVE A BODY, AND COULD HE BECOME A MAN? 104
1. Introductory statement 104
2. The idea of the Trinity and how it came about 106
3. Was Jesus God or a good man only? 113
4. Can modern psychology any longer believe in the
Deity of Jesus? 116
5. Where does Jesus belong in the religious, social and
thought worlds? 132
6. Can God die? 135
CHAPTER V
LOSING THE SENSE OF IMMORTALITY 142
A general statement 142
1. The contagion of doubt 144
2. The inability to make a religious use of modern knowledge 146
3. The loss of a satisfying conception of the future life 147
4. The growing habit of classifying the future with things
unknown and unknowable 148
5. An inadequate conception of the kingdom of God 150
6. We automatically lose the assurance of the future when we
lose the reality of the present 153
CHAPTER VI
FINDING THE SENSE OF IMMORTALITY 157
How shall we find the assurance of immortality? 157
1. We automatically find the assurance of the future
when we find the reality of the present 157
Some reasons why the quest for reality is not more
frequently and earnestly undertaken.
a. The moral failure of Christians 158
b. Because the average Christian cannot answer
technical questions 159
c. Antiquated forms irritating to sceptics 162
d. The provincialism of sceptics 164
2. Equal striving for spiritual and material things is
necessary 166
3. The final step in the effort to know God 173
4. Conscious of the existence of God, we become certain of
immortality 176
CHAPTER VII
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE WHETHER WE BELIEVE IN IMMORTALITY
IF WE LIVE AS WE SHOULD IN THIS LIFE? 182
1. How can one live as he should? 182
2. The difference in social service 183
3. The difference in personal preparation 186
CHAPTER VIII
HOW SHALL WE CONCEIVE OF THE FUTURE LIFE? 193
1. Its relation to the present constitution of things 193
2. Where is heaven? 196
3. Will there be a Holy City? 198
4. Will there be music? 201
5. Shall we meet our loved ones? 201
6. Shall we see God? 204
7. Will there be burdens to bear in heaven? 205
CHAPTER IX
LOSING THE BIBLE TO FIND IT 207
If the Bible contains errors, how do we know that any of
it is true? 207
A general statement 207
The Method of Finding God's Word
1. The story of Creation 212
2. The story of the Garden 220
3. The Bible stories in general 223
4. The laws of Israel--moral and ceremonial 224
5. The Book of Job 226
CHAPTER X
LOSING THE BIBLE TO FIND IT (Continued) 232
The method of finding God's Word (Continued)
1. The Psalms 232
2. The prophets in general 235
3. Jonah 241
4. The New Testament in general 247
5. The Book of Revelation 250
WHAT AND WHERE IS GOD?
CHAPTER I
LOSING GOD, OR THE HONEST ATHEIST
_Why does God leave His very existence in doubt by forever hiding
Himself?_
_If there were a God would He not make Himself known in such a way
that no one could possibly doubt His existence?_
_Why should we be expected to love and obey a God whose existence
is still a subject of discussion?_
_Could a righteous and loving Father leave any of His children in
doubt of His existence?_
While I was dining one day with a young minister and his wife, the
latter disclosed to me her religious state of mind. Said she:
"I have no God! They have taken Him away and I do not know where to find
Him. My childhood conception of a Man-God on a throne in heaven is
gone--and I think rightly gone; but I have nothing to take its place. I
hear them speak of an immanent God; of a God who fills all nature. And I
have no objection to this except that it brings no relief. Nature is so
inexpressibly vast and complex that, to my mind, a God who fills all
nature is so infinitely big and spread out that I can neither know Him
nor love Him. He is altogether too attenuated for me; besides, this
makes Him so much everywhere that He seems to be nowhere. Here I am,
without a God, working myself nearly to death in a great Church; and my
heart is breaking for a Father to whom I can go, as I once did, with all
_my_ hopes and fears. Moreover, all my young women friends feel as I do.
We often speak of this among ourselves without knowing where to turn for
relief."
The distressing experience of this minister's wife is more common than
many think. With _her type_ of mind it was inevitable that she should
experience doubt while passing from the crude to the mature. Being
bright, consecrated, and sincere she had simply hastened the crisis.
That the Church is not always present to take care of its own passengers
when they arrive at these way-stations is the greater pity; because
representatives of various spiritual inns will be sure to meet every
incoming train. And if the Church is neglectful of its spiritual
pilgrims, it compels them to spend their night of doubt in the depot or
on a bench in the park exposed to the tender mercy of religious fakers.
Were the difficulties of this minister's wife met, it would be a great
blessing to her and to thousands of other troubled souls; and at the
same time it would immeasurably enrich our common Christian life.
Because of our newly acquired knowledge of the physical universe
multitudes, both without and within the Church, are asking _what_ God is
and _where_ He is that they may find Him.
The poverty of faith and confusion of ideas concerning God were recently
brought _to_ light by Professor Leuba in his questionnaire. Many seem to
think there is no place for God in their conception of the universe.
Having no longer a satisfying idea of God, the thought of Him is fading
from their minds. And while some rejoice in their scepticism, others
deeply regret a waning faith.
All this only proves that the world is over-ripe for a finer conception
of God and His universe; and that a better and more definite idea must
be obtained, or doubt will run into positive unbelief. Modern learning
is thought by many to be particularly hard on faith. Some of us,
however, have found the world of modern knowledge more congenial to
faith and much superior to the old unscientific world as a place in
which to live the simple Christian life. This better vision should be
given to the people with all possible speed. They should be taught to
see that as boulevards and steel bridges are superior to mud roads and
dangerous fords, so the new Christian highway is better than the old.
Nevertheless, new knowledge in certain directions does present grave
difficulties for those who retain crude conceptions of God and erroneous
views of His relation to the forces of nature that envelop us. Until we
do the work that our times demand of us, even Christians may not hope to
remain immune from the devastating influences of doubt. There is a deep
cry in the modern soul that must be met.
While our hope of knowing God rests on His immanence yet the idea of
immanence has not been sufficiently clarified to meet our practical
demands. If we continue to teach the beautiful doctrine that God is
everywhere, in the vague way that is now so prevalent, an ever
increasing number will surely come to believe that He is nowhere.
Lovingly and faithfully our mothers taught us that God was everywhere in
all majesty and power. But it was different. They believed that God had
a form, or nucleus, in heaven, and that His spirit radiated from this
form to the remotest particles of matter in the universe. They also
believed that when transported at death to His central abode they should
look with rapture upon His ineffable being. They expected to see the
glorious presence of the Father distinct from the glorified body of
Jesus. In their thought, the visible Jesus was literally on the right
hand of a visible Father. However, this conception of a visible and
localized God in heaven is either gone or going; and for the average
mind there remains a Deity, if any, as attenuated as stellar ether, and
scarcely more personal than the forces of nature. No one ever made a
more rational demand than the minister's wife when she asked for a
particular God to supplement a universal God.
We must get on common ground with our fellows, if we really wish to
help, and sow our seed in the soil of living minds. The supreme need of
the hour is for someone to help the masses to move out of the old
"shack" of an unscientific world into God's beautiful, expanding
palace. Though some new frames are needed for the old pictures, yet no
treasure should be left to perish in the old "shack"; because the ampler
world of modern knowledge will never be home until the pictures of our
childhood hang on the wall and the fire burns in the furnace. The larger
abode of a scientific universe is a veritable prison when we have cast
out the God of our fathers. But whether we would or not, we must learn
to do business in the new world; and sooner or later we shall learn that
we can not do business in one kind of a universe and foster religion in
another. Religion must thrive in the new world or perish. Neither is it
enough for a few scholars to see their way in the new order; they must
show others how to be religious without stultifying their intellects. In
other words, men must see before a religious appeal can reach their
conscience.
There are as many ways of becoming a sceptic as there are of becoming a
Christian. We must admit, however, that careless living has multiplied
the difficulties of faith for every one of us. And yet, a sincere effort
to make religion real in one's own personal experience often hastens
unbelief. Those who think that no one honestly doubts the existence of
God have a poor knowledge of the facts; because, in many minds, this is
the only serious doubt. If only they could make this point secure,
everything else would fall in line as a matter of course. To a singular
degree this has been true in my own case. The one word "God" is a creed
large enough to burst all little worlds, if the word stands for a fact
which has any worthy meaning. Some people, always wondering whether God
is good to them, or whether He really thinks of them at all, are greatly
shocked if some one else doubts God's existence. Whereas, to believe in
Christ's God and at the same time doubt His goodness is a flat
contradiction. For many of us this would be impossible.
Following the advice of friends--whose judgment I trust--I venture to
give a simple history of my own early religious life. This is for the
sake of finding a point of contact with those who have little or no
faith; and with the hope of stating some of the real problems. Some may
think this a dangerous thing to do. But unless we know the problems of
suffering souls, how are we to solve them? Besides, the knowledge of
another's difficulty with its solution, should enrich the faith of one
having no serious difficulties of his own; and certainly it would make
him more useful among people differently constituted from himself.
My father became a Protestant at twenty years of age to the great
distress of his Roman Catholic mother. At twenty-two he married Sarah
Elizabeth Carr of Great Dalby, England. They were married in the quaint
old church of the town by the Episcopal rector. Later, my father
preached in England for the Wesleyans. However, on coming to America in
1857 he identified himself with the United Brethren and remained with
them until his death. As he located in what was then the frontier of
this country, I can duplicate out of my own life much that is to be
found in "Black Rock" and "Sky Pilot." In the midst of much irreligion,
my parents put vital religion into the very marrow of my bones.
Going far and near to preach in little schoolhouses, my father left us
much alone in the old log cabin of one room; especially in the winter
season when he preached nearly every night. His home-coming about once a
month was a great event. In the summertime he would ride thirty miles on
Sunday, preach three times, and be back home Monday by one o'clock to
delve into every kind of rough work as a true frontiersman. I pity the
little boy who has never had the privilege of rifling a pair of
saddlebags on the return of his father. Sometimes my father was detained
on his way home by overflowing rivers that were too mad for the horse to
swim. And once he was detained by watching all night to prevent a rough
gang from hanging one of his dearest friends. The long, long Sundays
that I spent alone with my mother in the old cabin are indelibly stamped
on my memory. Sometimes I thought I should die with loneliness. At such
times my mother would try to comfort me with stories, or with letters
from her invalid mother across the sea; and then we both would cry. Once
when I refused to be comforted, and bitterly complained because my
father left us alone, my mother explained to me in a simple,
awe-inspiring manner the tragedy of the World's sin and sorrow together
with the suffering love of God. How my father was going forth in God's
compelling love to help Him save His children from the impending doom
of sin, she pictured so vividly that I felt glad to live and suffer in
such a cause. This was, probably, the most effective sermon to which I
ever listened. And then my mother gathered me into her arms and made me
conscious of the greatest thing in the world; a love that is infinitely
deeper than words; something so like God that we need look no farther
for a fitting symbol of Him.
As a child I was very susceptible to fear. I remember one bitter cold
night when the winds howled and the thieves prowled. Every nerve in me
ached with fear. That night my mother kneeling by her bed, with her
little children at her side, prayed in a low tremulous voice, and with a
sweet English accent, until God seemed nearer than the raging winds, and
more powerful than the evil forces that were abroad to do us harm. How
happy I was the next morning to find that the wind had subsided, and
that the horses were not stolen, and that no evil had befallen us! When
a little child, religion was as real to me as my parents, or the
atmosphere I breathed, or the food I ate.
I am not certain of ever having been in a church until I was almost
grown. But when I was probably five years old, I accompanied my mother
to a revival meeting in an old schoolhouse. This schoolhouse, even to
the lathing, was made of black walnut that was sawed at a local mill.
Which of the many denominations was conducting the services I do not
know. But one night there were probably ten people kneeling at what they
called the "mourner's bench." During the evening such a psychic wave
passed over those at the altar that the packed congregation, to see what
was happening, rose as one person. At this point, my mother lifted me
onto the desk before her which afforded me a plain view of all those who
were kneeling at the front. A young woman with head thrown back and hair
disheveled, was wringing her hands and crying in piercing tones, "O God,
save my poor soul from hell!" Just beyond, a man lay in a trance. And
then another woman, with perfectly rapturous face, throwing her head
back, clapped her hands and shouted "glory." Other seekers were groaning
and pleading with tremulous voices. The Christians who were assisting
the seekers alternated their groanings of intercession with "amens" and
shouts of praise. As it appeared to me the realms of the blessed and the
realms of the damned were mingling their voices in that tumultuous
scene. Heaven and hell seemed veritable realities before my eyes, and
the picture was burned into my soul.
The religion of my parents was simple, loving, and thoroughly ethical.
These meetings were not criticized by them except that my father
sometimes remarked at home that he liked the quiet meetings best.
Much of the time there were no meetings in the community. Yet betimes
services were conducted by all kinds of ministers, "descript and
non-descript." It was not uncommon to hear these ministers say that no
one ever got to heaven except by way of the "mourner's bench." One
minister remarked that there was not a converted person in the
Presbyterian Church except a few individuals who were converted outside
at such meetings as he was conducting. Never having seen any of them, I
took his word for it that the Presbyterians were an ungodly set.
Altogether it became a fixed thought in my mind that I should need to
get "old people's religion" or be lost. Indeed, that belief was very
common throughout America when I was a child. Even the Presbyterians
believed it, though they kept their mourner's bench out of sight.
Accordingly, when I was fifteen years old, and getting to be a big boy,
the crisis came; because temptations were coming in thick and fast.
Going to a revival one night in the schoolhouse and finding the seats
all full, I took a board from under the stove and placed it on the coal
pail for a seat. As I sat there the thought came to me, "When are you
going to get religion?" This was followed by another, "Wouldn't it be
strange if I went to the mourner's bench to-night?" "Not for five years
yet," my heart quickly responded. "Not until I am twenty years old."
Being a bashful boy I felt terrified at the mere thought of taking such
a step before that crowd of "rowdies" who were openly scoffing. "But,"
my mind said, "if you make a start in five years it will again be now."
It seemed plain to me that one "now" would be about as embarrassing as
another. "Wouldn't it be strange if I just went forward to-night without
any regard to my feelings?" was a question that kept asserting itself.
My mind swayed and tipped first one way and then the other until finally
it literally fell on the side of a decision. "It is to-night." To me
this seemed deeper than any other decision I had ever made,--than which
no firmer decision could be made. Being thoroughly aware of its ethical
significance, my heart involuntarily said, "You see, O God, what I have
done." Not to have regarded myself a bound person from that time forth
would have meant the perjuring of my deepest soul. It was an
awe-inspiring decision at a time when God was to get either a great deal
more or a great deal less of my life as the days went by. It would have
been an irreparable loss to me if this great decision had not been made
at that time. Even now, I thank God with a growing gratitude for helping
me to make that decision. So far, the experience was perfectly normal
for a Christian boy in the adolescent period,--though at that time I had
never known a Christian boy. This experience of an unconditional
surrender to the will of God should have brought me peace and strength;
but it did not, because I utterly discredited my previous religious life
as being no more than moral development. Real religion, in my thinking,
would not begin until I had experienced the miracle of regeneration at
the "mourner's bench."
The die had been cast. And now the great miracle must be achieved! So I
went forward. The knowledge that I was observed by mocking eyes hurt
like the thongs of a whip on a bare back. For a few moments I could
think of nothing else. Then I tried to feel sorry for my sins; and not
succeeding in that, I tried to feel sorry because I was not sorry. Those
kneeling with me asked whether I believed in God. No one could have
believed it more fully than I did. Then they asked me if I believed that
He sent His Son into the world to save sinners. This I believed without
question. Did I believe that He came to save me, and that He wanted to
save me now? This, too, I believed. "Do you feel that He saves you now?"
I did not know. "Well," they said, "you will know when He saves you,--so
you must make no mistake there." And thus we went the rounds, over and
over again. While I believed everything, yet I did not experience the
miracle. Things seemed to grow worse and more confused as time went by.
As they pleaded, first with God to save me, and then with me to
surrender all to God and believe, I became utterly bewildered and
hardened. There seemed to be no reality in anything. The groans and
sighs, the pressure of the hand, the pats on the back, the rhythmic
music, the loud and fervent prayers, became a meaningless jargon. I was
heartily glad when the hour was over so that I could be alone. Once
being alone, I did pray earnestly and continuously for God to save me,
and felt a great depression of spirits without further results. The next
night I repeated the experience of the previous evening with like sad
consequences. The next day I was greatly depressed, but made up my mind
that I would get religion or break a blood vessel in the attempt;--and I
nearly broke the blood vessel. In the afternoon while carrying a heavy
load of corn on my back, I stumbled over something which caused me to
say "Oh!" and as I added the word God, it sounded like profanity. But
it was not, for prayer had become automatic. This incident caused me to
smile,--the first time, I believe, in two days. As I continued to pray
without ceasing, there came to me after awhile a little suggestion of
gladness which caused me to exclaim, "Oh, I believe I am getting
religion!" Though the burden seemed to be lifting, yet it was some
minutes before another feeling of gladness came. During the supper hour
it seemed almost certain that I was getting religion. Nothing, however,
was said about it as I wanted to be perfectly sure.
After supper I started for the schoolhouse across the dark fields.
During that journey of over a mile, the psychic lights came on making
all things beautiful. At the same time I was made inexpressibly glad.
The great change appeared to be in the universe rather than in myself. I
laughed and cried for joy. Recalling the Psalm, "For ... by my God have
I leaped over a wall," that, I thought, would be an easy thing to do if
a wall were there. What with laughing, making speeches, and thanking
God, I soon completed the journey.
As the schoolhouse was seated to face the door, on arriving late, I
confronted the whole congregation. This arrangement of seats made it
unnecessary for the people to turn and strain their necks to see each
one who entered.
In pioneer days it was customary to take a candle with you to church. On
arriving at the schoolhouse you would take your penknife, push the small
blade through the candle, stick the protruding blade into the window
sash, and there you were, as nice as could be. Or else you would stand
the candle on the desk in some melted tallow.
Though the schoolhouse was but dimly lighted, and the people whom I
faced that night were an ordinary crowd, yet in my psychic state I saw
the people as angel figures under limelight. And as the only vacant
seats were in the "Amen corner," I sat facing the congregation during
the entire service. The sermon was wonderful to me beyond words to
express; and yet I seemed able to understand it and to see all around
it.
After the sermon an invitation was given to "mourners." As none went
forward, the minister then came to me to inquire of my condition. When
with great joy I told him that I was converted, I was asked to relate my
experience. This unexpected request shattered my beautiful world as
completely as a hammer stroke would have shattered a piece of crystal.
Such a stage fright seized me that I could neither move nor speak before
they were compelled to go on with the service. This embarrassing
experience sent me from the highest state of bliss to the deepest state
of gloom. Peter's denial seemed trivial in comparison with mine; he had
denied the Lord under trying circumstances, but I had denied Him while
sitting in glory.
A little later, when the minister rose and stated that they would "open
the doors of the Church" for any who desired to join, there ensued a
terrible struggle within me. During the few minutes of exhortation that
followed I seriously questioned my heart. I knew that candidates were
expected to answer the question, "Have you found God in the pardon of
your sins, and do you now have peace with God?" But being in a state of
torment, how could I claim peace with God? Though my conversion still
seemed like a miracle, yet never before had I been in such a humiliated
or distressed state of mind. Before ever I tried to "get religion," I
had plighted my soul and honor that I would follow God from that time
forward. Even now I knew that I should follow Him, but how could I say
that I had peace with God when my burden remained in spite of my earnest
prayer to be forgiven? Had I in that act of denial become a
"backslider," and was it necessary for me to be converted again? As a
large percentage of the Christians present had been converted two or
more times to my knowledge, a second conversion was not strange to me.
Never doubting that I had been converted, and knowing why I was in
despair, and believing that my suffering was wholly deserved, I
dismissed the thought of a second conversion. "How can a person know
beforehand," I reasoned, "that he will feel at peace with God at the
moment the question is asked?" By "now" do they not mean something more
general; to-night, for example? Deciding that there must be some
latitude to the word "now" and that God would understand my honesty of
purpose, I went forward and united with the Church. As I look back upon
it, it still seems a most wise decision.
Though fully expecting to be happy again after joining the Church, yet
my misery only increased. _This was inevitable._ I had identified
religion with an _abnormal psychic state_. And such a state would not
return without another terrific effort.
The next night, with an embarrassment that caused my cheeks to burn like
fire, I rose before the scoffers and told them that God had converted
me. Again I expected to feel happy. But, naturally, my sorrow only
deepened as the abnormal state did not return. For the next two weeks I
tried with all my original earnestness to get back my happiness; but
without success. One day while in a valley far from any human being,
where the woods covered the hill before me, I was looking up into the
sky and still pleading with God to restore my happy state of mind. Then
the thought occurred to me, "Where is God?" At that time I was so
ignorant of the universe that I thought the earth had a ceiling, and
that the ceiling of the earth was the floor of heaven. It seemed to be
about three rifle shots away. I thought that if one could get through
the ceiling of the earth he would be in heaven, and there would be God.
As I stood there gazing into the sky my mind said, "Why does God not
show Himself?" That He could part the clouds and show His face seemed
the most natural and reasonable thing in the world. Why, then, did He
not do so? Since He neither blesses me in answer to my prayers, nor
shows Himself, possibly He does not exist. My wonderful experience may
have been nothing but a highly wrought state of feelings.
I then recalled that ministers based their belief in the existence of
God on certain arguments. But suddenly this seemed the strangest
procedure imaginable. Why had God left us to argue and reason about His
existence? Should He not settle so great a question beyond all argument?
How strange it would be if my earthly father should stay away from us
until we did not know whether he was dead or alive! We had the
satisfaction of loving and obeying our father without ever a chance to
doubt his existence. If our Heavenly Father would make me equally
certain of His existence I should follow Him through flood and fire.
"Then why does God not show Himself?" "Isn't it strange that He has
hidden forever and forever!"
Here I remembered the Scripture which says, "No man can see God and
live." But my heart quickly responded, "It is one thing to come near
enough to kill us, and quite another to come near enough to convince us.
Oh, isn't it strange that He hides forever?"
Then I thought of Jesus. But my heart replied, "Maybe Jesus was
mistaken." If He had a rapturous feeling like mine, and was able to
sustain it, He would continue to believe in God even if He did not
exist. Nothing short of God's personal appearance, it seemed to me,
could settle the question. "Then why does God not show Himself? There is
no sense in hiding; and if no sense in it, then it is wrong; and if
wrong, then there is no God. Because God, if He exists, must be good and
sensible."
Therefore, when my reasoning led me to say, "There _can't_ be a God," I
found that unbelief had entered the marrow of my being. I felt that God
could not possibly do such a foolish and wicked thing as to hide from
His children.
Having reached this conclusion, I felt alarmed at my wicked thoughts.
They were not, however, to be driven away. From that day forward the sky
became more gray, and cold, and Godless. An awful crisis had come into
my life. It seemed an irreparable loss if there were no God. My life,
also, would go out in eternal night. If there was a God, and I gave up
faith, then I should go to an endless hell of inexpressible torment.
There was no comfort in either alternative. The problem was no longer
the problem of the Church; it was my personal problem. And the battle
had to be fought to a decisive issue. Being impaled on the two horns of
the dilemma, I found it increasingly difficult to reproduce the exalted
state of feeling on which I still relied for assurance.
Never having met a college graduate, of course I had not heard one
preach. It was in the college chapel, four years later, that I first
listened to a sermon by a college man. My impression was that he made
neither noise nor light. That he made but little noise I knew. But I am
now willing to admit that he may have shed more light than I saw.
Preaching often fails to make any connection with the fundamental ideas
and difficulties of doubting minds.
In my new state of doubt, the first impulse was to confide in my father
and Christian friends. But then I realized that I knew all the stock
phrases, and that none of them met my case. If confronted with the old
phrases would I not argue, and might I not confirm myself in a possible
error? Was it not safer to fight it out with God, if He existed, than to
argue with those who could not feel what I had felt? The insistence of
these questions caused me to keep my secret wholly to myself, and to go
on with the struggle. Twenty-two years later during the last visit with
my father, as we rode together over the hills, I told him this story.
With a look of tenderness I shall never forget, he replied, "I believe
the story because you tell me, but I am glad you did not tell me at the
time. I could not have helped you." Said he, "I do not recall ever in my
life doubting the inspiration of the Scriptures, or the existence of
God. I have often doubted my worthiness and acceptance, but nothing
more." Still believing that I did the wise thing under the
circumstances, I was glad to have his approval. If an honest doubter
asks for bread, he is not infrequently given a stone by well-meaning
Christians,--and neither can understand the other.
As this is a _case study_, it should be said that my first mistake was
in _discrediting_ my early religious experience. My second mistake was
in identifying religion with an _extreme psychic state_. And when my
psychic state failed me, then my _utterly false images_ of God and the
universe completed the destruction of my faith. If I could have
reproduced the psychic state readily, my false images of God and the
universe would not have troubled me for many years.
The ministers who created these false impressions in my mind were not
deserving of censure, because they did not understand the forces with
which they were dealing--and the community was in great need of
something. Even for me, it was best that I did what we thought was right
regardless of what followed.
Having entered upon the vigorous adolescent period, I greatly needed to
take my stand as an adult Christian. I needed to realize such a new
influence as a thorough commitment of myself would bring. This, however,
no one in the community understood.
We now know that one may be genuinely converted and hypnotized at the
same time. That is, he may enter God's service with the noblest spirit
of loyalty, and at the same time submit himself to a process that will
induce the hypnotic state. Likewise, it is possible for one to be
hypnotized under religious influences without being converted. This is
the case with those who wish religion only if it will give them more
pleasure than their sins. Though they may not deeply analyze it, yet
their conversion is an experiment to see which they like the better; and
when their hypnotic happiness leaves them, they return to their greater
pleasure in sin. Or, when the idea and method are rational, one may be
converted without being hypnotized. In this case a complete dedication
of self to the will of God is trusted to bring its own rich reward in
noble enthusiasm and fine appreciation.
Since I had always been a Christian, it was not conversion that I
needed, but a deeper commitment of myself to the will and work of God.
And as I have already explained, this I did before trying to "get
religion." The moral will is the spiritual spine. If it stands erect in
its duties toward God and men, the whole spiritual life will come into
normal feeling and action. My unconditional submission to the will of
God was normal, beautiful, and necessary. But the experience which came
two days later should be characterized as _a super-normal psychic
state_, _self-induced_. While the psychic state lasted my true religious
feelings cooeperated vigorously; but when it subsided, as it was bound to
do, my true religious emotions likewise disappeared. For years, all
references to spirituality were understood by me to mean an exciting,
nervous thrill; such a thrill as I had once felt. This led me to study
the feelings, a few years later, to see if I could determine their
value. I found that I was able to hypnotize a man so that he thought he
saw God; and then I could cause him to fall down in adoration before his
imaginary deity. Or, by taking ether, I could reproduce the glory world
of my own so-called conversion. Feelings alone are not to be trusted,
for the objects which they often create do not exist. On the other hand,
real objects, valid and knowable, produce appropriate feelings when we
are rightly related to them. Never have I been in such a state of pain
or dejection but that I knew that I loved my children if my attention
was called to it. I still demand, therefore, an objective, knowable God
before I can love Him.
While greatly deploring such religious exercises as are calculated to
produce extreme psychic states, yet I bring an indictment against the
average Church of this generation because its religious feelings are
sub-normal. The latter condition is probably as dangerous as the former.
Even our physical temperature must be allowed to run neither too high
nor too low. If in everything but religion we feel warmth and
enthusiasm, we reveal a deplorable religious condition. For if one
intelligently and fully commits himself to the will and service of God,
appropriate feelings will come to him as surely as color comes to
ripening fruit.
When prayer availed me nothing in bringing back the spirit of God--as I
conceived of it--I first questioned my own heart. And when it no longer
condemned me, I then questioned God. As I understood it, to produce a
rapturous feeling was God's part. My part was to believe and obey. If
only the hand of faith could succeed in laying hold of God the spiritual
current would come on with a thrill. A great deal of this sensational
religion still exists. It is to be found in all our great cities as well
as in rural communities.
Let two errors like false experiences and false images of God unite and
they will bring forth a whole brood of errors. So far as I am able to
analyze, I always had a perfect sense of God's character. If He existed
at all, He was infinitely great and wise and good. But these
characteristics simply meant the _quality_ of God and not God Himself.
_Character without being was like a smile without a face._ It was this
God behind the character that I utterly misapprehended. My _false
picture_ of God's being, of the universe, and the relation between the
two was the cause of my religious vexation. If we add to these the
fickleness of a sensational experience--labeled, true spiritual
religion--we may begin to understand my religious undoing.
I dare say that the subject of extreme religious experience will not
trouble many of my readers, but half the population is vexed by false
images of God and the universe. These false images are so prevalent that
one trembles for the future of religion in a scientific age. As to
certain aspects of God's existence, the confusion is becoming greater
every day,--and there are good reasons for it. Since the masses are
coming to have a fairly accurate conception of the main outlines of the
universe, their false images of God's being are faring badly in this new
world. Many are casting out their unsatisfactory image of God without
anything to take its place. Some claim that we are much better off to
think of God's character without trying to form any conception of His
being. Generally, however, when His image goes God goes with it. Those
who have been steeped in religion from their youth, may continue to
worship God after He has almost disappeared; but succeeding generations
will have little interest in such an evasive God. They will wish to know
that God is before they attribute character to Him.
The various psychic cults are trying to find a more satisfying idea of
God; but they are simply making a bad matter worse. Over against this,
however, is the popular phrase of the day, "No one can possibly conceive
of what God is like! So do not advertise your ignorance by trying."
This, probably, is the saddest of all.
The religious dynamo is in the heart, or moral feelings, while the
circuit is in the head, or formal ideas. If the circuit is broken the
light goes out. As long as one's ideas are not discredited by himself,
he may get some light with a very poor circuit. But once let him
thoroughly discredit his own mental images, and the light will cease to
shine.
The dynamo may be run long after the circuit is broken, and the light
has gone out. I ran mine for many years. The minister's wife previously
referred to was doing the same thing. Many students reported to
Professor Leuba that they continued to pray, through habit or sentiment,
but that God had so faded from their minds that prayer no longer meant
anything to them. Many learned scientists revealed the "broken circuit"
of their thoughts by giving their crude conceptions or no conceptions of
God. These men have long since ceased to run their religious dynamo.
If the lights refuse to come on, after a while one grows tired of
stoking the furnace merely to keep the dynamo running. Therefore, in the
succeeding chapters my aim will be to show how I mended my circuit.
After continuing my fruitless struggle for two years I became desperate.
For one thing, I had no religious young people with whom to associate.
When not alone, I worked with vile men who never allowed much time to
elapse without indulging in obscene conversation. Living in a community
where we had never seen a railroad, or a piano, or an organ, I found
little to entertain or comfort me. And my religion added greatly to my
burden. There was just work and privations and fruitless prayers. So it
is not strange that at the end of two years I wished that I might die.
This feeling came to me with such force one day, when I was working in a
distant, lonely place, that I gave audible expression to the wish. Not
that I wanted to die on that particular day! I have never seen the time
when I wanted to die to-day. But hoping that I might die in ten years, I
resolved anew that I would just stiffen my neck, and grit my teeth, and
pray on until the end came--which I hoped would not be too distant.
During these two years I was very faithful to every known Christian
duty. Once I even tried to pray in prayer meeting, but broke down with
fright in the middle of the first sentence. I regularly bore testimony,
however, to my determination to go forward in the Christian life.
Soon after the time of my deep depression it was announced that a series
of revival meetings was to be held in the community. An uneducated old
minister, rather feeble in body, was to conduct the meetings. As there
were but few Christians to help him, it looked like a great undertaking.
This question rose in my mind, "Would it be wrong for me to take an
active part in persuading others to become Christians while I myself am
in doubt of God's existence?" I had not then heard of people doing
Church work to gain social standing. And if I had, it could not have
been a motive because socially I already belonged to the "four hundred."
Some men were reported to have joined the Church to beat a neighbor in a
horse trade or an ox trade--and this I knew to be very wicked. But as I
had neither horses nor oxen to trade there were but two motives that
compelled me to go forward. The first motive was the hope that in this
way I might find God. The second was that I might help someone else to
be religious,--since other people appeared to have more faith. I decided
that the proposed course was justifiable because if God did not exist it
could make but little difference, and if He did it was very important
that people should be brought to Him. Consequently, I selected a young
man of my own age. He was on his way to the schoolhouse with a band of
hilarious young people when I called him aside. We were very late in
reaching the services because out in the dark I labored long and hard
with my friend and used every art of persuasion that I could command
before I brought him to a decision. Finally, however, he promised to go
to the "mourner's bench" if I would go with him. Then we entered the
schoolhouse, and each one kept his promise. My friend became so
desperately wrought up at the altar that his parents, who were not
Christians, did not know what to do with him when the services were
over. They therefore asked me to take him home with me for the night. My
friend continued to weep all the way home, and frequently requested that
we stop to pray. That journey of a mile and a quarter across the fields
I shall never forget. But before we went to sleep, suddenly clasping my
hand, he exclaimed, "Oh, I am converted." Knowing how he felt I was very
glad for him, but at the same time my heart cried within me, "I do
wonder if there is anything in it! It is wonderful to him now, I know,
but how will he feel to-morrow, or next week, or in six months?"
However, I next persuaded his parents to go forward, and the minister
asked me to pray for them at the altar--which I did. They, too, were
converted, but no blessing came to me. During the two weeks, I led
eleven people to the altar, and was asked by the minister each night to
offer prayer for the seekers.
On the last night of the series, near the close, the minister said:
"Now there is a little business to be attended to, and will Brother
Richard Swain please withdraw from the room?" I was so surprised and
excited that I arose and went out into a temperature below zero without
either overcoat or hat. Leaving the reader to judge of my ethics and
manners, I will confess that I put my ear up to the wall and listened
with all my might. The minister said:
"Some of us have been considering the matter, and we are convinced that
Brother Richard Swain has a decided call to the ministry. We want you,
therefore, if you think it is wise, to recommend him to the conference
for license to preach."
This was such a shock to me that a little cry went up from my
heart,--"And I don't even know that there is a God!"
As there was no dissenting vote the minister said, "You may now call him
in." If only my coat and hat had been with me I should not have been
present when the door opened. However, with the temperature below zero,
and neither overcoat nor hat, even a young candidate for the ministry
could not refuse to enter. But it would have been more to his comfort if
the congregation had not been seated to face the door.
Through this vote of the Church I was compelled to grapple with a new
question of ethics. Would it be right for me under the circumstances to
appear for examination? I had not asked for license to preach. The
matter had been thrust upon me without my knowledge and consent. How
could I know but this was the road over which I was being led to the
light? Besides, eleven people had responded to my appeal. Would I care
to be a minister? It seemed to me that there was nothing in the world I
should so much like to be as a minister if only I could know there was a
God. This feeling decided me to accept the invitation and appear for
examination.
While my education had not gone beyond that of the common country
schools, and while I was but seventeen years of age, yet the average
minister of the community had even less education. Not until three years
after I was licensed to preach did I learn that there was such an
institution in the world as a Theological Seminary. However, in those
pioneer days all the ministers, missionaries, Irish pack-peddlers, and
horse thieves who passed through put up at my father's house for the
night without ever being charged a cent. They more than paid their way,
though, I can assure you, by having to talk religion and theology until
midnight with my father who was a born theologian. Though my father was
not an educated man, yet he had picked up an immense amount of knowledge
along certain lines, and always enjoyed a friendly debate more than a
good dinner. At such times, from early childhood, I had been allowed to
sit in the chimney corner and listen until the last word was said. It
was my motion-picture show. And no child ever had more pleasure than
came to me when I saw that my father had "wound up" his man in the
argument. Then, with the greatest cordiality, my father would show the
guest to bed. As there was but one great room, and beds none too many, I
usually slept with the guest. And according to the guest's report in the
morning, I had given him the completest kicking he ever had in his life.
With such training, and in such a community, it is not strange that my
biblical and doctrinal examination was pronounced entirely satisfactory.
After I had gone to school for ten years it, probably, would not have
been so satisfactory. Indeed, I was strongly advised not to go to
college, as it was likely to rob me of my spirituality; and besides,
many souls would be lost while I was getting an education.
Though I continued for a time on the farm or in the coal mines, yet I
was told to go out and preach somewhere on Sundays. Accordingly, I would
ride ten or twenty miles on Sunday to preach in different schoolhouses.
Putting the rein over the horn of the saddle, I would plead before the
cold gray sky for an unknown God to renew my happy feelings as a token
of His existence. But no happiness, or assurance, came to me. When the
time came to preach, I felt the importance of not throwing our lives
away in sinful living, and so was able to give them some very earnest
advice. Then on the return trip I would continue to pray to an
unsympathetic sky. Nothing, however, ever came of it except a deeper
depression of spirits. Though the dynamo was running at a terrific rate,
yet the circuit of my thoughts was broken beyond my ability to repair.
So I decided to go to college at any sacrifice.
Boarding a train for the first time, I went two hundred miles for my
preparatory course in connection with the college where I expected to
graduate. But no religious experience came to me until the middle of my
sophomore year. Then while studying Mark Hopkins' little book, "The Law
of Love, and Love as a Law," I got a new insight into the human soul. I
could see that if one would bring all his powers into harmony, and then
relate them to the beautiful enfolding universe, all things must work
together for his good,--if by his good one meant the perfect unfolding
of his life. Instantly there came a great joy in living. It took shape
in the thought, "All things work together for good to them that love
God." I felt that no proposition in geometry was more capable of proof.
A life with its powers united in the will of God must unfold to match
the harmony without, even as the rose unfolds to the light and warmth of
the sun. Besides, I now had entertainment and beautiful friends. Almost
any good thing seemed possible. "This," I said, "must be what
intelligent people mean by Christian experience." The only remaining
question was the old one, "Is there a God?" Is God "The Allness of
things about us?" This, however, seemed too pantheistic. And the
personal God still evaded me. So I decided that the question of God was
too much for me, and that I would just wait until I should meet the
"wise men" who knew. In the meantime I would assume that there was a
God; for the college president believed that there was, and prayed to
Him every day at chapel.
As the happy unfolding of my life continued I tried to commit all to God
whose will, if He existed, I very well knew. At any rate there was
something in the universe that matched my need. I would just call it God
until I met the "wise men" in further courses of study which by this
time I had fully resolved upon. So the last two and a half years of my
college course were very beautiful; they constantly increased my joy in
living. No small part of this better experience was due to the influence
of the Christian gentleman and fascinating preacher who became our new
college pastor.
Here it becomes necessary to relate something more delicate than
anything that has gone before. While I was in college my younger and
only brother passed through a great moral crisis. As I dearly loved him
he was much in my mind. During my senior year I dreamed night after
night that he was killed. In these dreams I was always with my two older
sisters hunting our brother in the woods. Feeling certain that we should
find him dead, we usually came upon him by an old log cabin where he lay
dead and mangled. I have no theories about the dreams, but the
impression made upon my mind was so deep that when I went home, after
graduating from college, I felt that I must do something to help him.
Accordingly it was planned that I should spend three or four days with
him in the harvest field where he was running a heading machine. There I
hoped we should have a pleasant time, and find an opportunity to shed
some light on the deeper meanings of life. Then some evening we would
have a quiet little talk when I might persuade him to be a Christian. As
I was going a long distance to a theological school, and did not expect
to see him again for three years, I hoped to accomplish my purpose
during the week at my disposal. For two and a half days we worked
together with many pleasant little chats. It then being Saturday noon,
my father wanted me to drive fourteen miles with him and preach for him
the next day. I could return Monday and be with my brother one or two
days before the long journey. But Saturday afternoon a great storm
arose, and at midnight my host awakened me saying, "Your brother is
killed by lightning."
Though we started home immediately, the mud was so deep and sticky that
it required till daylight to make the journey. There had been a
cloudburst, and such an electric storm as is seldom seen. From midnight
till dawn we dragged through the mud under an indescribable electrical
display. Forked lightning splitting the sky in every direction made the
whole heavens lurid with light, while the low thunder like distant
artillery scarcely ceased to roll. No pen can describe that journey.
Nature seemed omnipotent and awe-inspiring. At first my heart was dazed
and dumb. Then it cried, "Why did God kill my brother at this little
nick of time when I was hoping to bring him to Christ? Was there ever
anything like this? Why _did_ He take him?"
Then while I was fixedly watching the omnipotent display before me my
mind asked:
"Did God kill him or did the great and terrible machine, called the
world, kill him? What is the world, and what is God? When does God act,
and when does the universe act? Would they not be squarely in each
other's way much of the time? The world I know, and its activities I
behold, but where is God? Does He have an abode, or is He a sort of
spiritual ether that pervades the universe?" And my heart responded,
"Oh, you have never yet settled the question of whether there is a God!"
So once more God faded into a dream, or a guess, while the elements
continued to display their terrifying power.
At daylight I stood with a broken heart beside my dead brother,
believing either that there was no God, or else that my brother had gone
to endless torment. A few moments later I saw my father kneel by his
side, and heard him say, "Oh, my son, my son, would to God I had died
for thee!"
In a short time we were invited to breakfast, and my father being unable
to speak motioned to me to say grace. However I managed I do not know,
but out of a choking throat I said grace to as empty and Godless a world
as any human being ever faced.
Two weeks after my brother's death I entered the theological seminary.
The deep, vast, and unshakable verities from which I could not escape
were sorrow and love. All else was chaos. As a hungry man seeks for
food, so I sought for light. Much of the theology in the books which I
read irritated me so that I could scarcely eat my food at mealtimes. Yet
it was important that I should learn the history of human thought. All
of my professors I truly loved and respected, but the attitude of
theological schools more than thirty years ago was not wholly suited to
the needs of one on the border of a "new world-awakening" whose faith
had suffered so much and so long. The theological world was not quite
ready to give the help that it now gives to many suffering minds.
During my first year in the seminary I frequently dreamed of seeing my
brother in torment. Sometimes I would wake trembling, and even when I
could throw off the thought and go to sleep, I was liable to repeat the
dream in some new form.
Once when I was walking with one of the professors, as true a Christian
man as ever I knew, I told him of the circumstances of my brother's
death. He asked me if my parents were Christians. I told him that they
were very good Christians. Then he counseled me not to go off into any
heresies, but to feel comforted concerning my brother; for "The promises
were to the parents and to their children unto the third and fourth
generation."
While I listened to this in silence, yet the following thoughts went
through my mind:
"Then God would save my brother who had not improved his privileges,
while He would consign to endless torment our poor play-fellows who were
not blessed with the good influence of Christian parents."
My mind instinctively felt what I had discretion not to say: "I should
despise a God who had no more ethical sense than that. God should be
harder on my brother than on them."
Much of my philosophy and theology was worked out during my seminary
course; but there were gaps that I could not fill. So I next went to
Yale to study philosophy. In postgraduate work, through the guidance of
professors, I expected to find the "wise men" for whom I had waited so
long. However, these "wise men" are not readily understood in a few
weeks. They have a poor faculty for making connection with all the ideas
that still linger in the mind of callow youth. At any rate it soon
dawned upon me that there was no such God as I was looking for or else
these men were unable to give Him to me. When this conviction came to me
I went out from a recitation one night into the dark and once more
fought the old battle. Standing on the New Haven Green and looking up
into the pelting sleet I said:
"Now I have met the 'wise men,' and still I do not know whether there is
an inspired Bible, or a heaven, or a God." But I exclaimed, "O God, if
you are, and if I should ever meet you anywhere in eternity, I would run
to you as a little child runs to a father. I would tell you how weak and
sinful and ignorant I am, and I know you would love me." That night on
the old Green, while in the dark and pelted with sleet, I went out onto
the last crag where any human soul can go, and cried into the infinite
depths, "O God, if you are there, some day I shall know you and love
you." In that act I passed beyond all men and all institutions, and took
my stand with the final reality, whatever it might be, and at least I
was free and not afraid. Though thoroughly agnostic still, yet I could
quietly work and wait.
Returning to my studies and resolving to appropriate whatever I could
understand, I was surprised to find how much of the teaching ministered
to my needs. Before long I came to see that God did not have a central
nucleus, or ghost form in heaven; neither did He resemble a refined
substance like ether. Spirit was something quite different from what I
had supposed. My mind was hitting the trail. Then I understood that God
had not revealed Himself to the world according to my demand, because no
such God existed in heaven or earth. So one day in class I asked a
professor, who is now dead, if he thought we should see God in heaven as
we see men and trees here. At the same time I assured him that I did
not. His answer was, "I think your position would be a very dangerous
doctrine to teach." But my own conviction was that it was becoming a
very dangerous doctrine not to teach. Time has proved that I was right.
Millions of people are suffering to-day from false images of God or from
no image of God. Not long ago when I related this class incident to a
Yale man, he remarked, "Well, Professor ---- made great growth before he
died."
My categorical answers to the four questions at the head of this chapter
are: When we have rational ideas of God and the universe we shall see
that He is leaving nothing undone to reveal Himself. To an enlightened
understanding it does not seem possible that God could reveal Himself so
that no one could doubt His existence. Though the existence of God is a
question of doubt and discussion with many, yet we may achieve deep and
satisfying assurance if we go about it in the right way. I think it
would be morally wrong for God to leave His children in doubt of His
existence if He were able to reveal Himself.
This chapter is largely excavation. We have dug the hole deep so that we
may commence in the next chapter to lay the foundation on solid bottom.
And this was necessary if our proposed structure is to stand.
Allow me this closing word. When I began to get on my religious feet at
Yale, I unexpectedly received a call to a college pastorate. And though
the usual number of sceptics were found among the students, yet in many
respects they were the most savable men in college. Usually, if you
could hit the keys of their souls they would ring back and ring true.