IN PITTSBURG--S. A. DAVIS, WIFE AND DAUGHTER--THE WEST--PREACHES
IN PENNSYLVANIA AND OHIO--WESTERN RESERVE--TALK WITH A
BIGOT--CONVERSATION ON A STEAMBOAT--FORBIDDEN TO PREACH--GRAVE
CREEK--A MOUND--MY STUDY--WHAT IS SALVATION?--PROCEEDINGS IN
BAINBRIDGE--MUD--IN CINCINNATI--GENERAL HARRISON--IN RISING SUN,
PATRIOT--PREACHES IN LOUISVILLE, KY.--E. M. PINGREE--ON THE
MISSISSIPPI RIVER--PREACHES IN A STEAMBOAT--IN NEW ORLEANS--BATTLE
GROUND.
I went to Pittsburg by stage, stopped at several places on the road,
and delivered my message. Arriving in that city, I became acquainted
with S. A. Davis, pastor of the church there, and publisher of the
_Glad Tidings_, a paper devoted to the good cause. His church was
numerically feeble, for liberal principles had just begun to take root
in that city as in the West generally. Mr. Davis worked hard in the
double capacity of pastor and editor. He was a pleasant speaker, fair
writer, and a very excellent man. His wife, who long since went to the
better world, possessed much talent, and wrote clever articles for
the _Glad Tidings_. He now resides in the East, and is still in the
Master’s service. His daughter, Minnie Davis, is one of the best female
writers in the denomination. She has written several excellent books,
and contributes liberally to our periodical literature.
I had crossed the mountain barrier between the East and the West, and
was then in the Mississippi Valley--merely though on its border. Its
hills and vales, its forests and prairies, its rivers and lakes, were
all before me towards the setting sun. Compare the West _then_ to the
West _now_. Never since earth’s foundation was laid, has any country
exhibited such rapid progress in so few years. The West has made a
thousand years growth in twenty-five years. And is it destined to
continue to grow at that rate? The signs of the times indicate that it
is even so. The most vivid imagination can form but a faint conception
of the future greatness of the West. Columbus, romantic and extravagant
as were his visions, could not have dreamed of half the glory of the
future West. Here fiction has already become fact, and dreams realities.
I effected arrangements to travel and preach in Pennsylvania and Ohio,
for I soon learned that our friends were few in the West, and that I
should have to travel extensively. I submitted to my fate and went
to work. Visited several places in Pennsylvania, but meeting with
little encouragement, I passed into Ohio, where I found more friends.
Preached in many places in the Western Reserve, generally had large
congregations, and found many devoted believers in the Great Salvation.
A large portion of the population of the Reserve were from the Eastern
states, and they brought industrious habits, correct moral principles,
and liberal religious sentiments with them--the right kind of soil for
Universalism to grow in. But where wheat grows, there grows chaff, and
I encountered some intolerable bigotry in that region. In Ashtabula a
vinegar-faced gentleman accosted me thus:
“I understand you are a Universalist preacher.”
“You have been correctly informed. Universalism is only another name
for the gospel. ‘A rose,’ you know, ‘by any other name would smell as
sweet.’”
“Sweet! Universalism the gospel! It is neither sweet nor the gospel.
It is a loathsome spawn from hell, the meanest of all the devil’s mean
works, and you ought not to be allowed to teach it to immortal souls.
I would put a stop to such preaching had I the power.”
“Very likely you would, for you look like a villain. The mark of the
beast is on you, and you would, doubtless, like to be about your
master’s business. The world has been cursed a long time with the
spirit you possess, and with men of your character, and that spirit,
and that breed are not yet dead. Bigots and hypocrites like you, nailed
the Savior of man to the cross, stoned Stephen, murdered the apostles,
and crucified, burnt, hung, beheaded, and quartered, the saints of God
in all ages.”
“If I believed as you do, I would take my fill of sin.”
“You are full of sin _now_.”
“What do you preach for?”
“To reform such men as _you_. You may think you are a Christian of the
first water, but you know nothing about Christianity. The name of its
Author is Love, and Christianity corresponds, letter and spirit, with
that blessed word. But what do you know about _love_? and what does
your fiery creed know about _love_? But you know what _hate_ means,
and you would pursue all with fire and sword who do not kneel at
your shrine. I pray God that you may be converted, that you may know
the meaning of love, mercy, goodness, justice, know that they do not
signify hatred, cruelty, vengeance, and that God is served when we obey
the law of love, not when we hate and devour each other.”
On board of a steamboat, on the Ohio river, I participated in the
following conversation:
“I am free to acknowledge, that I cannot reconcile endless misery with
the goodness of God, and yet I have to believe in that doctrine.”
“Others have admitted the same. The celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson,
the great moralist of the last century, admitted that God cannot be
infinitely good to the victims of ceaseless woe--so Boswell tells us.
We judge of a person’s character by his works. If his works are evil,
we infer his character is evil; if his works are good, we infer that
his character is good. We are safe in judging of God’s character by the
same criterion. If he has built an everlasting hell, and will consign
his own offspring to its dismal vaults, to be the victims of Almighty
wrath, world without end, and all for the errors of a day, it is
utterly impossible for Him to be _good_, much less, _infinitely_ good.
Goodness seeks the _welfare_, not the _ruin_, of the subjects of its
power.”
“But your argument, if it is sound, proves, that God is not infinitely
good, for the world is full of misery. All, the old and the young, the
good and the bad, suffer.”
“True, there is much suffering beneath the sun, but I think it can be
reconciled with the goodness of the Creator. Consider, first, how short
is our stay on earth. Some are here a few hours, others a few days,
and none but a few years. Suppose there were nothing in this world but
suffering, but if an eternity of bliss awaits us on the other side of
the river, all the sufferings of earth would afford no evidence that
God is not good. For every tear, every sigh, every woe, we should have
millions of ages of happiness. But with very few exceptions, if there
are any, all in this world, enjoy far more than they suffer. There are
more muscles in the face for laughing than for weeping, which proves
that it is the will of our Creator that there should be more happiness
in our cup than sorrow. As there is more sunshine than storm, so more
joy than grief falls to the lot of mortals. But this should also be
considered, most of the suffering men endure, they bring on themselves
by their ignorance or willfulness. This is a beautiful world, a garden
of Eden, and if we observe the laws of the Creator, taste not of the
forbidden fruit, but partake only of fruit from the tree of life,
there would be but little suffering in this world.”
“But we are informed, that man was forbidden to partake of the tree of
life.”
“Adam and Eve were forbidden while they were unrepentant and sinful,
and so are all while they possess such a character. We cannot serve God
and Baal. If we serve the one we despise the other. We cannot possess a
sinful character, and a virtuous character, cannot partake of the tree
of evil and of good at the same time. We are driven from the one when
we partake of the other. But if we flee from the deadly shades of the
upas, touch not, taste not, handle not its poisonous fruit, the tree of
life will be accessible to us. We are told that the leaves of the tree
are for the healing of the nations, (Rev. xxii. 2,) showing, that it is
now within our reach. Yes, if we approach it with pure motives, clean
hands, and reverent steps, we can, even now, pluck its fruit and live.
But a flaming sword prevents access to it while we are morally low,
debased, groveling.”
“That is a new view of the subject; I will think about it.”
“As all suffering in this world is of short duration, and as we
voluntary bring most we do suffer on ourselves, and as we have reason
to trust it will all, by our Heavenly Father, be overruled for good,
and be succeeded by an eternity of blessedness, I cannot see that the
few tears, and aches of this brief life militate against the goodness
of the Creator. I am sure, when we shall have passed through the
strifes and conflicts of this world, and can see the past in the light
of their results, in the light of eternity, we will exclaim, ‘Love
and mercy pursued us all the days of our lives.’ But misery without
mitigation or end, without one ray of hope, nothing but an eternity
of gloom, and the most intense agony, can never be reconciled with
infinite goodness.”
A few miles below Pittsburg, in Virginia--I now forget the name of the
place--I stopped one Saturday evening, and told the people I would
speak to them the next day, if they would give me a hearing. A citizen
invited me to his house, and I delivered a discourse on Sunday morning,
to a large assembly. In the middle of the afternoon, some ten or a
dozen persons entered the house where I was stopping, and after being
seated, the following ensued:
“Are you the man who preached in the school house this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we have called to let you know that you must not hold another
meeting in this town.”
“Why not? What is the matter, gentlemen?”
“Your doctrine is dangerous; it is infidelity, and we want no more of
it.”
“Did any of you hear my discourse to-day?”
“No, and we don’t want to hear such stuff.”
“How then do you know it is dangerous and infidel?”
“We are not here to have a controversy with you, but to notify you that
you cannot occupy the school house this evening.”
My host here informed the gentlemen, that he had an interest in
that house, and that I _should_ preach in it if I desired to. “This
gentleman,” said he, “is a stranger in this place; I heard his sermon
in the morning, and although I know nothing about Universalism, he
uttered not a word I consider dangerous or infidel.”
“When you reflect,” I remarked, “on the mean business you are here
on, you will be heartily ashamed of yourselves, and your conduct.
You admit you did not hear me, and yet you are loud and angry in
your condemnation. I am a stranger in this place, and to you; I have
never harmed a hair of your heads, and yet you treat me with savage
rudeness. Is this Virginia hospitality? What do you suppose I teach?”
“We understand you teach, that there is no God, no Savior, no hell, and
that the good and the bad, go to heaven together.”
“You have been misinformed. My advice to you is, to acquaint yourselves
with the principles you so rudely condemn, for you are as ignorant of
them as the Hottentots are of English grammar.”
“We have no more to say to you, except to repeat, that you must not
again preach your abominations in this town.”
“I expect to hold a meeting in town this evening, and hope you will
attend, and learn something of the gospel of Jesus.”
Exit the inquisitors.
I held a meeting according to appointment, but that company of bigots
kept out of the way. They found, however, they could neither rule me or
the town, for I had a much larger congregation after their visit than
before. Lectured in Wellsville, and a Methodist minister replied in a
good natured manner, and we parted in friendship. Proceeded down the
Ohio river to Wheeling, where I lectured several times, in a Baptist
meeting-house, and then went to Graves Creek, on the Virginia side of
the river, and there spent two weeks, speaking most every day in town
or country. C. G. Cox resided there, and preached occasionally. My
sojourn in this place is a green spot in my memory, for I found some
excellent friends, which was really cheering after meeting with so much
opposition.
There is an artificial mound here, some eighty feet high, of a conic
shape, and very steep. When, or by whom it was made, whether by the
Indians, or a race who preceded them, is unknown, and the mystery
will probably never be solved. A few years since a shaft was extended
through the base of the mound, and a broken arch and some human bones
were found in the center, indicating that it was a monumental structure.
A great portion of my traveling at this period was on foot. I often
walked twenty or twenty-five miles in a day, and delivered a long
discourse at night. Traveling in this hard way, and preaching most
every day, I had but little time to read or write. When a traveler
asked Wordsworth’s servant, to show him his master’s study, he
answered, “Here is his library, but his study is out of doors.”
So, like him, my study was out of doors. The Bible was my constant
companion, and the portions of it that most interested me, were the New
Testament, the Psalms, the book of Job, the Proverbs and Ecclesiastes.
When weary, I would sit by the wayside, and study the Book of Life,
and on resuming my march, would reflect on what I had read, or arrange
a sermon. My discourses were seldom written, neither were they wholly
extemporaneous, for I often repeated portions of them.
I journeyed to Steubenville, Ohio, where I spoke twice; then to
Marietta, and from thence to Chillicothe, as I was then bound for
Cincinnati. In Chillicothe, I remained a week, and lectured four
times. While in this place, I had the following conversation with a
Presbyterian clergyman:
“What do you mean by salvation?”
“I mean, deliverance from evil tendencies, thoughts, habits, purposes,
and all of their long train of results. This is a _perfect_ salvation.
It can be only partially enjoyed in this world, at best; it will
require the grace, light and wisdom of eternity to perfect the work.
It may be commenced here, but cannot be consummated in this lower
world. And this is what the New Testament means by salvation. ‘Thou
shalt call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their
_sins_.’ Matt. i. 21. ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the
_sin_ of the world.’ John i. 28. ‘Unto you first, God having raised
up his Son Jesus, sent him to bless you, in turning every one of you
from his _iniquities_.’ Acts iii. 25. ‘There shall come out of Zion
the deliverer, who shall turn away _ungodliness_ from Jacob; for this
is the covenant unto them, when I shall take away their _sins_.’ Rom.
xi. 27. ‘There is no _condemnation_ to them that are in Christ Jesus.’
Rom. viii. 1. ‘Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from
all _iniquity_, and purify unto himself a people zealous of good
works.’ Titus ii. 14. ‘Because the creature [meaning mankind] shall be
delivered from the _bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty_
of the children of God.’ Rom. viii. 21. These scriptures clearly teach
what is gospel salvation. The recipients of it are liberated from the
bondage of sin and error; the ‘chains of darkness’ are broken, and
they enjoy a glorious liberty, a glorious deliveration, a glorious
salvation.”
“True, that is salvation; but the Bible also speaks of salvation from
_hell_.”
“The only passage in the Bible where deliverance from hell is spoken
of reads thus:--‘For great is thy mercy towards me; and thou hast
_delivered my soul from the lowest hell_.’ Psalms lxvi. 13. Here is
hell, the _lowest hell_, and the writer speaks of salvation from
it; but this hell is on earth, and the deliverance is a _present_
deliverance. David had sinned, and he expressed his sins and their
consequences by the term, hell; but he repented, reformed, obtained
forgiveness, and was delivered from the lowest hell into which he had
been plunged. And it was the mission of Jesus to save the world from
just such a hell, and from no other.”
“But the Bible speaks of salvation from hell in the future world--an
endless hell.”
“The Scriptures no where locate hell in the immortal world. It is
a condition of _moral corruption_, and, the world knows by sad
experience, that condition is experienced in this life. The terms,
‘eternal hell,’ ‘everlasting hell,’ ‘endless hell,’ do not once
occur in the good book. But if gospel salvation is deliverance from
such a wretched place, it is remarkable that the sacred writers say
nothing about it. The truth is, God never made such a horrible place
as theologians denominate hell, and consequently nobody is exposed to
its fiery surges, and all this talk about salvation from it, is simply
idle talk. But men do cherish evil thoughts, purposes, habits, and the
salvation the Bible contemplates is deliverance from those real evils.
Here is a trinity of evils, and to sever them from our souls and from
our life; to purify our thoughts, correct our habits, and rightly
direct our purposes, should be the end and aim of life. But to spend
life’s golden moments, trying to dodge imaginary evils, evils which
exist only in our creeds, and thereby make ourselves miserable, is
foolish, is suicidal. The only hell we need fear is _within_ our own
souls, not without, and away in yonder world; and if half the effort
was made to save the world from that hell, that is made to save it from
imaginary torments beyond the grave, much more would be accomplished
for humanity.”
Proceeded to Bainbridge, where I spent several days, and delivered
four sermons to an excited people. The doctrine of the Restitution was
hardly known there, even by name, but all classes attended my meetings
to hear the youthful speaker, and to learn something of his strange
doctrine. Some were mad and some were glad. One minister treated me
very kindly, and assisted several times in the services, but another
was boiling over with rage, but he heard me through. At the close of
the second discourse, he jumped to his feet, and told the people that
the speaker believed in no hell or devil, and for my part, he added, I
would as soon deny that there is a God or a heaven. I kindly informed
him that he was mistaken, that he had not understood me; that I
believed in all the hells and devils the Bible speaks of, and no more;
that possibly we might differ relative to the Bible meaning of those
subjects, and that it was very uncharitable to assert that I denied
the Bible because I differed from him in understanding it. Doing that
is not denying the Bible, but simply differing from the gentleman. He
then dashed into Revelation to prove that the devil was a huge monster,
almost equal to the Almighty, had his throne in the infernal regions,
where he reigned, “monarch of all he surveyed,” and that his eagle eye,
from the center of hell, beheld this earth and all therein, and he
not only attended to his infernal duties at home, but was constantly
besieging every man, woman and child of earth, and never forsook a soul
till it was fairly within the gates of the New Jerusalem. I replied,
that there was this difference between the speaker and myself--he was
a _Pagan_ and I was a _Christian_; I believed in _one_ God, and he, at
least, in _two_--the God of heaven, and the god of hell. And I exhorted
him to abandon his Paganism and embrace Christianity. He cooled down
some, and at the close of the meeting gave me his hand. I entered
Bainbridge a total stranger, and departed from it with the blessings of
many.
I went to Cincinnati by stage, and oh, what roads! There were no
railroads then, not even turnpikes. It was mud, mud, mud, nothing but
mud; stiff, black, deep mud. I forget how many times the stage broke
down, how many horses were killed, or how many times all hands had to
get out into the ocean of mud, and pry the stage out of the mud. But I
do remember, that when we reached Cincinnati, the horses, driver, stage
and passengers, were covered with rich Buckeye mud. Mr. West was then
preaching in the Queen city, in a small house, on Walnut street, and
Mr. Tizard and George Rogers were publishing the _Star in the West_.
Cincinnati then contained only twenty-five thousand inhabitants, but
now its population is fully two hundred thousand. Still, it was then
_the_ city of the West. St. Louis and Chicago were then mere villages,
now each of them is equal to Cincinnati in population. Surely, western
cities are great _growers_. Preached several times in C., and made
many pleasant acquaintances. I was urged to remain and labor in the
vicinity, but I had resolved to go South, and no persuasion could
change my purpose. I had to learn my mistake by experience.
I went on foot, down the Ohio river. Stopped at North Bend, saw General
Harrison, who then resided there, and spent several hours in his
company. He was very kind and social. He told me he had thought much
about religion, believed in its reality and usefulness, that he could
not subscribe to the eternity of punishment, but did not know about
the salvation of all; but added the General, “I believe God is just,
wise, good and merciful, and that all will end well, but what that end
is to be I know not. I must wait for the developments of the great
teacher--death.” Soon after, he was elected President of the United
States. I saw him several times during the presidential campaign; heard
him make his Dayton speech to congregated thousands, and read with
tearful eyes, the announcement of his death, one short month after his
inauguration, and have since lingered around his grave, on the banks of
the Ohio.
I next went to Rising Sun, Ind., where I preached every day for a week.
This was my first advent into Indiana. Since then, I have traveled
through its length and its breadth, and preached in nearly every town
within its borders. Much interest was manifested in the meetings at
Rising Sun, and large congregations attended. One man, I was informed,
a member of some orthodox church, who attended one of the meetings,
became so excited, during the service, that he ate all the tobacco he
could find in his pockets--three large plugs. Since then, a society has
been organized there, and a church built. Perhaps the good seed sown
then, in after years yielded some fruit. Seven miles down the river is
Patriot, where I stopped ten days, and delivered five discourses. The
principal families of the place were of the liberal faith, excellent
people, and practical Christians. They loved the truth, loved to talk
about it, and loved to attend the services of the sanctuary. That place
was an oasis in the desert--no controversy, no denunciation, but peace,
love and harmony reigned. A fine meeting-house was built soon after I
was there, and the society prospered for several years. But pecuniary
misfortunes overtaking some of the leading members, and the business
of the town diminishing, nearly broke up the society. After a pleasant
sojourn with the Patriot friends, I went to Louisville, Ky., where I
preached several times in a large hall. I had not been in Kentucky
before, but since then have traveled extensively in that state. In this
city, E. M. Pingree lived, studied, labored and died. He died young,
in the midst of usefulness, loved and honored by all who knew him. He
was a strong man, gathered many friends around him, and built up what
seemed to be a permanent society, but it did not prosper long after his
death, and is now extinct. Gad Chapin was in L. on my first visit, and
is there still--a patriarch in our Israel.
At Louisville I took passage on the steamer “Commercial” for New
Orleans, fifteen hundred miles down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers.
Nothing of much interest occurred on the voyage. I delivered three
discourses, at the request of the captain and passengers, on three
subjects--Judgment, Punishment, Salvation--and theological points were
the principal subjects of discussion the ten days occupied in going
to New Orleans. The merits and demerits of Universalism were pretty
freely canvassed by all, from the captain to the barber. Captain Rudd,
the commander, was of the liberal faith. I met him in after years in
St. Louis, where he died of yellow fever. He was a good officer, and a
generous friend.
I arrived at New Orleans in January. Ten days had transported me from
winter to summer weather; from where the earth was bound in chains of
ice, and covered with snow, to where mother earth was teeming with
vegetable life, and covered with a carpet, in which were blended the
tints of the rainbow. Jack Frost was busy, biting ears and fingers, in
Louisville, but in New Orleans gnats and musquitoes were fully as eager
to bite at every exposed point. I heard Dr. Clapp, but he had not then
embraced the better faith, and I formed no acquaintance with him. I
traveled all over the city, and visited the battle ground where General
Jackson gave the English such a drubbing. I wanted to preach on the
spot, but could not find a door of entrance. No one seemed to care for
any thing but money, and dissipation. Mammon and Bacchus were the gods
mostly worshiped. The churches on Sunday were nearly empty, but the
theaters, museums, gambling dens, and grog-shops, were crowded. There
were doubtless some righteous men there, but to a stranger, they seemed
to be as scarce as they were in Sodom of old.