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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."

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.

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.

HOW SCIENCE SAVES RELIGION, OR MODERN KNOWLEDGE AND RELIGION

MODERN KNOWLEDGE AND RELIGION

Christian character, the Christian college, and Christian civilization have been very important factors in the discovery and development of modern learning.

Expecting to derive much benefit from the sciences, Christian people with fine enthusiasm strove to promote them. Nevertheless, there came a time when the allied sciences threatened to turn upon and destroy the religion that had so carefully nurtured them. When the scientific imagery of the Bible began to clash with the clearly ascertained facts of science, many people concluded that science and religion were contradictory; however, the crude conceptions of the material universe found in the Bible are no integral part of religion.

That religion may discard its wornout clothes for new and better ones has not been an easy lesson for believers, or unbelievers, to learn. Thinking that religion must stand or fall with the scientific accuracy of the Bible, some drew back from modern science preferring religion; others clung to the new learning forsaking religion. For a time, therefore, it was inevitable that religion and her foster daughter, modern science, should not be on the best of terms; because the daughter could not approve of the mother's dress, and the mother thought the daughter utterly lacking in becoming reverence. However, with their great need of each other, let us believe that they are now settling down to a lasting friendship of mutual helpfulness.

Unfortunately, the opinion is gaining considerable credence that modern Christians are believing less and less, and that finally they will cease to believe in religion altogether.

But this is the very opposite of the truth, for they are still believing the old religion, though in a vastly bigger and better way. For, at the present time, where its help is welcome, modern learning is rendering a beautiful service to Christian faith. And this is the grateful testimony of thousands of intelligent, consecrated people. No well-informed person, however, would deny that science has injured, and will increasingly weaken, the faith of those who do not know how to make a religious use of modern learning.

It is likewise pleasant to see religion standing for spiritual verities and duties, but when it demands that the Christian shall live in a world that is crude and half false, the modern man resents it. He simply cannot do it. Yet, to-day and always, religion should be a simple story that anyone may understand; but it should not be clothed in such crude and antiquated forms as to antagonize the man of modern knowledge.

During these introductory statements, we may as well admit that the average scientist appears to have as poor a knowledge of religion as the average Christian has of science. Too often he is still resisting religious conceptions that all intelligent Christians have long since outgrown, or else he is adopting philosophical theories that are only half thought through. This is amazingly true of some men who are superb in their own chosen lines of research. No one is hit by this statement unless he is standing in the line of the shot. Whether or not the reader is hit, I beg of him to keep friendly with me until he has heard my simple story of God in His world.

Could we but free the religion of Jesus from the crude psychology and the antiquated science of other days, and see it at home in the fairer world of to-day, it would shine with new luster; and at the same time give a rich, new meaning to the world itself,--such as it can never have apart from religion. Science, and not religion, was responsible for crude science.--Religion will be responsible if it retains a science that has become antiquated.

The discussion which immediately follows does not concern itself with why we believe in God, but aims to give a definite idea of how we conceive of Him. For those who have a natural sense of God, or a religious nature, a satisfying conception of Him will be ample for their spiritual needs. And, furthermore, those who doubt God's existence need first of all a definite idea of what we mean by the term Deity.

It is a pleasure, therefore, to answer in the words of Jesus, "God is a spirit."

As further evidence of confusion on this subject, a young man from one of our good colleges seeking membership in my Church, informed me that he had peculiar views. Spirit, whether applied to God or man, had no meaning for him. He wanted to join the Church because in that way he believed he could render a better social service. In his thought, God was neither a person nor a spirit, but a force. Having no satisfactory idea of spirits he had banished the thought of them entirely from his mind.

Two or three other cults believe that man's spirit is simply his physical breath.

To say that God is a spirit, then, with any of these gross conceptions in mind, is sadly to misconceive Him.

There is no harm in thinking of God as a force if the force is intelligent, and knows itself; but a force that does not know that it is a force, is not God. A progressive Jewish rabbi expressed the wish that we could get rid of the word God altogether, and substitute some such word as "Cosmos." When asked if the "Cosmos" knew that it was a cosmos, or that we were talking about it, he replied that he did not think so. "Then I would rather worship you," I said, "than your cosmos, for you would at least know that I reverenced you."

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