What and Where is G.o.d?

by Richard La Rue Swain.

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 a.s.sociated.

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 G.o.d, of the universe, and of man as he is enfolded in G.o.d's world.

The chapters on immortality contain a further discussion of G.o.d, man, and the universe as they move on in endless time. To know "what and where" G.o.d is, it is necessary to understand how man and the universe exist in G.o.d, and what G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 ma.n.u.script and made valuable suggestions.

R. L. S.

306 Golden Hill, Bridgeport, Conn.

WHAT AND WHERE IS G.o.d?

CHAPTER I

LOSING G.o.d, OR THE HONEST ATHEIST

_Why does G.o.d leave His very existence in doubt by forever hiding Himself?_

_If there were a G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d! They have taken Him away and I do not know where to find Him. My childhood conception of a Man-G.o.d 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 G.o.d; of a G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sengers 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 mult.i.tudes, both without and within the Church, are asking _what_ G.o.d is and _where_ He is that they may find Him.

The poverty of faith and confusion of ideas concerning G.o.d were recently brought _to_ light by Professor Leuba in his questionnaire. Many seem to think there is no place for G.o.d in their conception of the universe.

Having no longer a satisfying idea of G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d was everywhere in all majesty and power. But it was different. They believed that G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d to supplement a universal G.o.d.

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 ma.s.ses to move out of the old "shack" of an unscientific world into G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 "G.o.d" 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 G.o.d is good to them, or whether He really thinks of them at all, are greatly shocked if some one else doubts G.o.d's existence. Whereas, to believe in Christ's G.o.d 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 const.i.tuted 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 G.o.d. How my father was going forth in G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d, save my poor soul from h.e.l.l!" 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 a.s.sisting 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 d.a.m.ned were mingling their voices in that tumultuous scene. Heaven and h.e.l.l 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 unG.o.dly 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 embarra.s.sing 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 a.s.serting 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d with a growing grat.i.tude 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d to save me, and then with me to surrender all to G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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.