As to my religious ideas in general, they were at that time influenced in various ways. I read much ecclesiastical history as given by leading authorities, Protestant and Catholic, and in various original treatises by thinkers eminent in the history of the church. A marked influence was exercised upon me by reading sundry lives of the mediaeval saints: even the quaintest of these showed me how, in spite of childlike credulity, most noble lives had been led, well worthy to be pondered over in these later centuries.
The general effect of this reading was to arouse in me admiration for the men who have taken leading parts in developing the great religions of the world, and especially Christianity, whether Catholic or Protestant; but it also caused me to distrust, more and more, every sort of theological dogmatism. More and more clear it became that ecclesiastical dogmas are but steps in the evolution of various religions, and that, in view of the fact that the main underlying ideas are common to all, a beneficent evolution is to continue.
This latter idea was strengthened by my careful reading of Sale's translation of the Koran, which showed me that even Mohammedanism is not wholly the tissue of folly and imposture which in those days it was generally represented to be.
Influence was also exerted upon me by various other books, and especially by Fra Paolo Sarpi's "History of the Council of Trent," probably the most racy and pungent piece of ecclesiastical history ever written; and though I also read as antidotes the history of the Council by Pallavicini, and copious extracts from Bossuet, Archbishop Spalding, and Balmez, Father Paul taught me, as an Italian historian phrases it, "how the Holy Spirit conducts church councils." At a later period Dean Stanley made a similar revelation in his account of the Council of Nicaea.
The works of Buckle, Lecky, and Draper, which were then appearing, laid open much to me. All these authors showed me how temporary, in the sum of things, is any popular theology; and, finally, the dawn of the Darwinian hypothesis came to reveal a whole new orb of thought absolutely fatal to the claims of various churches, sects, and sacred books to contain the only or the final word of God to man. The old dogma of "the fall of man" had soon fully disappeared, and in its place there rose more and more into view the idea of the rise of man.
But while my view was thus broadened, no hostility to religion found lodgment in my mind: of all the books which I read at that time, Stanley's life of Arnold exercised the greatest influence upon me. It showed that a man might cast aside much which churches regard as essential, and might strive for breadth and comprehension in Christianity, while yet remaining in healthful relations with the church. I also read with profit and pleasure the Rev. Thomas Beecher's book, "Our Seven Churches," which showed that each Christian sect in America has a certain work to do, and does it well; also, the sermons of Robertson, Phillips Brooks, and Theodore Munger, which revealed a beauty in Christianity before unknown to me.
Another influence was of a very different sort. From time to time I went on hunting excursions with the pastor of the Methodist Episcopal church at Ann Arbor; and though he made no parade of religion, there was in him a genial, manly piety which bettered me.
But I cannot say that this good influence was always exercised upon me by his coreligionists. There was especially one, who rose to be a "presiding elder," very narrow, very shrewd, and very bitter against the State University, yet constantly placing himself in comical dilemmas. On one occasion, when I asked him regarding his relations with clergymen of other religious bodies, he spoke of the Roman Catholics and said that he had made a determined effort to convert the Bishop of Detroit. On my asking for particulars, he answered that, calling upon the bishop, he had spoken very solemnly to him and told him that he was endangering his own salvation as well as that of his flock; that at first the bishop was evidently inclined to be harsh; but that, on finding that he—the Methodist brother—disliked the Presbyterian Dr. Duffield, who had recently attacked Catholic doctrine, as much as the bishop did, the relations between them grew better, so that they talked together very amicably.
At this point in our conversation a puzzled expression overspread the elder's face and he said, "The most singular experience I ever had was with a French Catholic priest in Monroe. Being in that town and having a day or two of vacation, I felt it my duty to go and remonstrate with him. I found him very polite, especially after I had told him that his bishop had received me and discussed religious questions with me. Presently, wishing to make an impression on the priest, I fixed my eyes on him very earnestly and said as solemnly as I could, 'Do you know that you are leading your flock straight down to hell?' To this the priest made a very singular answer,—very singular, indeed. He said, 'Did you talk like that to the bishop?' I answered, 'Yes, I did.' 'Didn't he kick you out of his house?' 'No, he didn't.' 'Then,' said the priest, 'I won't.'" And the good elder, during the whole of this story, evidently thought that the point of it was, somehow, against the PRIEST!
As a professor at the University of Michigan lecturing upon modern history, I, of course, showed my feelings in opposition to slavery, which was then completely dominant in the nation, and, to all appearance, intrenched in our institutions forever. From time to time I also said some things which made the more sensitive orthodox brethren uneasy; though, as I look back upon them now, they seem to me very mild indeed. In these days they could be said, and would be said, by great numbers of devoted members of all Christian churches. These expressions of mine favored toleration and dwelt upon the absurdity of distinctions between Christians on account of beliefs which individuals or communities have happened to inherit. Nothing like an attack upon Christianity itself, or upon anything vital to it, did I ever make; indeed, my inclinations were not in that direction: my greatest desire was to set men and women at thinking, for I felt sure that if they would really think, in the light of human history, they would more and more dwell on what is permanent in Christianity and less and less on what is transient; more and more on its universal truths, less and less upon the creeds, forms, and observances in which these gems are set; more and more on what draws men together, less and less on that which keeps them apart.