“Where is heaven?”
“Heaven is not a place, but a condition—a condition of wisdom, purity, holiness. Heaven reigns in that soul, which is loyal to God. There is a difference between heaven and the spirit world. The latter is a place—it may be boundless space. Men may exist in that world without knowing much of heaven, as they do exist in this world without much heavenly mindedness.”
“Well, you entertain curious views. I do not see how you can reconcile them with the Bible.”
I journeyed on to Terre Haute, where I delivered several discourses. This was then a pleasant village, but now it is a large and flourishing town, and one of the most beautiful places in the West. Its spacious streets, flanked on each side by trees, shrubbery, lawns, flower gardens and elegant dwellings, give it a charming appearance. It stands on the east bank of the Wabash river, and on the margin of a rich and beautiful prairie. Subsequently a society was organized, and a meeting-house built, but for various reasons, which I need not name, our cause, for many years, has been in a feeble condition in that city. It has recently revived under the auspices of the Northwest Conference, and an able minister, H. Jewell, is settled in the place. I rode to Vincennes, seventy miles down the river, and preached in several villages and neighborhoods, in not one of which the doctrine of the Restitution had before been proclaimed. The people generally attended my meetings, but I found but few believers in the Great Salvation.
Returning to Terre Haute, I went up the Wabash river, and preached in Clinton, Eugene, Perryville, Attica, and West Point, places I have often since visited. The religious principles I advocated were new to nearly all the inhabitants of the Wabash Valley, where I was traveling. There was here and there a believer, but nearly all the people knew nothing of Universalism. “Why,” said a man to me, “you do not believe in the Bible, do you?” When I informed him that I did, he was much astonished; and he was perfectly amazed when he was told that I found my faith in the Good Book. “I don’t know what you preach for,” said he, “if all will be saved; and as to praying, of course, you don’t pray.” This man’s knowledge of our faith was the knowledge nearly all the people of that region had of it. I was regarded as an infidel, a wolf, a blasphemer, an emissary of Satan. Women crossed the street when they saw me coming, as if I was a walking pestilence; children passed me as if they were afraid, and men looked suspicious when they came in contact with me. But it was not thus with all—far from it. Most of those I met with, though they knew nothing of Universalism, treated me kindly, and listened respectfully to what I had to say.
I spent one month in Lafayette and Dayton, places seven miles apart. A Methodist clergyman, by the name of Smith, attended my first meeting in Lafayette, and gave notice that he would reply in the evening, and invited me to attend and reply to him if I saw proper. Each of us spoke several times, but I was far from being satisfied with my defense. I considered it a failure, though my friends seemed to think I did well. Mr. Smith was a pretty sharp man, an experienced preacher, and accustomed to speaking without preparation. He knew he had the advantage of me, and so followed me up for several Sabbaths, and seemed determined to drive me out of the country, or shut my mouth. We had five distinct encounters, and in the outcome he got the worst of it, for he spent his strength in the beginning of the contest, while I grew stronger as the discussion progressed. Two years after I located in Lafayette, organized a society, commenced the publication of The Christian Teacher, and several years after a meeting-house was erected. In the interim of the discussions with Mr. Smith, I preached in Dayton. Here a school teacher tried two or three times to demolish me, but I survived his attacks. I found some excellent friends in this place, a society was formed, and a few years after a temple was erected.
Preaching, debating, conversation, visiting and riding, occupied nearly all my time, and what reading I did was chiefly on horseback. If I had five or fifty miles to ride, I improved the occasion by reading some useful book. I would pass travelers and farm-houses unnoticed. I recollect, after spending a day in riding and reading, I put up at a farm-house, and told the good woman I wanted no meat, tea or coffee for supper. “What do you want?” said she, with amazement. “A little bread and milk, if you please, and a whole candle, as I wish to write this evening.” The candle was furnished, a pig’s face, a cold hoe-cake, and a bowl of sour milk. She went to the neighboring village, Martinsville, and reported that there was a crazy man at her house.
Proceeding on my journey, with book in hand, I rode to Logansport, where I lectured twice. Have preached there often since. We have now an elegant meeting-house in this pleasant and flourishing town, built by a bequest of Colonel Pollard, who for many years was a prominent merchant of the place. He will long be remembered with gratitude for his noble gift. Though dead he yet speaks. Men of wealth, in disposing of their possessions, would do well to remember religious societies, benevolent and literary institutions, and those tried and faithful men who have grown gray in the service of humanity. Such men devote their time and talent to the world, and old age often finds them poor in this world’s goods. Let the rich, when dying, consider them, and the cause for which they have given their all.
Near Plymouth were congregated six hundred Pottowattamie Indians, preliminary to moving them to the distant West. I spent several hours with them. Asked the chief where they were going. “I don’t know.” “Do you wish to remain here?” “Oh yes, oh yes. I leave the bones of my fathers here; but where will my bones, and those of my children be laid? No matter, no matter. The Indians are doomed.” A father and mother buried their child with their own hands. Not a word was uttered, not a tear was shed. “Lo, the poor Indian!” In a few more years the sun will rise on the last original owner of our national domain. Our swords and our vices have been doing their work of death ever since the Indians welcomed the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, and they are rising in judgment and condemning us. It seems to be a law of nature, that a subjugated people must either blend with their conquerors or be annihilated. The Indians will not unite with us, and destruction is their doom. The weak, if they attempt to stand alone, fall. Their only chance of salvation is in the alliance of the strong.
Lectured in Laporte and Door village, and then proceeded to Michigan City, where I also held meetings. I also spoke in South Bend. A Presbyterian clergyman opened his battery on me from his pulpit, which has been called the coward’s castle. He said Universalism was false for the following reasons: 1st, It conflicts with the justice of God; 2d, With the mercy of God; 3d, With the love of God; 4th, With reason; 5th, With sound philosophy; 6th, With the law of God; 7th, With the gospel of Jesus Christ; 8th, With the Bible doctrine of sin; 9th, Of punishment; 10th, Of faith; 11th, Of rewards; 12th, Of heaven; 13th, Of hell; 14th, Because it is a new doctrine; 15th, The devil’s doctrine; 16th, A wicked doctrine; 17th, A licentious doctrine; 18th, Wicked men and devils preach it. I replied to his long tirade. Our people now have a society, meeting-house, and a settled minister in South Bend. There is also a society and meeting-house four miles from there, at Mount Pleasant.