This novel gathering in the field aroused the curiosity of the people, who feared we should some day become very troublesome to the community. The report reached almost every ear, and we were taken for adulterers, or what is worse still, “Kistans” (Christians). This latter charge was brought especially on account of my being connected with the party. But we did not feel discouraged, for we believed that to make our thanks and wants known to our good Father, we need not go here or there, close our eyes or open them, kneel down or stand on our feet, utter words or observe silence, for the Object of our worship is a Spirit, that fills the universe with his presence, and who knows all, inspects all, loves all his creatures. Still man is a social creature,—he wants advice, guidance, and help from others,—he improves himself by others’ example. This change of my religious ideas gave me one singular feeling: love for man in general, or in other words, love for the low castes wherever they could be found.
Nothing pleased me more than a crowd of men in whose faces, eyes, and movements we distinctly read the wisdom, love, and spirit of God. So I wished very much to be with them, especially for religious purposes; but my singular views of religion drove them away. In Calcutta there are Christian churches where I could not attend, much as I desired to do so. On Sunday, on my way to or from my friends in the city, I would stand in a street on which a church is placed, watch the people as they entered in, and eagerly lend my ears to the voices that were sending up to the throne of grace the praises and songs. Of course I could not stand long there, the bustling noise of the carriage-wheels would drown the joyous voices, and so I reluctantly would direct my steps homeward, uttering, “Blessed is the place where God is worshipped in spirit!” O Father! though my countrymen worship thee through idols and pictures, through forms and ceremonies, I rejoice to think that others adore thee in spirit! A young Brahmun sold me six English books which he had bought at a public auction in Calcutta. One was the “Memoir of Mrs. Mundey,” two were books of Common Prayer, and the rest were novels. My soul swam in ecstasy when I found that almost on every page the prayers begin with “Our Father,” “Most Gracious God,” “O God, our Father!” etc. Reading them earnestly, reflecting on the sweet, fervent, childlike expression of the heart therein, my joy knew no bounds. I made a present of one Prayer-Book to a Brahmun friend, and reserved the other for my own edification. I must confess, however, that the closing lines of the prayers, such as “in the name of our Saviour,” “through Jesus Christ our Lord,” etc., filled my heart with confusion. I believed God is unbounded love in his very nature,—gives his blessings to his children before they know to ask for them. Why then should I implore his mercy in the name of Christ? In the Hindoo prayers I had found such conditions. I had been taught to expect blessings from a deity through a second or third hand, so I feared these expressions in the Prayer-Books might have the same meaning. In the heat of enthusiasm at my freedom from superstition—with a desire to come to God directly, I took my pencil and cancelled these lines. By and by I came to the Litanies, where I met with “Glory to God the Son, and to God the Holy Ghost,” etc. Who can these Gods be? inquired I of myself. What book is this that teaches us to worship them? Let me see; is it a Christian Prayer-Book that I have bought, or what? Spending a few days in doubt and confusion I sought my friend to whom I had given a Common Prayer-Book, and to my utter surprise found him troubled likewise. He had marked out several passages in that book which ascribe glory and worship to God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, etc., which he declared foreign to the New Testament doctrine. We examined carefully some of the leading places in the New Testament the second time, and found no such thing as glory to the Son there. The Son says he did not come to seek his “own glory.” When the disciples desired him to teach them to pray, he said, “After this manner pray ye, Our Father which art in heaven,” etc. Again, the very idea of worshipping “God the Son,” and “God the Spirit,” seemed to us quite amusing if not quite new, for we were accustomed to worship god the son, god the nephew, goddess the niece, etc., while Hindoos in faith. So we thought we would not worship these extra gods of the Prayer-Book, however moderate their number is. It seemed absurd to us to offer supreme homage to a person subject to hunger, thirst, weakness, sorrows, death, etc., and who worshipped the same God with his disciples, and who craved for sweet communion with his God,—to lay before him all his soul’s deepest longings. Christ, I read in the Gospels, often sought mountain-tops, or river-sides, away from the little band, to spend hours in prayer.
Not being able to remain in this state of suspense any longer, I went to a clergyman and informed him of my sincere desire to know the God of whom Christ is the “Beloved Son.” Very kindly he offered me his cordial hands, introduced me to his library, and promised me his blessing every way. At his request that I would attend the morning services in his church, which were held at seven, I rose early and walked six miles so as to get there in season. The services were conducted in Hindoo fashion in some respect, as he did not read the Scripture himself: there was another present to take that part. Prayers were offered in behalf of the queen, the council, etc., which I liked very much, because in seeking good for others we show our love for them. But alas! the old trouble again! Again I heard of “God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost” there!
Learning my troubles, and with a view to alleviate them, the minister gave me a book called “Catechism,” but unfortunately, owing to the peculiar state of my mind, it made the matter worse still. In it for the first time I read expressions like the following, “As the very God of very God,” “begotten, but not made,” “one in three, three in one,” “yet distinct,” which to me sounded anything but rational. I begged the minister to explain these things to me as they appeared contradictory among themselves. I believed the very God is always very God, and the very man is always very man,—they cannot be otherwise; that humanity and Deity are two distinct things, so that they cannot be made identical. Again, the word Trinity was something new, which, in my study of the New Testament I did not meet with. I was told that these things lie beyond the reach of human conception; that our best effort to understand or to explain them would be fruitless; that although they seem contradictory and absurd to us, in reality they are not so, because they are unfathomable truths,—the children of the Revelations. This did not satisfy me, for I could not believe that our reason would contradict what the Revelation has to say. In looking at the matter with a simple and earnest mind, we see that Revelation brings us new and important truths and is not afraid of the close inspection of reason. Revelation owes much to reason, without which it cannot perform its mission. God gave Revelation unto us, who are endowed with reasoning faculties, that we might examine, reflect upon, and receive its contents. Reason, then, is the key to open Revelation.
Again, there is no failure in God; whatever he wishes to do is done in the best manner possible. So if he wished to bless his children with new truth in relation to his own nature, under the new dispensation, he could do it distinctly, intelligibly, and to their satisfaction. Our reasoning faculties do not object to the sublime truths like these, “Behold, Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord,” “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” etc., because these and their kindred ones are substantial truths that men can live and die by. Men of different religions, culture, age, and accomplishment almost unanimously regard the above-mentioned precepts with reverence. There is no controversy about them. Thus truth stands on its own ground, self-existent, self-supporting forever.
“A thousand honest doubts are more manly than a single cowardly assent to a proposition,” are the words of a Boston clergyman. I realized the beauty of his doctrine in this stage of my inquiry. As I had got over the fear of being damned, for not believing what my reasoning powers bore testimony against, and what my Teacher does not speak of, I bade farewell to the Christian minister with reluctance, and directed my steps towards home.
My disappointment in seeing Christianity set before me in so many unintelligible, mysterious doctrines, reminds me of a curious anecdote. A man, poor from his early years, accustomed to live upon all sorts of coarse food, became the guest of a very opulent man. He anticipated a great treat there: he thought he would get some luxurious food, but to his great surprise he found nearly the very coarse things he used to eat at home, ready for his disposal. Astonished, he stood before the table and began to give vent to his disappointment. “Friends! I left you all in my broken cottage; here I am in a princely mansion, how did you manage to come here? I did not think of meeting you so soon, and in such a place!”
My disappointment was strong when I was greeted by so many absurd doctrines, that pass under the name of Christian. I left Brahmunism on account of these same obscure, dry, unintelligible precepts with which it is crowded, and approached unto the handsome edifice of Christianity with the hope of finding something better. But lo, the very absurdity again! In Christian countries the people open their Bibles, not so much to derive a certain belief from the pages as to find support for an already acquired one. They go already prepared to find this or that view. Thus a Unitarian child meets the doctrines on the Unity of God throughout the Bible; and on the other hand, a Trinitarian child finds hints and supports for his Trinity almost on every page within its covers. My case was quite different; when I came to Christ I did not anticipate much save that whatever he would utter unto me must be sublime, redeeming, vital truths.
“What shall I do now?” became an important inquiry; go back to the gods and goddesses of my fathers, or what? I felt ashamed of that catechism, so I hid it under my books, that no opponents might see it and ridicule Christianity before my face. Christianity is not at all responsible for the hosts of dry, strange, unintelligible dogmas that claim our assent. Some time afterwards my nephew, a boy of thirteen, happened to open this old catechism of mine and to read the “creeds.” He smiled a little, and said, “Uncle, what book is this?” “That’s a catechism; don’t you see? It contains the Articles of Faith!” “Of what faith, uncle?” “Of the Christian faith,” said I. “Don’t say so! I declare! Isn’t the New Testament sufficient for that purpose? Here, you see, I read Christ was both God and man. God is one, yet has three distinct persons. Do the English people believe in these things?” “Certainly they do,” I rejoined. The little boy closed the book, saying, “Uncle, it makes me smile to think that the English people who drive railroad engines, build steamboats, and send messages through electric wires, should not know the difference between man and God,—one and three,” etc.
After a short season of the “Suspense of Faith,”—not knowing where to go, I met a young friend from Calcutta who is a member of the “Brahmo Somaj,” founded by the celebrated Raja Ram mohun Roy himself, or by his followers, I am not sure which. He brought me a large sheet of partly printed paper in which I entered my name, residence, date of subscription, etc., and thus took the name of “Brahmo,” or deist, as far as the unity of God is concerned. But as we wished to make our religion depend more upon our works, our affections, our love toward men in general, than upon a certain belief, I did not find much satisfaction in my deist life. The Bengalee deists are men of admirable character, of great intelligence, and of mild disposition, but the majority of them lack the spirit of freedom. They do not have much faith in the idols I think, but they have idols at their houses, which are worshipped and taken care of at their expense. How far they repudiate the caste system I am not sure, for I have not seen nor heard of high-caste deists dining with low-caste brethren publicly, nor have I known a Brahmun deist to marry the daughter of other castes. I do not mean that these, i. e. eating, drinking, and marrying with different castes are the essential parts of religion, and that as such the Calcutta deists do not observe them. No; the caste system, notwithstanding all its policy and the good it pretends to do, is obviously detrimental to the progress of the masses in India. It lies like the heavy Hymaloy over the heads of the low castes: they cannot rise upward intellectually, socially, or spiritually. Hence the first religious, philanthropic act of those who see the defects of the caste system, ought to be to help its removal and to inaugurate a state of equality among the people. My deistical brethren hardly take that step, although they eat and drink forbidden food and liquor with rich low castes, or with Christian people even privately. They have some saintly men among them. I admire their precepts, honor their private lives, and deem them noble. But they do not come like Jesus of Nazareth unto the publicans and sinners, or to those with unwashen hands.