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!"