Church. His nascent socialist consciousness was well within the bounds of acceptable political discourse in the context of Progressive Era Manhattan. He still considered himself a minister by vocation and not a reformer; politics rarely made an appearance in his sermons, which remained focused on his congregants’ personal problems. And yet even as his church prospered, by 1913 he was in the midst of a profound spiritual crisis that would ultimately compel him to break from the Reformed Church. The theological modernism to which he had been exposed at Union had gradually eroded his faith. He now doubted the doctrines of the Westminster Confession, particularly the virgin birth, original sin, and the literal interpretation of scripture. As he questioned the tenets of the faith in which he had been raised, he fell into a deep depression, fearing that he had ‘‘lost religion’’ and ‘‘questioning how you could believe that life was worthwhile at all.’’ He even considered leaving the ministry altogether.42
Whether because of his ‘‘nervous prostration’’ or because his wife was sick from a miscarriage (or both; the sources are unclear), in early 1914 he and Anne left the city for the Catskills to reflect and recuperate. There, he had a tremendous mystical experience that reassured him of God’s existence and of God’s love; ‘‘I have now arrived at a perfect religious certainty, a peace of mind after a long period of doubt,’’ Muste proclaimed upon returning to the city.43 The New York Times reported that ‘‘he returned to the city restored from the nervous prostration he had experienced, but when he compared his reformed, new-found, faith with the doctrine of his church, he found divergences.’’44 Close friends, including Henry Sloan Coffin, a leader in the Presbyterian Church and faculty member at Union Theological Seminary, urged him to find a way to reconcile his new beliefs with the Westminster Confession and then work to reform the church from within. But Muste, setting a pattern that would be repeated throughout his life, would brook no compromise with his conscience, and he honored his contract with the Reformed Church requiring that he report any ‘‘doubts or difficulties’’ to his classis.45
On October 20, 1914, the New York Classis met to consider a communication from Muste to the effect that the doctrines of the church were largely ‘‘untrue, outworn, or unimportant,’’ and that the real meaning of Christianity was to follow Jesus, ‘‘to live by his spirit, to give him free course in one’s life.’’ ‘‘This past winter has brought me into such communion with God, such peace, such perfect confidence, as I can honestly crave for all men everywhere,’’ Muste explained. While he hoped to continue doing ‘‘God’s work’’ within the Reformed Church, he accepted the probable consequences of his apostasy. Though they ‘‘loved the pastor,’’ the classis was unwilling to make an exception, and it was clear that Muste had to resign.46
Viewed as a preacher of ‘‘rare intellectual ability’’ and ‘‘unusual [spiritual] power,’’ his departure from Fort Washington deeply troubled and saddened New York City’s Reformed community.47 ‘‘I blame Union Theological Seminary for the whole trouble,’’ the Reverend Dr. David J. Burrell, senior pastor of the Collegiate Reformed Church, told the New York Herald.48 Another minister was more sympathetic, commenting presciently that ‘‘we cannot but feel that in an environment in which he feels a little less restraint theologically, he will develop into a very unusual man.’’49
To leave the Reformed Church was also, symbolically at least, to break with the Dutch ethnic community. His parents, who had sacrificed to make his ministerial career possible, found his decision puzzling, even embarrassing, though they would continue to respect and love him. Perhaps they received some consolation from their younger son, Cornelius, who followed Muste into the Dutch Reformed ministry, yet remained within the church. Indeed, ‘‘Neal’’ occupied a sort of parallel universe; he followed Muste to Hope College, New Brunswick Theological Seminary, and a ministerial career in New York City. Yet, as Muste drew deeper into nonconformity and political radicalism, Neal continued his steady rise in the Reformed Church, fulfilling the expectations his parents had for his older brother. In so doing, however, he assumed a class status and identity that separated him from his family of origin. He visited Grand Rapids less frequently than Muste, who made the trip at least twice a year; there, relatives found ‘‘Uncle Neal’’ distant and condescending, preferring the company of ‘‘Uncle Bram,’’ who was ‘‘quiet,’’ ‘‘humble,’’ and ‘‘down-to-earth.’’50
IN his journey from Calvinism to liberalism, from the Republican Party to voting for Debs, Muste was typical of other Social Gospel progressives. The first generation of progressives, such as Jane Addams, John Dewey, and George Herbert Mead, shed their Calvinist heritage and turned to secular professions and reform as an outlet for their ‘‘quest for religious perfectionism.’’51 The Social Gospel similarly shaped the evolving political identities of the next generation of Protestant reformers, such as Norman Thomas and his brother Evan, Kirby Page, Paul Kellogg, Mary Van Kleeck, Reinhold Niebuhr, and others. As Muste and other Calvinists groped toward a new, more authentic Christian faith, they drew upon powerful cultural narratives popularized by figures like William James and the Quaker mystic Rufus Jones, who celebrated spiritual inwardness and ecstatic experience as offering a path out of the dislocating and alienating effects of modernity. The mystical tradition that they helped invent was a cosmopolitan one in which the solitude of mystical experience gave way to a sense of oneness with all peoples, to ideals of ‘‘universal brotherhood, and sympathetic appreciation of all religions.’’52 It was also a reformist one; James and Jones believed that mysticism unleashed energy for the hard work of social transformation. For James, for example, the measure of religious experience was ‘‘its fruits, its production of saintliness and active habits.’’ It was a ‘‘way to unleash energy, to find the hot place of human initiative and endeavor, and to encourage the heroic, the strenuous, the vital, and the socially transformative.’’53
Still, there were important differences between these two generations of Protestant reformers. The latter, coming of age during the era of modernist revolt, would prove itself more laborite and more libertarian than the former, which had a deep affinity for top-down, Fabian-style reform. Muste’s generation was also more cosmopolitan, decidedly rejecting notions of Anglo-Saxon cultural superiority and embracing cross-ethnic exchange and experiences (Muste was, of course, an immigrant himself). They were, in other words, Protestant modernists; the emphasis is on the adjective, for they largely remained conventional in matters related to morality, sexuality, and gender in contrast to their more secular comrades like Floyd Dell, Margaret Sanger, Edmund Wilson, Max Eastman, and Louise Bryant. In this vein, most Christian modernists supported Prohibition; Unitarian minister John Haynes Holmes bragged that he would ‘‘never under any circumstances allow a drop of alcohol to pass my lips.’’54 Muste was somewhat unusual in his opposition to Prohibition and his refusal to moralize on the evils of alcohol, as well as in his enjoyment of popular culture. But he shared the moral uprightness of his fellow Protestants, noting later in life that ‘‘he had never been drunk.’’55
How Muste related to his wife during this period of spiritual crisis offers another example of the cultural conservatism of Protestant modernists. Though Anne was aware of Muste’s estrangement from Reformed doctrine, he did not engage in philosophical or intellectual discussions with her. More to the point, he apparently decided to break with the church without consulting her, setting a pattern that would persist throughout their lives together. Indeed, even as Muste developed close working relationships with powerful women and often worked with them on terms of mutual respect and equality, within his personal life, there was a strict sexual division of labor, with his wife clearly subordinate to him. In this instance, Anne does not appear to have been much disturbed; according to Muste, she was not a particularly ‘‘rigid’’ sort of person, and her own horizons had been broadened by the move to New York. It was several years later, in 1917, when Muste broke with the ministry altogether over his pacifism, that clear differences emerged. Yet there was no question but that Anne would support her husband, even as his choices made her deeply anxious and perhaps even ill.56
Gender expectations alone do not explain Anne’s support for her husband during this period. Like Muste, she was the product of a deeply religious