Muste learned at Union challenged Calvinist doctrine to its core. Arthur McGiffert, from whom he took four classes on church history and with whom he developed a close, personal relationship, used critical historical methods to study the New Testament and early Christian history, an approach that had earned him some notoriety in the 1890s. McGiffert criticized the Reformed tradition for having a juridical conception of God, and his research emphasized that Jesus conceived of God as merciful and fatherly. He explored modern trends in religion, tracing the shift in religious authority from external, legal, and absolute terms to human, vital, changing, and as the product of personal experience. He stressed the key role of William James in rehabilitating faith for the modern world, as well as the German theologian Albrecht Ritschl for his view that religious life is love activated in service to others and in community.35 Other Union faculty members were similarly modern, stressing the need—and the inevitability—of adapting Christianity to the historical context and turning to the life of Jesus as a model for Christian living in a modern age. Christianity is ‘‘the religion of sympathizing love and of self-sacrificing service,’’ asserted George William Knox, Union’s professor of the philosophy and history of religion.36
Through his courses at Union, Muste’s sense of religion’s purview expanded, and he soon became deeply interested in politics, though not an activist. McGiffert, Knox, William Adams Brown, and other faculty were part of a larger cultural project of constructing a ‘‘radical Jesus’’ whose ideals of egalitarianism and love stood against the church and state of his time.37 Like other adherents of the Social Gospel, they understood the Kingdom of God to be a redeemed social order. Most important for Muste’s politicization was their view of Christianity as a prophetic religion that built upon the historical and ethical foundations of Judaism. As Muste recalled, studying the Hebrew prophetic tradition taught him that religion was not remote, but found ‘‘in the here and now’’ and ‘‘in the historical process,’’ thus giving action in this world meaning and ultimate significance. The prophets were ‘‘preachers of social justice, fearless agitators, political rebels . . . constantly stirred as was Moses by anger against injustice and dreams of a just nation or society.’’38
Muste’s congregants, most of them Roosevelt Republicans, encouraged his exploration of the social and political implications of Christianity in study groups and forums sponsored by the YMCA. He also attended some of the discussion clubs that sprinkled the city where ‘‘Socialist and liberal activists and intellectuals’’ came together to examine such topics as child labor, juvenile justice, peace, and international arbitration. In this context, he read Woodrow Wilson’s ‘‘New Freedom’’ and found it persuasive, as well as socialist material that popularized the ideas of Marx.39
His politicization moved ‘‘very fast’’; ‘‘by the time the [1912] election came along I voted for [Socialist candidate Eugene V.] Debs.’’40 Still, to vote for Debs in the context of progressive New York circles was not a particularly radical thing to do. As Muste stressed in his oral history, Debs was ‘‘in a way . . . a part of this progressive tradition.’’ He was ‘‘a figure associated with Abraham Lincoln,’’ not with un-Americanism or even Marxism; the marginalization of socialism would come later, during and after World War I.41 Moreover, he remained largely disconnected from the socialist agitation, labor strikes, and political scandal that shook up the city during this period.
Yet politics would not be the fulcrum for Muste’s estrangement from the Fort Washington 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
