top of pike’s peak, march 4th, 1873.

honored with your special commission, i at once hurried across to denver, and thence still westward until i found myself among the big vertebrae of this longish backbone of america. i have wandered to and fro among the new cities, the advanced camps of civilisation, always carefully reticent as to my mission, always carefully inquiring into the state of religion both in doctrine and practice. you were so hopeful that high freethought would be found revelling triumphant in these high free regions, that i fear you will be acutely pained by this my true report. churches and chapels of all kinds abound—episcopalian, methodist episcopal (for the methodists here have bishops), presbyterian, baptist, congregational, roman catholic, etc. zeal inflaming my courage, three and even four times have i ventured into a church, each time enduring the whole service; and if i have not ventured oftener, certainly i had more than sufficient cause to abstain. for as i suffered in my few visits to churches in your england, so i suffered here; and such sufferings are too dreadful to be frequently encountered, even by the bravest of the brave. whether my sensations in church are similar to those of others, or are peculiar to myself, i cannot be sure; but i am quite sure that they are excruciating. on first entering i may feel calm, wakeful, sane, and not uncomfortable, except that here i rather regret being shut in from the pure air and splendid sky, and in england rather regret having come out through the raw, damp murk, and in both regret that civilisation has not yet established smoking-pews; but the church is always behind the age. it is pleasant for awhile to note the well-dressed people seated or entering; the men with unctuous hair and somewhat wooden decorum; the women floating more at ease, suavely conscious of their fine inward and outward adornments. it is pleasant to keep a hopeful look-out for some one of more than common beauty or grace, and to watch such a one if discovered. as the service begins, and the old, old words and phrases come floating around me, i am lulled into quaint dream-memories of childhood; the long unthought-of school-mates, the surreptitious sweetstuff, the manifold tricks and smothered laughter, by whose aid (together with total inattention to the service, except to mark and learn the text) one managed to survive the ordeal. the singing also is pleasant, and lulls me into vaguer dreams. gradually, as the service proceeds, i become more drowsy; my small faculties are drugged into quiet slumber, they feel themselves off duty, there is nothing for which they need keep awake. but, with the commencement of the sermon, new and alarming symptoms arise within me, growing ever worse and worse until the close. pleasure departs with tranquility, the irritation of revolt and passive helplessness is acute. i cannot find relief in toffy, or in fun with my neighbors, as when i was a happy child. the old stereotyped phrases, the immemorial platitudes, the often-killed sophistries that never die, come buzzing and droning about me like a sluggish swarm of wasps, whose slow deliberate stinging is more hard to bear than the quick keen stinging of anger. then the wasps, penetrating through my ears, swarm inside me; there is a horrid buzzing in my brain, a portentous humming in my breast; my small faculties are speedily routed, and disperse in blind anguish, the implacable wasps droning out and away after them, and i am left void, void; with hollow skull, empty heart, and a mortal sinking of stomach; my whole being is but a thin shell charged with vacuity and desperate craving; i expect every instant to collapse or explode. it is but too certain that if anyone should then come to lead me off to an asylum for idiots, or a young men’s christian association, or any similar institution, i could not utter a single rational word to save myself. and though all my faculties have left me, i cannot attempt to leave the church; decorum, rigid and frigid, freezes me to my seat; i stare stonily in unimaginable torture, feebly wondering whether the sermon will outlast my sanity, or my sanity outlast the sermon. when at length released, i am so utterly demoralised that i can but smoke furiously, pour much beer and cram much dinner into my hollowness, and so with swinish dozing hope to feel better by tea-time. now, though in order to fulfil the great duties you entrust to me, i have cheerfully dared the atlantic, and spent long days and perilous nights in railroad cars, and would of course (were it indeed necessary) face unappalled mere physical death and destruction, i really could not go on risking, with the certainty of ere long losing, my whole small stock of brains; especially as the loss of these would probably rather hinder than further the performance of the said duties. for suppose me reduced to permanent idiocy by church-going, become a mere brazen hollowness with a riotous tongue like cowper’s church-going bell; is it not most likely that i would then turn true believer, renouncing and denouncing your noble commission, even as you would renounce and denounce your imbecile commissioner?

finding that i could not pursue my inquiries in the churches and chapels, i was much grieved and perplexed, until one of those thoughts occurred to me which are always welcome and persuasive, because in exact agreement with our own desires or necessities. i thought of what i had remarked when visiting your england: how the churches and chapels and lecture-halls, each sect thundering more or less terribly against all the others, made one guess that the people were more disputatious than pious; how one became convinced, in spite of his infidel reluctance, that the people were indeed, as a rule, thoroughly and genuinely religious, by mingling freely with them in their common daily and nightly life. i asked myself, what really proved to me the pervading christianity of england? the sermons, the tracts, the clerical lectures, the missionary meetings? the cathedrals and other theatres and music-halls crowded with worshippers on sunday, while the museums and other public-houses were empty and shut? no, scarcely these things; but the grand princeliness of the princes, the true nobleness of the nobles, the lowliness of the bishops, the sanctity of the clergy, the honesty of the merchants, the veracity of the shopkeepers, the sobriety and thrift of the artisans, the independence and intelligence of the rustics; the general faith and hope and love which brightened the sunless days, the general temperance and chastity which made beautiful the sombre nights; the almost universal abhorrence of the world, the flesh, and the devil; the almost universal devotion to heaven, the spirit, and god.

i thereupon determined to study the religion out here, even as i had studied it in england, in the ordinary public and private life of the people; and you will doubtless be sorely afflicted to learn that i have found everywhere much the same signs of genuine, practical christianity as are so common and patent in the old country. the ranchmen have sown the good seed, and shall reap the harvest of heavenly felicity; the stockmen will surely be corraled with the sheep, and not among the goats, at the last day; not to gain the whole world would the storekeepers lose their own souls; the pioneers have found the narrow way which leadeth unto life; the fishermen are true disciples, the trappers catch satan in his own snares, the hunters are mighty before the lord; bright are the celestial prospects of the prospectors, ana the miners are all stoping-out that hidden treasure which is richer than silver and much fine gold. as compared with the english, these western men are perchance inferior in two important points of christian sentiment: they probably do not fear god, being little given to fear anyone; they certainly do not honor the king, perhaps because they unfortunately have none to honor. on the other hand, as i have been assured by many persons from the states and the old country, they are even superior to the english in one important point of christian conduct. christ has promised that in discharging the damned to hell at the day of judgment, he will fling at them this among other reproaches, “i was a stranger, and ye took me not in,” and this particular rebuke seems to have wrought a peculiarly deep impression in these men, perhaps because they have much more to do with strangers than have people in old settled countries, so much, indeed, that the word “stranger” is continually in their mouths. the result is (as the said persons from england and the states have often solemnly assured me) that any and every stranger arriving in these regions is most thoroughly, most beautifully, most religiously taken in. so that should any of these fine fellows by evil hap be among the accursed multitude whom christ thus addresses, they will undoubtedly retort in their frank fashion of speech: “wall, boss, it may be right to give us hell on other counts, but you say you was a stranger and we didn’t take you in. what we want to know is, did you ever come to our parts to trade in mines or stock or sich? if you didn’t, how the devil could we take you in? if you did, it’s a darned lie, and an insult to our understanding to say we didn’t.”

but though the practical life out here is so veritably christian, you still hope that at any rate the creeds and doctrines are considerably heterodox. i am sincerely sorry to be obliged to destroy this hope. in the ordinary talk of the men continually recur the same or almost the same expressions and implications of orthodox belief, as are so common in your england, and throughout christendom. why such formulas are generally used by men only, i have often been puzzled to explain: it may be that the women, who in all lands attend divine service much more than do the men, find ample expression of their faith in the set times and places of public worship and private prayer; while the men, less methodical, and demanding liberal scope, give it robust utterance whenever and wherever they choose. these formulas, as you must have often remarked, are most weighty and energetic; they avouch and avow the supreme personages and mysteries and dogmas of their religion; they are usually but brief ejaculations, in strong contrast to those long prayers of the pharisees which jesus laughed to scorn; and they are often so superfluous as regards the mere worldly meaning of the sentences in which they appear, that it is evident they have been interjected simply to satisfy the pious ardor of the speaker, burning to proclaim in season and out of season the cardinal principles of his faith. i say speaker, and not writer, because writing, being comparatively cold and deliberate, seldom flames out in these sharp swift flashes, that leap from living lips touched with coals of fire from the altar.(1)

1. is it not time that we wrote such words as this damn at full length, as did emily bront?, the titaness, whom charlotte justly indicates in this as in other respects; instead of putting only initial and final letters, with a hypocritical fig-leaf dash in the middle, drawing particular attention to what it affects to conceal? these words are in all men’s mouths, and many of them are emphatically the leading words of the bible.

i am aware that these fervid ejaculations are apt to be regarded by the light-minded as trivial, by the cold-hearted as indecorous, by the sanctimonious as even profane; but to the true philosopher, whether he be religious or not, they are pregnant with grave significance. for do not these irrepressible utterances burst forth from the very depths of the profound heart of the people? are they not just as spontaneous and universal as is the belief in god itself? are they not among the most genuine and impassioned words of mankind? have they not a primordial vigor and vitality? are they not supremely of that voice of the people which has been well called the voice of god? thus when your englishman instead of “strange!” says “the devil!” instead of “wonderful!” cries “good heavens!” instead of “how startling!” exclaims “o christ!” he does more than merely express his emotions, his surprise, his wonder, his amaze; he hallows it to the assertion of his belief in satan, in the good kingdom of god, in jesus; and, moreover, by the emotional gradation ranks with perfect accuracy the devil lowest in the scale, the heavens higher, christ the loftiest. when another shouts “god damn you!”(1) he not only condemns the evil of the person addressed; he also takes occasion to avow his own strong faith in god and god’s judgment of sinners. similarly “god bless you!” implies that there is a god, and that from him all blessings flow. how vividly does the vulgar hyperbole “infernally hot,” prove the general belief in hell-fire! and the phrase “god knows!” not merely declares that the subject is beyond human knowledge, but also that an all-wise god exists. here in the west, as before stated, such brief expressions of faith, which are so much more sincere than long formularies repeated by rote in church, are quite as common as in your england. when one has sharply rebuked or punished another, he says “i gave him hell.” and that this belief in future punishment pervades all classes is proved by the fact that even a profane editor speaks of it as a matter of course. for the thermometer having been stolen from his sanctum, the said worthy editor announced that the mean cuss who took it might as well bring or send it back (no questions asked) for it could not be of any use to him in the place he was going to, as it only registered up to 212 degrees. the old notion that hell or hades is located in the middle of the earth (which may have a scientific solution in the plutonic theory that we dwell on the crust of a baked dumpling full of fusion and confusion) is obviously tallied by the miner’s assertion that his vein was true-fissure, reaching from the grass-roots down to hell. the frequent phrase “a god-damned liar,” “a god-damned thief,” recognise god as the punisher of the wicked. i have heard a man complain of an ungodly headache, implying first, the existence of god, and secondly, the fact that the godhead does not ache, or in other words is perfect. countless other phrases of this kind might be alleged, a few of them astonishingly vigorous and racy, for new countries breed lusty new forms of speech; but the few already given suffice for my present purpose. one remarkable comparison, however, i cannot pass over without a word: it is common to say of a man who has too much self-esteem, he thinks himself a little tin jesus on wheels. it is clear that some profound suggestion, some sacrosanct mystery, must underlie this bold locution; but what i have been hitherto unable to find out. the connexion between jesus and tin may seem obvious to such as know anything of bishops and pluralists, pious bankers and traders. but what about the wheels? have they any relation to the opening chapter of ezekiel? it is much to be wished that max müller, and all other such great scholars, who (as i am informed, for it’s not i that would presume to study them myself) manage to extract whatever noble mythological meanings they want, from unintelligible oriental metaphors and broken phrases many thousand years old, would give a few years of their superfluous time to the interpretation of this holy riddle. do not, gentleman, do not by all that is mysterious, leave it to the scholars of millenniums to come; proceed to probe and analyse and turn it inside out at once, while it is still young and flourishing, while the genius who invented it is still probably alive, if he deceased not in his boots, as decease so many gallant pioneers.

and here, before afflicting you further, o much-enduring editor, let me soothe you a little by stating that some particles of heresy, some few heretics, are to be found even here. i have learned that into a very good and respectable bookstore in a city of these regions, certain copies of taylor’s “diegesis” have penetrated, who can say how? and that some of these have been sold. a living judge has been heard to declare that he couldn’t believe at all in the holy ghost outfit. it has also been told me of a man who must have held strange opinions as to the offspring of god the father, though certainly this man was not a representative pioneer, being but a german miner, fresh from the states. this dutchman (all germans here are dutch, doubtless from deutsche, the special claims of the hollanders being ignored) was asked solemnly by a clergyman, “who died to save sinners?” and answered “gott.” “what,” said the pained and pious pastor, “don’t you know that it was jesus the son of god?” “ah,” returned placidly the dutchman, “it vass one of te boys, vass it? i always dought it vass te olt man himselben.” this good german may have been misled by the mention of the sons of god early in genesis, yet it is strange that he knew not that jesus is the only son of god, and our savior. a story is moreover told of two persons, of whom the one boasted rather too often that he was a self-made man, and the other at length quietly remarked that he was quite glad to hear it, as it cleared god from the responsibility of a darned mean bit of work. whence some have inferred the heresy that god is the creator of only a part of the universe; but i frankly confess that in my own opinion the reply was merely a playful sarcasm.

the most decided heresy which has come under my own observation was developed in the course of a chat between two miners in a lager-beer saloon and billiard-hall; into the which, it need scarcely be remarked, i was myself solely driven by the fierce determination to carry out my inquiries thoroughly. bill was smoking, dick was chewing; and they stood up together, at rather rapidly decreasing intervals, for drinks of such “fine old bourbon” rye whiskey as bears the honorable popular title of rot-gut. the frequency with which the drinking of alcoholic liquors leads to impassioned and elevated discussion of great problems in politics, history, dog-breeding, horse-racing, moral philosophy, religion, and kindred important subjects, seems to furnish a strong and hitherto neglected argument against tee-totalism. there are countless men who can only be stimulated to a lively and outspoken interest in intellectual questions by a series of convivial glasses and meditative whiffs. if such men really take any interest in such questions at other times, it remains deplorably latent, not exercising its legitimate influence on the public opinion of the world. our two boys were discussing theology; and having had many drinks, grappled with the doctrine of the triune god. “wall,” said bill, “i can’t make out that trinity consam, that three’s one and one’s three outfit.” whereto dick: “is that so? then you wam’t rigged out for a philosopher, bill. look here,” pulling forth his revolver, an action which caused a slight stir in the saloon, till the other boys saw that he didn’t mean business; “look here, i’ll soon fix it up for you. here’s six chambers, but it’s only one pistol, with one heft and one barrel; the heft for us to catch hold of, the barrel to kill our enemy. wall, god a’mighty’s jest made hisself a three-shooter, while he remains one god; but the devil, he’s only a single-shot deringer: so god can have three fires at the devil for one the devil can have at him. now can’t you figure it out?” “wall,” said bill, evidently staggered by the revolver, and feeling, if possible, increased respect for that instrument on finding it could be brought to bear toward settlement of even such a difficulty as the present; “wall, that pans out better than i thought it could: but to come down to the bedrock, either god’s a poor mean shot or his piece carries darned light; for i reckon the devil makes better play with his one chamber than god with his three.” “maybe,” replied dick, with calm candor, strangely indifferent to the appalling prospects this theory held out for our universe; “some of them pesky little things jest shoot peas that rile the other fellow without much hurting him, and then, by thunder, he lets daylight through you with one good ball. besides, it’s likely enough the devil’s the best shot, for he’s been consarned in a devilish heap of shooting more than god has; at any rate”—perchance vaguely remembering to have heard of such things as “religious wars”—“of late years, between here and ’frisco. wall, i guess i don’t run the creation. let’s liquor;” manifestly deriving much comfort from the consciousness that he had no hand in conducting this world. bill acquiesced with a brief “ja,” and they stood up for another drink. i am bound to attest that, in spite or because of the drinks, they had argued throughout with the utmost deliberation and gravity, with a dignified demeanour which bishops and d.ds. might envy, and ought to emulate.

having thus comforted you with what little of heresy and infidelity i have been able to gather, it is now my painful duty to advance another class of proofs of the general religiousness here; a class of which you have very few current specimens in england, unless it be among the roman catholics. all comparative mythologists—indeed, all students of history—are said to agree that the popular legends and myths of any race at any time are of the utmost value, as showing what the race then believed, and thus determining its moral and intellectual condition at that period; this value being quite irrespective of the truth or untruth to fact of the said legends. hence in modern times collections of old traditions and fairy tales have been excellently well received, whether from the infantile literature of ancient peoples, as the oriental and norse, or from the senile and anile lips of secluded members of tribes whose nationality is fast dying out, as the gaelic and welsh. and truly such collections commend themselves alike to the grave and the frivolous for the scientific scholar finds in them rich materials for serious study, and the mere novel-reader can flatter himself that he is studying while simply enjoying strange stories become new by extreme old age. all primitive peoples, who read and write little, have their most popular beliefs fluidly embodied in oral legends and myths; and in this respect the settlers of a new region, though they may come from the oldest countries, resemble the primitive peoples. they are too busy with the tough work of subduing the earth to give much time to writing or reading anything beyond their local newspapers; they love to chat together when not working, and chat, much more than writing, runs into stories. thus religious legends in great numbers circulate out here, all charged and surcharged with faith in the mythology of the bible. of these it has been my sad privilege to listen to not a few. as this letter is already too long for your paper, though very brief for the importance of its theme, i will subjoin but a couple of them, which i doubt not will be quite enough to indicate what measureless superstition prevails in these youngest territories of the free and enlightened republic.

it is told—on what authority no one asks, the legend being universally accepted on its intrinsic merits, as protestants would have us accept the bible, and papists their copious hagiology—that st. joseph, the putative father of our lord, fell into bad habits, slipping almost daily out of heaven into evil society, coming home very late at night and always more or less intoxicated. it is suggested that he may have been driven into these courses by unhappiness in his connubial and parental relations, his wife and her child being ranked so much above himself by the christian world, and the latter being quite openly attributed to another father. peter, though very irascible, put up with his misconduct for a long time, not liking to be harsh to one of the royal family; and it is believed that god the father sympathised with this poor old joseph, and protected him, being himself jealous of the vastly superior popularity of mary and jesus. but at length, after catching a violent cold through getting out of bed at a preposterous hour to let the staggering joseph in, peter told him roundly that if he didn’t come home sober and in good time, he must just stay out all night. joseph, feeling sick and having lost his pile, promised amendment, and for a time kept his word. then he relapsed; the heavenly life proved too slow for him, the continual howling of “all the menagerie of the apocalypse” shattered his nerves, he was disgusted at his own insignificance, the memory of the liaison between his betrothed and the holy ghost filled him with gall and wormwood, and perhaps he suspected that it was still kept up. so, late one night or early one morning peter was roused from sleep by an irregular knocking and fumbling at the gate, as if some stupid dumb animal were seeking admittance. “who’s there?” growled peter. “it’s me—joseph,” hiccoughed the unfortunate. “you’re drunk,” said peter, savagely.

“you’re on the tear again; you’re having another bender.” “yes,” answered joseph, meekly. “wall,” said peter, “you jest go back to where you come from, and spend the night there; get.” “i can’t,” said joseph. “they’re all shut up; they’ve turned me out.” “then sleep outside in the open air; it’s wholesome, and will bring you round,” said peter. after much vain coaxing and supplicating, old joe got quite mad, and roared out, “if you don’t get up and let me in at once, by god i’ll take my son out of the outfit and bust up the whole consarn!” peter, terrified by this threat, which, if carried out, would ruin his prospects in eternal life by abolishing his office of celestial porter, caved in, getting up and admitting joseph, who ever since has had a latch-key that he may go and come when he pleases. it is to be hoped that he will never when tight let this latch-key be stolen by one of the little devils who are always lurking about the haunts of dissipation he frequents; for in that case the consequences might be awful, as can be readily imagined.

again it is told that a certain miner, a tough cuss, who could whip his weight in wild cats and give points to a grizzle, seemed uncommonly moody and low-spirited one morning, and on being questioned by his chum, at length confessed that he was bothered by a very queer dream. “i dreamt that i was dead,” he explained; “and a smart spry pretty little angel took me up to heaven.” “dreams go by contraries,” suggested the chum, by way of comfort. “let that slide,” answered the dreamer; “the point isn’t there. wall, st. peter wasn’t at the gate, and the angel critter led me on to pay my respects to the boss, and after travelling considerable we found him as thus. god the father, god the son, god the holy ghost and peter, all as large as life, were playing a high-toned game of poker, and there was four heavy piles on the table—gold, not shinplasters, you bet. i was kinder glad to see that they played poker up in heaven, so as to make life there not on-bearable; for it would be but poor fun singing psalms all day; i was never much of a hand at singing, more particularly when the songs is psalms. wall, we waited, not liking to disturb their game, and i watched the play. i soon found that jesus christ was going through the rest, cheating worse than the heathen chinee at euchre; but of course i didn’t say nothing, not being in the game. after a while peter showed that he began to guess it too, if he wasn’t quite sure; or p’r’aps he was skeared at up and telling christ to his face. at last, however, what does christ do, after a bully bluff which ran pete almost to his bottom dollar, but up and show five aces to pete’s call; and ‘what’s that for high?’ says he, quite cool. ‘now look you, christ,’ shouts pete, jumping up as mad as thunder, and not caring a cent or a continental what he said to anybody; ‘look you, christ, that’s too thin; we don’t want any of your darned miracles here!’ and with that he grabbed up his pile and all his stakes, and went off in a mighty huff. christ looked pretty mean, i tell you, and the game was up. now you see,” said the dreamer, sadly and thoughtfully, “it’s a hard rock to drill and darned poor pay at that, if when you have a quiet hand at poker up there, the bosses are allowed to cheat and a man can’t use his deringer or put a head on ’em; i don’t know but i’d rather go to the other place on those terms.” not yet to be read in books, as i have intimated, but circulating orally, and in versions that vary with the various rhapsodists, such are the legends you may hear when a ring is formed round the hotel-office stove at night, in shanties and shebangs of ranchmen and miners, in the shingled offices of judge and doctor, in railroad cars and steamboats, or when bumming around the stores; whenever and wherever, in short, men are gathered with nothing particular to do. the very na?veté of such stories surely testifies to the child-like sincerity of the faith they express and nourish. it is the simple unbounded faith of the middle ages, such as we find in the old european legends and poems and mysteries, such as your poetess mrs. browning well marks in chaucer.

many of the so-called liberal clergy complain of the gulf which yawns in this age of materialistic science between religion and every-day life, in this world and the things are treated as mere thin abstractions, they say; and only the lower things are recognised as real. these pious pioneers, in the freshness and wonderfulness of their new life, overleap this gulf without an effort, realising heaven as thoroughly as earth. how could the communion and the human nature of saints be better exhibited than in st. joseph falling into dissipation and st. peter playing poker? how could the manhood as well as the godhead of jesus christ be more familiarly brought home to us than by his taking a hand at this game and then miraculously cheating when generations have passed away, if not earlier, such next, heaven

“the infantine familiar clasp of things divine.”

the higher legends as these will assuredly be gathered by earnest and reverent students as quite invaluable historical relics. they must fill the christian soul with delight; they must harrow the heart of him who hath said in his heart, there is no god.

in conclusion, i must again express my deep regret at being forced by the spirit of truth to give you so favorable an account of the state of religion out here, both in creed and practice. i trust that you will lose no time and spare no exertion in attacking and, if possible, routing out the christianity now entrenched in these great natural fortresses. be your war-cry that of the first pioneers, “pike’s peak or bust”; and be not like unto him found teamless half-way across the plains, with the confession on his waggon-tilt, “busted, by thunder.” for you can come right out here by railroad now. as for myself, i climbed wearily and with mortal pantings unto the top of this great mountain, thinking it one of the best coigns of vantage whence to command a comprehensive view of the sphere of my inquiries, and also a spot where one might write without being interrupted or overlooked by loafers. unfortunately i have not been able to discover any special religious or irreligious ph?nomena; for, though the prospect is indeed ample where not intercepted by clouds or mist, very few of the people and still fewer of their characteristics can be made out distinctly even with a good glass. how i am to get down and post this letter puzzles me. the descent will be difficult, dangerous, perhaps deadly. would that i had not come up. after all there is some truth in the gospel narrative of the temptation: for by studying the general course of ecclesiastical promotion and the characters of the most eminent churchmen, i was long since led to recognise that it is indeed satan who sets people on pinnacles of the temple; and i am now moreover thoroughly convinced that it is the devil and the devil only that takes any one to the top of an exceeding high mountain.