III
If you had asked Babbitt what his religion was, he would
have answered in sonorous Boosters'-Club rhetoric, "My religion
is to serve my fellow men, to honor my brother as myself,
and to do my bit to make life happier for one and all.''
If you had pressed him for more detail, he would have announced,
"I'm a member of the Presbyterian Church, and naturally,
I accept its doctrines.'' If you had been so brutal
as to go on, he would have protested, "There's no use discussing
and arguing about religion; it just stirs up bad feeling.''
Actually, the content of his theology was that there was a
supreme being who had tried to make us perfect, but presumably
had failed; that if one was a Good Man he would
go to a place called Heaven (Babbitt unconsciously pictured
it as rather like an excellent hotel with a private garden),
but if one was a Bad Man, that is, if he murdered or committed
burglary or used cocaine or had mistresses or sold non-existent
real estate, he would be punished. Babbitt was uncertain,
however, about what he called "this business of Hell.'' He
explained to Ted, "Of course I'm pretty liberal; I don't exactly
believe in a fire-and-brimstone Hell. Stands to reason,
though, that a fellow can't get away with all sorts of Vice
and not get nicked for it, see how I mean?''
Upon this theology he rarely pondered. The kernel of his
practical religion was that it was respectable, and beneficial to
one's business, to be seen going to services; that the church
kept the Worst Elements from being still worse; and that the
pastor's sermons, however dull they might seem at the time
of taking, yet had a voodooistic power which "did a fellow
good—kept him in touch with Higher Things.''
His first investigations for the Sunday School Advisory
Committee did not inspire him.
He liked the Busy Folks' Bible Class, composed of mature
men and women and addressed by the old-school physician,
Dr. T. Atkins Jordan, in a sparkling style comparable to that
of the more refined humorous after-dinner speakers, but when
he went down to the junior classes he was disconcerted. He
heard Sheldon Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A.
and leader of the church-choir, a pale but strenuous young
man with curly hair and a smile, teaching a class of sixteen-year-old
boys. Smeeth lovingly admonished them, "Now, fellows,
I'm going to have a Heart to Heart Talk Evening at my
house next Thursday. We'll get off by ourselves and be frank
about our Secret Worries. You can just tell old Sheldy anything,
like all the fellows do at the Y. I'm going to explain
frankly about the horrible practises a kiddy falls into unless
he's guided by a Big Brother, and about the perils and glory
of Sex.'' Old Sheldy beamed damply; the boys looked
ashamed; and Babbitt didn't know which way to turn his embarrassed
eyes.
Less annoying but also much duller were the minor classes
which were being instructed in philosophy and Oriental ethnology
by earnest spinsters. Most of them met in the highly
varnished Sunday School room, but there was an overflow to
the basement, which was decorated with varicose water-pipes
and lighted by small windows high up in the oozing wall.
What Babbitt saw, however, was the First Congregational
Church of Catawba. He was back in the Sunday School of
his boyhood. He smelled again that polite stuffiness to be
found only in church parlors; he recalled the case of drab
Sunday School books: "Hetty, a Humble Heroine'' and "Josephus,
a Lad of Palestine;'' he thumbed once more the high-colored
text-cards which no boy wanted but no boy liked to
throw away, because they were somehow sacred; he was tortured
by the stumbling rote of thirty-five years ago, as in the
vast Zenith church he listened to:
"Now, Edgar, you read the next verse. What does it mean
when it says it's easier for a camel to go through a needle's
eye? What does this teach us? Clarence! Please don't
wiggle so! If you had studied your lesson you wouldn't be
so fidgety. Now, Earl, what is the lesson Jesus was trying
to teach his disciples? The one thing I want you to especially
remember, boys, is the words, `With God all things are possible.'
Just think of that always—Clarence, please pay
attention—
just say `With God all things are possible' whenever
you feel discouraged, and, Alec, will you read the next verse;
if you'd pay attention you wouldn't lose your place!''
Drone—drone—drone—gigantic bees that boomed in a cavern
of drowsiness—
Babbitt started from his open-eyed nap, thanked the teacher
for "the privilege of listening to her splendid teaching,'' and
staggered on to the next circle.
After two weeks of this he had no suggestions whatever for
the Reverend Dr. Drew.
Then he discovered a world of Sunday School journals, an
enormous and busy domain of weeklies and monthlies which
were as technical, as practical and forward-looking, as the
real-estate columns or the shoe-trade magazines. He bought
half a dozen of them at a religious book-shop and till after
midnight he read them and admired.
He found many lucrative tips on "Focusing Appeals,''
"Scouting for New Members,'' and "Getting Prospects to Sign
up with the Sunday School.'' He particularly liked the word
"prospects,'' and he was moved by the rubric:
"The moral springs of the community's life lie deep in its
Sunday Schools—its schools of religious instruction and inspiration.
Neglect now means loss of spiritual vigor and moral
power in years to come.... Facts like the above, followed
by a straight-arm appeal, will reach folks who can never be
laughed or jollied into doing their part.''
Babbitt admitted, "That's so. I used to skin out of the ole
Sunday School at Catawba every chance I got, but same time,
I wouldn't be where I am to-day, maybe, if it hadn't been for
its training in—in moral power. And all about the Bible.
(Great literature. Have to read some of it again, one of these
days.''
How scientifically the Sunday School could be organized he
learned from an article in the Westminster Adult Bible Class:
"The second vice-president looks after the fellowship of
the class. She chooses a group to help her. These become
ushers. Every one who comes gets a glad hand. No one goes
away a stranger. One member of the group stands on the
doorstep and invites passers-by to come in.''
Perhaps most of all Babbitt appreciated the remarks by
William H. Ridgway in the Sunday School Times:
"If you have a Sunday School class without any pep and
get-up-and-go in it, that is, without interest, that is uncertain
in attendance, that acts like a fellow with the spring fever, let
old Dr. Ridgway write you a prescription. Rx. Invite the
Bunch for Supper.''
The Sunday School journals were as well rounded as they
were practical. They neglected none of the arts. As to music
the
Sunday School Times advertised that C. Harold Lowden,
"known to thousands through his sacred compositions,'' had
written a new masterpiece, "entitled `Yearning for You.' The
poem, by Harry D. Kerr, is one of the daintiest you could
imagine and the music is indescribably beautiful. Critics are
agreed that it will sweep the country. May be made into a
charming sacred song by substituting the hymn words, `I Heard
the Voice of Jesus Say.' ''
Even manual training was adequately considered. Babbitt
noted an ingenious way of illustrating the resurrection of Jesus
Christ:
"Model for Pupils to Make. Tomb with Rolling Door.
—Use a square covered box turned upside down. Pull the
cover forward a little to form a groove at the bottom. Cut
a square door, also cut a circle of cardboard to more than cover
the door. Cover the circular door and the tomb thickly with
stiff mixture of sand, flour and water and let it dry. It was
the heavy circular stone over the door the women found
`rolled away' on Easter morning. This is the story we are to
`Go-tell.' ''
In their advertisements the Sunday School journals were
thoroughly efficient. Babbitt was interested in a preparation
which "takes the place of exercise for sedentary men by building
up depleted nerve tissue, nourishing the brain and the digestive
system.'' He was edified to learn that the selling of
Bibles was a hustling and strictly competitive industry, and as
an expert on hygiene he was pleased by the Sanitary Communion
Outfit Company's announcement of "an improved and
satisfactory outfit throughout, including highly polished beautiful
mahogany tray. This tray eliminates all noise, is lighter
and more easily handled than others and is more in keeping
with the furniture of the church than a tray of any other
material.''