1.
Machen's wars – Serving hot chocolate for the YMCA
America
did not enter the 1914-1918 war until April 6, 1917, although events
were followed closely on that side of the water.
Machen's
attitude to the war can be gauged from his complaint that Princeton
was a hot-bed of patriotic enthusiasm and military ardour, which made
him feel like a man without a country. (see Stonehouse, 247). Like
other men of God it was Machen's lot often to feel out of step with
his times. It happened with regard to the war and with regard to
liberalism. (Another obvious example of this was his failure
to support Prohibition in the election of 1928 and took the view that
this is not even the sort of question the church should advise
government on - for which he was unfairly castigated as a drunk).
Machen
was
at odds with Woodrow Wilson's use of war for idealist aims - to make
the world safe for democracy. In a letter to his mother, he declared
that,
“An
alleged war in the interest of democracy … does not appeal to me
.... This talk about British democracy arouses my ire as much as
anything.” After the war, he concluded that, “The war for
humanity, so far as its result is concerned, looks distressingly like
an old-fashioned land-grab.” (Stonehouse, 244, 299).
Writing
against a book promoting
imperialism, he says (Stonehouse, 246)
“Imperialism,
to my mind, is satanic, whether it is German or English … I am
opposed to all
imperial ambitions,
wherever they may be cherished and with whatever veneer of benevolent
assimilation they may be disguised … The author glorifies war and
ridicules efforts at the production of mutual respect and confidence
among equal nations …. [The book] makes me feel anew the need for
Christianity … what a need for the gospel!”
Writing
to his mother in September 1914 about the Allies he said (Stonehouse,
244)
The
alliance of Great Britain with Russia and Japan seems to me still an
unholy thing – an unscrupulous effort to crush the life out of a
progressive commercial rival. Gradually a coalition had to be gotten
together against Germany, and the purpose of it was only too plain.
An alleged war in the interest of democracy the chief result of which
will be to place a splendid people at the mercy of Russia does not
appeal to me.
Great
Britain seems to me the least democratic of all the civilized nations
of the world – with a land-system that makes great masses of the
people practically serfs, and a miserable social system that is more
tyrannical in the really important, emotional side of life than all
the political oppression that ever was practised. And then if there
is such a thing as British democracy it has no place for any rival on
the face of the earth. The British attitude towards Germany’s just
effort at a place in ocean trade seems to me one of the great
underlying causes of the war.
Shortly
before America entered the war he wrote to his Congressman
complaining about the draft. He was keen to make clear that he was
not a pacifist but was convinced that compulsory
military service brought not a danger of militarism but was
militarism. He wrote (Stonehouse, 247)
“Even
temporary conscription goes against the grain with me, unless it is
resorted to to repel actual invasion, but my fundamental objection is
directed against compulsory service in time of peace.
The
country seems to be rushing into two things to which I am more
strongly opposed than anything else in the world – a permanent
alliance with Great Britain, which will inevitably mean a continuance
of the present vassalage, and a permanent policy of compulsory
military service with all the brutal interference of the state in
individual and family life which that entails, and which has caused
the misery of Germany and France.”
“The
real indictment against the modern world is that by the modern world
human liberty is being destroyed. At that point I know many modern
men could only with difficulty repress a smile. The word liberty has
today a very archaic sound; it suggests G.A. Henty, flag waving, the
boys of ’76, and the like. Twentieth-century intellectuals, it is
thought, have long ago outgrown all such childishness as that. So the
modern historians are spelling “liberty,” when they are obliged
to use the ridiculous word, in quotation marks: no principle, they
are telling us, was involved, for example, in the American
Revolution; economic causes alone produced that struggle; and Patrick
Henry was engaging in cheap melodrama when he said, “Give me
liberty or give me death.””
On
returning to the USA after the war Machen, like others, saw that many
of the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles constituted an attack
on international and interracial peace so that war would follow war
“in a wearisome progression.” As he had warned before the war,
his own country faced, “the miserable prospect of the continuance
of the evils of war even into peace times.” As often happens with
“temporary” government agencies, the war bureaucracies continued
to grow and centralise.
Letters
A
book has recently appeared under the P&R imprint containing
letters written from Europe by Machen during the war. There had been
thoughts of publishing them nearer the time but it never happened and
it is only now that Dr Barry Waugh has transcribed and edited the
letters for publication under the title Letters
from the front: J Gresham Machen's Correspondence from World War I.
The
book is about 360 pages in length and contains an introduction and
reflections with the bulk of the book being taken up with the
letters, chiefly to his mother, who the bachelor loved dearly. The
letters were written between January 22, 1918 and March 2, 1919. The
book also contains some translations of letters written to Machen in
French during the period.
When
America declared war Machen was 36 and above the draft age. He wanted
to aid the war effort, however. Darryl Hart (Hart, 44) points out
that Machen's father had died in 1915 and that he was feeling in a
rut at Princeton where students were unresponsive. Hart says that
part of his motivation was to “make a difference outside academia”.
He thought that as a chaplain his rank would keep him from
interacting with ordinary soldiers. He considered driving ambulance
but it became clear that there was an abundance of volunteers for
that work, which could involve transporting munitions and so it as a
YMCA worker that on January 16 of the following year Machen left
America. Machen was quite cool towards the YMCA in many ways (he
feared “desecration
of the Sabbath in the name of Christianity and the like”) but
it offered educational and literacy programmes for soldiers and
sought to give moral and spiritual guidance at the front, which is
where he wanted to be. Their huts in France offered hot chocolate,
cigarettes and other goods to soldiers. Machen was eager to be
involved in the “religious work” (Machen did not like the
expression and always put it in quotation marks when he used it, 239)
and did hold many Bible studies with soldiers eventually but he spent
much of his time making hot chocolate and serving in other menial
ways. He was “a
grocery clerk and nothing else” he once quipped. At
times he was quite close to the front and knew his share of bombings
and other deprivations. The war ended November 11, 1918 but it was
some time before Machen felt able and willing to leave Europe for
home. Stephen J Nichols has commented on the impact of the war that
“the loss of life and the devastation of the landscape” stunned
Machen so that he could no longer be “the same academic scholar
enjoying his detached academic life”. (Nichols, 40).
The
letters are very personal and chatty in tone and contain little of a
theological nature and sometimes nothing overtly Christian. However,
they are of great interest as they not only give us a good deal of
biographical background to a man who God greatly used in his time but
also paint for us a picture of a Christian man seeking to serve the
Lord in the midst of trying circumstances. His first biographer Ned
Stonehouse calls it a “singular period” and says that “on the
dark and sombre background of the war some of the facets of Machen's
character light up with exceptional brilliance” (Stonehouse, 240).
A
number of things come out in Waugh's collection.
1.
His desire to be useful and helpful
Throughout
it is clear that Machen's chief desire is to be useful in whatever
way he can. He wanted to bring the gospel to the men and to help
fellow believers, of course, but where that was not possible he was
happy to make hot chocolate or to do whatever was needed.
Towards
the end of the war he gave a large donation to the McCall Mission. He
was not completely satisfied with them but thought they might use the
money better than the Red Cross.
2.
His desire to bring God's Word to people
His
religious efforts were often frustrated. Waugh mentions that Sunday
was often pay day for soldiers and that entertainments were often
organised then and so “Machen's complaints about the difficulty of
serving the soldiers' spiritual needs can easily be understood.”
He
made his impact nevertheless. For example Waugh cites a war memoir by
R W Johnson that refers to Machen when he worked in Pexonne (163). It
reads
In
one of the buildings in
the central part of the village the Y. M. C. A. had established a
canteen, and we wish to say that it was one of the best Y. M. C. A.'s
we ever had with us. Our
hats are off to the "Y" man of Pexonne.
On
December 17, 1918 Machen wrote (239) of feeling encouraged by
meetings he had been able to take speaking on The
spiritual battle.
“Perhaps my trip is going to be worthwhile” he says, betraying
how frustrating ut had been to that point.
3.
His willingness to make do
Cornelius
Van Til once commented on Machen
Machen
was known for being a sharp dresser and having a consistent stylish
look Well, after he died they found 20 or 30 exact copies of the same
suit in his closet!
In
war torn France such snappy dressing had to be forgotten. Waugh
comments
In
France, he spent months in a wet wool uniform, the odour of which was
further enhanced by his own filthy body that had not been washed in
months.
He
became quite expert not only at making hot chocolate in conditions
that would give health and safety experts heart failure but also
became an expert at catching and killing rats.
On
March 2, 1918 he writes (44)
At
times I feel a longing for a land of peace and for home. I feel as
though it would be a relief to the yes to see a window pane once
more, and a relief to the ears not to hear at intervals the noise of
the guns and distant shells. There is one little baby in our village.
In the midst of the military surroundings it is refreshing to see the
little face. I wonder what its first impression of life will be in
the midst of all this ruin.
Spiritually,
he had to make do too – reading his English Bible rather than in
Greek, which brought home some things with a freshness; worshipping
with Roman Catholics. Of one sermon he says
“It
was far, far better than what we got from the Protestant liberals”
(319). In conversation afterwards, he could not agree with the priest
on the mass but responded to a complaint that the phrase “descended
into hell” was missing from versions issued to American soldiers “I
could assure him that I disapproved as much as he did of the
mutilation of the creed” (282).
4.
His very human foibles
Machen
was sometimes frustrated with his fellow workers and by contrary
providences and is often disappointed in decisions made that were
beyond his control. It is common for him to express his frustrations
in one letter only to regret these in another and apologise for being
so negative. At one point he loses his fountain pen and at another,
more significantly, a suitcase of belongings. On another occasion he
is disappointed to hear of a letter and a parcel sent a month before
not having arrived. The letters reveal something of the real man not
some public image.
5.
His intellectual thirst and delight in French culture.
Several
times in this period Machen was in Paris and other important French
cities such as Tours and was able to take in what they had to offer
by way of culture. He made great efforts to acquire the French
language though he often felt frustrated by the lack of opportunity
and his own slow progress. He loved going to the theatre to watching
French plays and later lectures at the Sorbonne, although he
regretted not having done so more when he could. At one point he says
“it is tantalizing to read the Sunday bills” (270) announcing
what was on at the theatre in Paris.
He
also later developed quite and interest in French history and says in
one place (230)
A
perverse desire has come over me to steep myself in the history of
the renaissance or of the grand
siecle
instead of preparing my Sprunt lectures.
In
1915 he had been invited to give the Sprunt lectures at Union
Seminary for 1921. These formed the basis of his book The
origin of Paul's religion.
6.
His thankfulness to God
At
the close of the war itself Machen wrote a long letter to his mother.
He says (213)
Perhaps,
one might regret not having been at Paris when the stupendous news
came in. But I do not think I regret it. We heard indeed no clamour
of joyful bells, no joyful shouts, no singing of the Marseillaise.
But we heard something greater by far – in contrast with the
familiar roar of war –
namely
the silence of that misty morning. I think I can venture upon the
paradox. That was a silence that could really be heard. I suppose
that it was the most eloquent, the most significant in the history of
the world. … But joy should not be careless or exuberant, the dead
were being brought in just as I passed … It seemed almost
impossible. On that exuberant joyful morning when the whole world was
shouting, what possible place was there for death and sorrow? God
knows and he alone. Meanwhile I felt more humble but not less
thankful.
Towards
the end he writes (218)
Meanwhile
I am thankful to God for the preservation of my own life. Or rather,
that does not just express what I mean, and I am not quite sure
whether I can express it. I mean rather that I am thankful that God
has not put upon me more than I could bear. It is obvious that other
men are far braver and cooler than I am. I lose sleep when they seem
to think nothing at all of the dangers that hover in the air. But out
in the dressing-station, when the shells were falling close around, I
somehow gained the conviction that I was in God's care and that He
would not try me beyond my strength & that courage would keep
pace with danger, or rather that danger (for I confess it turns out
rather that way) would keep within the limits of courage! If for
example a shell had hit within five feet of my head & I had been
blown six or eight feet by the blast I am a little afraid that my
nerves would have given way & I should not have been able to
continue my service as coolly as one of my YMCA colleagues did under
those circumstances. Nothing terrific like that happened to me, &
I got through the trying days, though not at all with distinction, at
least without distinct disgrace.
Terry Chrisope is the author of a Mentor paperback (2000) Toward a Sure Faith: J. Gresham Machen and the Dilemma of Biblical Criticism, 1881-1915. Details here.
