YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

THE LIBRARY OF THE
DIVINITY SCHOOL

THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ

BY

C. C. MITCHELL

BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GOEHAM PRESS

Copyright, 1920, by Richabd G. Badgeb

All Rights Reserved

Made in the United States of America

The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

JBeoitatEQ
TO MY FATHER
THE INSPIRATION OP MY BOYHOOD
THE MENTAL PARTNER OP MY MANHOOD
AND TO ALL OUR FELLOWS
IN THE PICNICS AND
PANICS OF LIFE

"The Words of My Book Nothing, the Drift Everything"

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
I A Dissolving Picture  11
II Down but Not Out  19
HI Humanity at the Core  37
IV Turning Turtle  60
V A Unique Trio  80
VI The Ash Heap Debating Circle  96
VH The Daysman  117
VTII Rift in the Cloud  128
IX Second Rift in the Cloud  138
X The Grand Finish  . . 151
XI Times of Yore  162
XII Job's Socialism  176
XIII The Voice from the Cloud  198
XTV Paradise Regained ....  207

THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ

CHAPTER I

A DISSOLVING PICTURE

Legion are the ways and places in which men do
their part in life. Though to the poet life is a
stage, to most men it is a battlefield. Battles seem
to be a popular thing in the world's life. Man has
spent quite as much time on his battlefield as in ¦
his cornfield. So perhaps the study of one of them
may not be much out of place. However, we are
not to undertake the tracing of the bloody foot
prints of some Nero; but the retelling of a battle
in which tears are the only shots, purposes the only
spears, aspirations the only projectiles ; fought out,
not on the walls of Troy nor the heights of Verdun,
but in the deep silences of one man's soul, on an ash
heap in his own back yard. This man was The
Millionaire of Uz, or as we may announce him,
"The Napoleon of The Ash Heap." His name was
Job. 11

12 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
The Man Job
Job a man? Well, we don't know; we have not
met with any one who does; nor with any one who
knows he was not a man. Job is a mystery, but he
has not been proven a myth. But in order to get the
iron out of his spinal column into our own, we like
to think of him as a man, not a dream, a newspaper
write-up, the nightmare of some Marie Corelli, nor
the mental concoction of a Shakespeare or a
Dickens ; but a real flesh, bone, and muscle man, in
whose life and on whose farm had been wrought out
the facts which form the foundation for this, the
great drama of the ages. While the drama is typi
cal and belongs to humanity, it may have first been
actual and belonged to Job. The story we are to
think about is the story of his life with its ups and
its downs, not a merry-go-round, but up and down,
so much like many who never sojourned in the land
of Uz. A story of ups and downs? Just that. Oh,
the race is progressing; but the individual pedes
trians have many stumped toes. Yes; the line of
march is full of the banana peels of experience upon
which the mule-driver, even the general may take
a header. Outside and In
Old Diogenes once with a lantern in hand went
searching up and down the land looking for an

A DISSOLVING PICTURE 13
honest man. He would have saved his shoe-leather
and candle grease, had he gone to Job's town.
Job, according to the records, was all right on
both sides, outside and inside. His standing among
his townsmen was up to par; his relationship to his
Maker was equally good. You have to have both
these measurements, outside and in, to get the real
size of a man. You don't weigh men on hay scales;
nor do you rate them by their positions, their pos
sessions, nor even by their professions. The old
deacon, one day, asked the boys in the Sunday
school class why it was they called him a Christian.
One fellow piped up : "Because they don't know you !"
"Ah, there's the rub!" as the man who lived on the
Avon would say. They don't know you. They may
hear you talk shop, they may observe that you get
up and sit down at the right time on Sunday, they
may know a number of things about you; but they
don't know you. This inside measurement is always
a hard thing to ascertain, in a man as well as in a
pumpkin, and especially in the case of a man. We
haven't any X-ray yet that can reveal it.
Oh, we can do a lot of things these days: weigh
mountains, belt the globe with a girdle of steel, chase
the lightning to its den, tell how many baby mi
crobes can play fox and geese on the point of a cam
bric needle, kick the boss out, clean up the back
alleys, talks our heads off on eugenics and hygienics,
make big Berthas that can shoot an apple off the

14 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
head of the Man in the Moon; but this inside meas
urement of a man, away down deep in the cellar of
his being, the place where thought and aspiration
and soul life are born, the thing a man is when no
body is looking, we have not yet recorded.
"I tell you I would be as happy as a clam,
If I only was the fellow my mother thinks I am !" v
Character ! the big word in the dictionary of life !
But Job had a good supply of it. He was neither a
deacon nor a dude; but he was rated the best man
of his time, not a good fellow but a good man ; a dis
tinction with a difference. And a strange thing about
it is, he lived so far from Jerusalem, the headquar
ters for religion, that he could not get up there in
time for church Sunday morning. This man Job,
according to the orthodoxy of his time was a heathen ;
may it cloud up and rain a few more like him !
Leisure
Job was a man of leisure, not lazy, but with leisure.
Mother said leisure for her was time in which to do
some other kind of work. But Job could step out and
breathe God's fresh air, absorb His sunlight, listen
to the song of birds and babbling brooks, go auto-
mobiling, yes, fishing: and the time didn't come out of
his Saturday's pay, either. He was no sweat-shop
victim, no industrial prisoner. He didn't have to

A DISSOLVING PICTURE 15
kiss the baby, "twenty-two inches of coo and wiggle,"
goodby, in the morning before the cock crew and not
see it again until its dimpled chin was turned up in
the gas light, on his return home at night. No;
Job had time to live a life. About eight men in
every ten in the world are only hustling to make a
living ; and it is some hustle, too ; isn't it ? It is only
the millionaire and the contortionist these days that
can make both ends meet. If some Yankee does not
soon discover how the masses can live on doughnuts
of liquefied air, the Almighty will have to come to
the rescue again with His manna from heaven.
Wealth
Job was also a man of means; but he was not a
mean man because he had means. He had a large
family and a large bank account, a great combina
tion. But may the fairies help out the fellow who
has the former and not much of the latter!
This millionaire of the Land of Uz had no baby-
grand; but he had a grand lot of babies, seven sons
and three daughters. No race suicide for him, no
parrot-and-pug-dog family for him. Why, it took
the carry-all every time Job and the boys went to
the circus. And he had 7,000 sheep, 3,000 cam
els, 500 yoke of oxen, 500 she-asses, and a whole
army of servants — good Mr. Job on Avenue a la
Ease.

16 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Plenty and Purity
It was this plenty-without-and-purity-within man
whom God chose as a stage upon which He permitted
to be played out the tragedy of human life. Not the
comedy, but the tragedy ; not a burlesque but "brass
tacks." What was Job? Well, he was no coal stoker, poet,
preacher, nor president; but a man of affairs, a big
business man, the J. D. Rockefeller of his day, a
man who met life as it is on the streets, yes, Wall
Street. He was not inspired; few residents of that
street are ! He was not born out of due time to do
some mighty thing in the story of the world's life. It
was not for him to write Gospels, dig up North Poles,
be toast-master at a Versailles love feast, or guide
a ship of state. But it was for him to raise sheep,
breed oxen, trade mules and camels. While we can't
tell how much he was worth, doubt not he paid in
come tax on every cent of it, yet the R. G. Dunn of
his time rated him about as follows : —
"He was perfect, upright, feared God and eschewed
evil." The man who can get those four qualities cut
on his tombstone need not worry much about getting
by the gate-keeper of the Eternities.
Brass Tacks
What was Job? He was the same thing all the
way through all the time. No putty and whitewash

A DISSOLVING PICTURE 17
to him. No Sunday-go-to-meeting goodness with
him. No camouflage about him. The same in mid
night as in midday. The same in a mule trade as
at a prayer-meeting. No skeleton in his closet. It
didn't give him palpitation of the heart when some
body rang the door-bell.
His children loved him ; his wife trusted him, even
out nights — but not seven nights in a week. He had
a merry laugh, a clear eye, a steady nerve, a good
digestion; his conscience went to sleep every night
at ten p. m. He was on good terms with his neigh
bors, himself and his Maker, even though he was a
millionaire. He made money ; but he didn't sell his soul to get
it. He had social popularity; but he didn't crawl
in the sewer to get that. He had authority ; but he
did not wield the lash over the back of a fellow.
The widow never shed hot tears of grief when she
looked his way. The unfortunate man in a business
deal did not point the finger of scorn at deacon Job
as the fellow who "stung" him. He had gold; but
he didn't sell gold bricks, hot air, nor watered stock.
He wasn't a bull on the market, a frenzied financier.
He didn't belong to the sheep trust, ox, mule, or
camel trust. He never took a dollar out until he
had put one hundred shining Lincoln pennies right
into the common treasury. He was the man who
patented the square deal.

18 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Dissolving Picture
Perfect, upright, feared God, eschewed evil, — the
four walls in his foundation of character. In these
we see a picture of a constant and noble life, a man
who stood four square to all the winds that blew.
We see a spotless character attended by a fair
fame in the world. We see a good man, a happy
man, a successful man. We see a man going about
his daily task with a song on his lips and a beam
of heaven's light on his face. Life to him was se
rious, not a parody; a reality, not a tragedy. He
was walking in green pastures and beside still waters,
on life's Easy Street. Man was his brother, God his
father, and the earth a pleasant dwelling-place.
We take the second look at him, little dreaming
that his bright skies are soon to be darkened, the
foundations of his earthly joys violently shaken, his
cup of joy turned to worm-wood, his paths of peace
to become a Gethsemane. We look; the picture en
trances us. An oriental prince, a wealthy man,
eminent saint, godly parent. We can see the smile
on his face. We can feel the serenity of his soul.
Why do not the kind fates allow this picture to
stand? But no ! a storm is gathering; a tempest with
all its furies is raging and about to break. We are
looking at a dissolving picture, not a mirage, not a
will-o'-the-wisp, but a dissolving picture; for the
smile of face and serenity of soul fade out into
the nightmare and tragedy of life.

CHAPTER n

DOWN BUT NOT OUT

The Point in the Play
This story begins after Job has made what we
will term his gold pile. The blister-on-the-hand
period, the starvation period, the getting up in the
morning to hustle, gather, possess and hold for the
so called rainy season of life, is all passed over in
this story; and the thing opens up away down the
line, years after this man has made good. This story
gets away with a running start. All the conditions
of the story, and all the characters essential to the
story, are flashed upon us with the first sentence.
It is a big business man with a big bank account, and
a full, rich, deep soul; and the inference is: he got
the latter while he was getting the former. This
millionaire, it seems, came through the money-
making period of his life stronger in character than
when he set out. He didn't increase at one end and
decrease at the other, make money, but become a
spiritual mummy in the process. Job's heart and his
bank account were Siamese Twins ; the one was pure,
the other big. And in this cash and character com-
19

20 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
bination is given to the world a story unique in the
annals of time ; not to show how he gathered his
cash, but to show how both heaven and hell tested his
character. Hell it seems was suspicious of it;
heaven it seems was not content with simply adver
tising it. So this man who was pronounced good,
has now to make good. His money honeymoon is
over, his joy-ride brings up with a jolt.
The Plot
The plot of the first act is to rid this millionaire
of his gold pile ; not to congratulate him for gather
ing a gold pile, nor to send him to congress because
he has a gold pile, but to relieve him of it.
The Purpose
The purpose is to show that a man is good simply
because he has a gold pile. Job is God's pet, his
favored one; he has a special pull with the Ruler
of the Universe. Things always came his way. His
crops never failed, his sheep never had the distem
per, his cattle never had the hoof and mouth dis
ease, his camels always had at least one good hump
on them, and his hired girls never left him nor
struck for higher wages, especially in house cleaning
time. Job was good because he was rich, and he
was rich because he was good. It's a poor rule that
won't work both ways ; the old musket at home used
to shoot both ways.

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 21
A Change in Dollar Orthodoxy
One half of this rule is not the one that prevails
in the commercial world today. Today a man is no
good because he is rich. Have you that suspicion
tucked away under your vest? In Job's day the
eye of suspicion was upon the man with the boils;
today it is upon the one with the bullion. In his
day they sent the dagger of criticism into the heart
of the man down and out ; today we have it prepared
for the man high up. Every man higher up the
ladder today and especially the financial ladder, has
to apologize for his being there and explain to some
committee about every full moon how in time he
got there. Is not that the way this dollar game is
going today? Income tax is no test of character.
Wall Street is not a Saints' Rest. It is paved with
gold 'tis true, but it is not advertised as the high
way to the New Jerusalem. Cash does not make a
man immune these days nor pass as the proof of
heaven's approving smile. But on the contrary there
is a suspicion abroad in the world that these success
ful men have been skinning it, a growing conviction
that a millionaire is a man who has more money than
any honest man ever earned.
Job's day however was the Mayday for million
aires; no suspicion, no investigation, cash was the
password. All boodlers were candidates for Para
dise. A man did not need a prayer book, all he

22 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
had to do was to show his bank book. But let some
men today show their bank books and they are told
to take the first express train to that country where
they don't need snow shoes, and where a peek-a-boo
shirt waist would make a Fiji Islander sweat!
New Thought
Ah! this cruel scientific age of ours, an age that
gets beneath the label, an age that will not accept
splutter and splash, titles and clothes, jobs or sala
ries, as the rock bed of merit and truth, but shouts
through a megaphone as big as the moon "Life con
sists not in the abundance of things" ; for a man can
have ten thousand sheep on a hillside, be the head
of a billion dollar trust, yea, the captain on the
ship of state, and squeeze his way into heaven when
the angels raise snowballs on the equator or a Mis
souri mule can make a hop, skip and jump through
the eye of a cambric needle.
The Curtain Raiser
The curtain is up, the play is on. The first actor
in the drama of life appears, not Shakespeare but
Satan, bantering God. Satan? That bugaboo of
the Mother Goose story of religion? The first thing
we strike, you see, is a snag, an old time brain
teaser. We don't know what Satan is. A fellow asked
his friend, "Say, John, do you really think that
the devil has hoofs and horns ?" "No," he replied the

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 23
friend, "if he had, the Beef Trust would have got
him long before this." But whatever he is in your
thought or mine, and that will make little difference
a million years hence; in the first story written, (not
the latest story hot from the press but the oldest
story hot with the heart's blood of human ex
perience) , Satan comes upon the stage, doubting, not
the existence of God, it is only the peanut brain man
who does that, but doubting the moral integrity of
the human soul, the masterpiece of God, and he hurls
this insinuation right into His very teeth, "Ah, does
Job serve God for naught? Your mam prays, yes,
but does he pray because he likes to pray, or does he
pray because he is paid?" When we first ran into
that thing, a stab in the short ribs of the race, we
kept our thumb on it for about a week. It was
during dog-days, and there is not much going on in
our section, religiously, during dog-days. We are
all down at the beach soaking ourselves in salt water,
putting our religion in pickle for the summer. And
well we might hold our thumb on this for a week, for
there is an insinuation here that would make Gabriel
sit up and take notice. It suggests the possibility of
a mixture of motive, not impure food, nor the high
price of food, but a sort of commercialism even in
things of the spirit, a be-good-to-get-good policy for
life, say your prayer nights with a bushel basket
in your hands, working the Almighty for stuff.
Satan infers that Dr. A. attends the big church

24 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
on the avenue, instead of the little one around the
corner, not because he can necessarily get more
good for his soul there, but because of his increased
chances of selling more pills and powders there.
That the social four hundred, the meek and lowly
of the earth, get up the charity ball, not for sweet
charity's sake, because they are in love with downs
and outs; but for the pleasure of reading the de
scription of their clothes in the society column of
the newspaper.
Pay or More Pay
Why it is mean to talk about good people like that.
Satan, no wonder you were thrown out of heaven,
head first, 'in hideous ruin and combustion down,' to
talk about good people like that. Do you say that
saints ever give a moment's thought to pay day in
Paradise? that a preacher would camp on the trail
of a rich man for any other motive than to help
his soul? that a politician would get a new civic
conscience in order to get a good civic job?
Ah, Satan, you don't know the human heart if
you think that commercialism can enter the realm
of the spirit. You don't know that when a man has
his mind fixed on God, that all things pertaining to
this mud earth — diamonds and dollars — are elimi
nated. You don't know how men abhor the lime
light, how they stop their ears when the gallery gods
are shouting. Men may adulterate their butter, sand

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 25
their sugar, water their milk, but the human heart
is the one pure commodity of earth, — no mixture of
motive there ; men do not serve God for pay, or more
pay. Be patriots for the pay that is in it? A nation
fight for the 'Peace of the World' to get a piece of
the world? Perish the thought. A nation dying for
democracy, having a secret treaty with mammon?
Never ! An Exception
No matter how much Satan knew of Job's neigh
bors, that justified him in taking this shot at Job;
God knew that there was at least one man in town
who did not run the things of the spirit on the
money basis. God knew, or at least He thought He
did, that Job's uprightness of heart was supported
by something more secure than camel's humps, oxen's
backs, and first mortgages; so He accepts Satan's
challenge ; and here is where your heavens and your
hells were born. The Challenge
Satan says to God, "This man Job, your servant,
is fooling You, You don't yet know the real man,
there are reasons for his seeming goodness. Hast
Thou not made a hedge about him and about his
house and about all that he hath? Hast Thou not
kept him shut in and shut out from the heartache
of life; hast Thou not blessed him, the work of his

26 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
hands until his substance is increased in the land?
To be sure he sings, 'I am a child of the King.' To
be sure, he goes through his religious pow-wow and
smiles with satisfaction as he reads on his fast ac
cumulating dollars 'In God we trust.' But You re
move that hedge, — tear down that sign 'No tres
passing here,' You allow the billows of a real world
to sweep that fellow's life, lay one finger on his
property, and Your saint, ah, Your saint will curse
You to Your face." Challenge Accepted
God says, "We will see." Call it adventure, in
finite foolishness if you will. The Maker of this
man, forgetting all about flying suns or revolving
worlds, says, "We will see. We will see if there
is not more in him than there is attached to him. We
will see whether he cannot stand though the earth
trembles, whether he will not maintain his integrity of
soul even though his whole town goes up in smoke.
Stand or fall, win or lose, heaven Or hell," God says,
"We will try it. Take him Satan, take him, do unto
him whatsoever your satanic mind may. devise, but
do not touch his person."
Grover Cleveland, we imagine would call this "a
situation." Agnostic
Now don't ask why God ever entered into such a
combination as that. Don't ask why He has the

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 27
right to take a man and throw him into the very
jaws of temptation. We don't know anything about
this thing, temptation. We don't know what lies
buried deep in the mystery box of the Eternal on
the why and the wherefore of temptation. Oh we
have our notions on the tariff, currency, even the
Mexican muddle. Sometimes we think we can see the
reason for the war of "Strained Relations" across the
pond, but we are up against a stone wall now. Why
God makes a man a great potentiality, and not a
bump on a log we don't know? Why He dangles a
soul over the abyss of being, why He makes a man a
bundle of passions and lets the Fates loose upon
him, we don't know. Had we the making of this
world many things in it would have been left out.
What's the use of a world like this one, one half
God's sunlight, the other half hell's red light? We
don't know, we didn't make it. We could have made
a better one had we been given the dirt. Why the
Maker of man did not carve him out a path and make
it impossible for him to jump it as He did for
Jupiter and Mars, we don't know. Why He takes a
chance on a man and not on a rabbit we don't know.
Why He makes a rabbit eternally a rabbit but packs
a potential heaven and hell into a man, and makes
him stagger up hill in the night to find himself, we
dont' know. There is no use in having a world like
this one, unless! — now as long as they keep that
little word "unless" in the dictionary it may be

28 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
horse sense not to jump in the lake — unless it be that
He wants something over yonder with which to keep
company besides rabbits ; that in His great scheme
of creation He wants at least one creature whose
God is not its gizzard, and the way to get that is
to test one out. Star stuff may be made by fiat,
man stuff only by a test.
Getting Out of Missouri
So when you come to look at cause and effect,
when you take the microscope of criticism and turn
it on this ash heap, you can't say the gods have
gone mad. Though you are standing on the wreck
of time, you can stand there and draw a few sane
conclusions : namely, this world would never have
known that it had a man in it as big on the inside
as Job, had not Satan undertaken to crush him.
It was not Job's seven thousand sheep that put
him on the map, it was his crushing. Hence you may
conclude, no crushing, no Job.
Another thing we can see. The calm patience of
this man's life which has rested upon our world like
a sweet benediction, would never have been known,
had not Satan undertaken to wring out the sweet
nectar of his life, drop by drop. I can't under
stand an Alexander the Great. A Napoleon cross
ing the Alps means nothing to me. I can't fathom
the brain of a Socrates, or feel out the heart purity
of a John. But when the night of life is heavy and

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 29
black for me, when my air-castles come tumbling to
the ground, when my world, as men say, is "on the
bum"; then I can hear the voice of a man calling
down the annals of time, saying "Cheer up, pardner,
I have been there." Yes, another thing we can see-
that the oriental world, and a lot of people who by
birth are not orientalists, would never have known
any other basis for righteousness than this commer
cial basis (be good and you will always be happy,
be pious and you will never want for pie), had not
Job mounted that ash heap. But the big thing
we see in this is : a man stripped clean by the cyclone
of life, transferred from Easy Street to an ash heap,
yet giving the lie to old Satan's taunt, — that all peo
ple in this world are serving it simply for what they
can get out of it. Panic vs. Picnic
You don't have to feed all men on angel food to
keep them good.
You don't have to ride them all on life's merry-go-
round to keep them from committing suicide. The
woods are full of men, only way-side flowers, who
are big enough to blossom and bloom, though seen by
none but God and His angels. Life is full of men
who are nothing but coal stokers on the Ship of
State, doing the unsung, unheard, unread; seven
days in the week nonentities, they don't even have
a name, ten hours in the day, only a number. But

30 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
their hearts, — now we are reaching the spot where
God does His book keeping, — their hearts may be
just as pure and beat as true to His, as that of the
man whose name is upon every lip, who makes the
story of his town's life, yes world's life, resolve itself
into nothing but his own biography. All men are not
hypocrites, mere spongers on the Almighty, all men
don't look at life's bill of fare before they pray. The
belly is not the God of all the race. Old Satan says
it is ; the dollar is on the throne of the soul of the
race; man's goal is not character, it is cash.
The Try Out
Well, the Great God says, "Take that man and
try him out and see. Don't take my word about him
but test him out and see."
We don't know how long it took Job to gather
his wealth, but it didn't take Satan long to scatter
it. At one blow the whole thing is gone, from the
ewe lamb of his flock to the baby of his household,
a millionaire reduced to an object of charity in about
two hours. We like stories with movement to them,
limited express literature, something that gets there
while you wait; well this had movement to it, but
mark you, Job stood the pace, in fact he was about
the only thing that was left standing, the work of a
lifetime a wreck at his feet and all in a day. A day
of rejoicing, his children gathered at a birthday
party ; a busy day, house and field a bee-hive of activ-

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 31
ity; a day of fancied security, not a cloud the size
of a baby's hand in all his sky: but before the sun
had gone to bed behind the hills, Job's entire earth
life had undergone a total eclipse. No warning, no
preparation, not a storm long in gathering, but
catastrophe like a meteor flash came and was gone;
nothing escaping from the wreck of his life but four
servants to tell the tale.
Breaking the News
Notice how gently they broke the news. The first
messenger came rushing in telling Job of the destruc
tion of his oxen ; while he was yet speaking, a second
came telling of the destruction of his sheep ; while he
was yet speaking the third came telling of the de
struction of his camels and servants ; while he was
yet speaking in rushed the fourth announcing to Job
the death of his seven sons and three daughters.
Talk about piling it up and rubbing it in!
No Gun
This is the psychological moment, the moment
when heart strings break, when the reason is de
throned, when the light of the soul goes out, when
the weak man takes a gun, and pointing to brain or
heart, says "Let her go !" "Let her go !" But, what
did Job do, go mad, spit venom in the face of God,
reveal the Mr. Hyde that was crouched in his
bosom? Ah, no ! He arose, rent his clothes, took off

32 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
his outer robe — the emblem of his rank — fell down
upon the ground and worshipped God, saying "Naked
came I here, and naked shall I go hence. The Lord
gave, the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be His
name." Ye devils in the pit of perdition, what do
you think of that? Backbone
There is a man with red blood in him, the man
who went over the top. Have you ever been there?
We hope not. The simple question for us as stu
dents of life is, would we have the necessary stiffen
ing in our spinal column if called upon to stand there.
Modem Jobs
But we hardly think all the Jobs are dead, or that
they all lived in the land of Uz. What is the use of
holding an ideal like this before the eye of the race,
just to mock us, with only one man big enough to
approximate unto it. All the Shakespeares may be
dead, but all the Jobs are not.
A boy wanted to go into the chicken business,
raise Rhode Island Reds. He asked his father for
the money to start him out, but the father thought
he would try the boy out. He bought a bantam hen
and gave it to the boy as a start in the chicken
business. The boy was game. He built a nest for
the little hen. Then he made a trip down town and

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 33
bought a large goose egg. He tied it on a string
and hung it up before the little hen and on the egg
he wrote, "Look at this and do the best you can."
We may not all be in Job's class, but we can look
at him and do the best we can. Do the best we can
on an ash heap? Sing the Hallelujah chorus filled
up on hard tack? Yes, if we are big enough.
Oh, there are a lot of people in the world giving
Job a good race for his money. Hats off to that
fellow falling from a thirty story sky-scraper in
New York City. Head first he was going toward old
Mother Earth, covered over with concrete and not a
feather bed in sight. Of course the outlook on life
was not very bright for him, to say the least, but
when passing the tenth story he was heard to say,
"Everything is lovely so far." He was a half
brother to the man who always made his lemonade
at night out of the lemons handed him through the
day. We are getting ships that are shell proof, but we
already have some people who are shock-proof. Pat
and Mike were in a front line trench, which had
been under continuous bombardment fifteen hours :
suddenly Mike jumped up, grabbed Pat, and shouted
above the shriek of the bursting shells : "For heaven's
sake Pat scare me, I got the hiccoughs."
Never say die, is on the letterhead of a good many
men. "When you are licked," said Mr. Dolan, to

34 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
O'Tool, "you ought to yell you've got enough!" "If
I have wind enough in me to yell, 'I've got enough',"
replied O'Tool, "I am not licked yet."
There are some men in the world you simply can't
lick. They don't know when they are licked. They
are world beaters, like the Boston Braves. That
bunch have put old Bean Town on the map to stay
for awhile. Not because they graduated from Dear
Harvard or recited the Declaration of Independence
on Bunker Hill, or their grand-dads came over in the
Mayflower; but because "they blazed it on the very
sky, that you can come from the bottom to the very
top if you try, if you have neither fear nor doubt,
but if you fight with heart and head, for a man is
never down and out, until he's dead." And then if he
is the right sort of a chap he doesn't go down but up.
Smiles
We never expect to make good in the role of time's
football to the degree that this man of Uz did, but
we are going to take a look at him every change of
the moon to get a little stiffening for our backbone.
If he stood hell's sixteen inch guns, we are going to
try to stand it when bombarded with popguns. We
are going to sell our whole stock of grouches and
grumbles and buy liberty bonds. We are going to
climb upon a step ladder and pull our black cloud
inside out. She may not like it, it may not be polite,
but we are going to crack a smile right in the face of

DOWN BUT NOT OUT 35
mis-fortune, and if she does not like that, we will turn
around and give her the ha ! ha !
"Does it seem that your life is in the dark?
Then smile.
Does it seem that you have missed the mark ?
Smile.
Don't give up in any fight,
There's a coming day that's bright,
There's a dawn beyond the night,
So just smile!"
You are never the master of a thing until you are
able to do without it, and have a smile that Old Dutch
Cleanser can not wash off, even though it could
wash the spots off the sun. It is not the getting of
a thing that shows how big you are, it is the smiling
when you lose it.
"It isn't much to look pleasant,
When your automobile is in trim,
But the thing worth while,
Is the man who can smile
When he has to ride home on the rim !"
"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag; and
smile, smile, smile!"
"If you're nursing a big boil,
Try to grin!
If you're taking castor oil,
Try to grin!

36 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
If you owe a lot of bills,
If you have a lot of ills,
Do not stop to chew your pills,
Try to grin !"
We gossip about our intellectual victories, we get
out the band and shout over our physical victories,
but the real victor in this up and down world, with its
moonshine and gold mines, is the man who can look
the world in the face and say : " 'I have learned in
whatsoever state I am therein to be content.' Land
me on my feet or land me on my neck, feed me on
angel food, feed me on hardtack, or don't feed me
at all, my spirit not my gizzard is my master."
The lesson of the first act of the drama of Job is,
a man can keep his soul perpendicular if he does not
lean too heavily on things. Things, like sand, are
sometimes shifting. Keep your feet over the center
of soul gravitation, the Rock of Ages, and you can
stand straight up though the heavens fall. Job came
through the wreck shouting, "Glory !"

CHAPTER III
HUMANITY AT THE CORE
The Second Convention
First honors go to Job. Satan is defeated but
not dismayed. He understands man well enough, at
least he thinks he does, to know that if one blow does
not bring him another will. With cynicism and
a hell-born criticism he is saying, "Every man has his
weak spot, every man has his price, every man has
a screw loose, every man will go down a moral wreck
if you can only break down his temporary defense
and hit him where he is weak." Working on the prin
ciple that all goodness is artificial, that stability of
character and fixedness of purpose are all religious
moonshine, Satan waits. He waits for the second
convention of the Sons of God, the Angels. He at
tends. It was not the last time Satan has been num
bered among the saints. It takes a lot of dew on the
grass to keep him from meeting.
Report
Satan was preesnt to make his report. He said
he had been going to and fro in the earth and walk-
37

38 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
ing up and down in it : taking little excursions down
the bay, or out into the country, to break up the
monotony of life. His report is polite, grammati
cally correct, but it is charmingly indefinite. No
boasting, padding, no big-L feeling in it. He wasn't
after the banner this time. He had another trap
to spring. The worst is yet to come.
Worst to Come
When you first read his report you call it modesty,
a characteristic of religious documents; but on sec
ond reading a cold chill steals up and down your
back, not for what the report says, but for what it
does not say. If the wreck over at the Job farm
is only a little recreation for Satan, you don't want
to be around when he really gets busy. Can it be
that a heartache, the size of Job's is only an incident
in the life of Satan, a detail not worth mentioning;
or does he go on the principle of not counting his
chickens until they are hatched? He set out to ac
complish a certain thing with this man. He struck
him a solar plexus blow — but hard as it was, it only
sent Job to a prayer meeting. There are many
preachers in the world to-day who are wishing Satan
would knock a lot more in that direction. Satan
knew that so long as a man like Job was saying his
prayers, he had no hold on him worth mentioning.
Satan was not after Job's children nor his sheep.
He was after Job, his heart; not only to break it,

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 39
but to poison it, fill it with the virus of hell, blas
phemy and unbelief ; to make this man spit venom in
the face of God because He didn't know how to run
a world, and allowed a man's sheep to be killed. Of
course all such fellows are dead.
God's Risk
There was irony in the voice of the Almighty, as
He addressed Satan, calling for his report. Irony?
Yes, of the finest. God took greater chances when
He made man than when He made moons. His infinite
reputation is staked not on how well Jupiter behaves
when out nights, but on how you and I do ; not on
how Job sings during the picnic, but on what he says
and thinks during the panic. Most men can stand
the picnic, but it is the panic that makes God most
anxious for His man. The Rubicon
If God ever loved Job, it was just about now. If
ever He stopped to listen to a mortal pray, it was
now. God's own heart swelled with pride as He
stopped and stooped to listen. He who can analyze
motives and chase a man down to where his thoughts
are born, smiled with satisfaction as He listened,
"The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away, blessed
be the name of the Lord."
The Rubicon had been crossed.

40 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Made Good
With a sarcasm which must have stung Satan to
his very center God says, "How about my servant
Job? In your going to and fro, up and down
the land hast thou noticed him, for there is not
another like him in all the earth, and even though
thou didst move me against him to destroy him with
out a cause, yet he still holdeth fast his integrity.
I have examined him and there is not a taint on his
soul ; you were mistaken when you insinuated that he
served Me for gain, that he blessed Me because I in
turn blessed him, that he held out his hands in prayer
only that I might fill them."
Satan's Old Saw
Now comes the meanest thing of all history. Then
Satan answered— "Skin for skin, all that a man hath
will he give for his own life. True I didn't measure
your man aright. Financial ruin seemingly did not
phase him. Making silent the merry voices of his
children did not anger his soul. He is an exceptional
man. But you just lay him on his back, a sick man;
touch his person instead of his property and he will
curse You to Your face. Bring disease upon him
instead of death to his family, make him suffer in
stead of his children, go after him instead of the
things that belong to him ; and You will see his integ
rity of soul vanish." That is hitting a man about

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 41
where he lives. Do you know anything that is more
apt to smoke him out and reveal what he is ?
Self Preservation
Self Preservation ! Is there another word burned
deeper into the soul of the race? We don't throw
these lives away. Men and nations will fight with
their backs to the wall. The suicide is insane. Starv
ing men become cannibals. Mothers, in the siege of
Jerusalem, boiled their own children for their last
meal. Skin for skin, take what I have but don't
touch me.
Isaac was held up by a highwayman one dark
night. The fellow said "Your money or your life."
Isaac got busy, went fishing down the subterranean
passages of his loose fitting clothes and brought out
his money, saying "How much discount do you give
for cash?" There you are, skin for skin, take what
I have but don't touch me. Take my children, take
my sheep, but don't touch me. The world may go,
all else but me.
Have we struck something? Have we found the
seed out of which Kaisers grow? the source of this
world's hells? Skin for skin. I, me, mine, self.
The Ruling Passion
Now we are right up against it. Here is a dagger
stuck into the very soul of the race. Satan is
saying it. He is spitting it right into the face of

42 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
the Maker of men— that men are nothing but dead
seas, hyenas, leeches, human sponges, that they are
in a world to do it, not do for it. Have you given
him the lie yet? Satan says that the personal pro
noun I stands straight up in every man's world as
high as Washington Monument. Have you made him
take it back? Satan says that the philosophy and
the working policy of the world of men is, "Dog eat
dog. Do unto the other fellow what you know he will
do to you and do it first." Is it? Has he got the
goods on us? Has he diagnosed the real man, torn
off his mask and revealed him a devil in sheep's
clothing? This is not a question of where you go
Sundays, or how you vote Mondays, or whether your
grand-dad came over in the Mayflower; but it is a
thrust at the moral integrity of the race. Have we
red blood enough in our systems to stand on our
own hind legs and ward off this blow? Can we make
Satan eat his words ? Is our life giving him the lie ?
Are we saviors or just civilized suckers?
"Skin for skin," Satan hisses, "yea, all that a man
hath will he give for his own life." Self interest is
the fundamental passion that sweeps the soul. Man
is a vulture hovering over the field of life. He may
pray but he is looking for prey.
The Silver Lining
We would give our life to blot out that insinua
tion, the facts which justify that accusation. But is

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 43
it all true? Are we knocked out with this one blow?
Not yet, your Satanic Majesty, not yet, even though
one half our world has been on fire; not yet, even
though the ships of state have been sailing on seas
of blood ; not yet, do we throw up our hands to Beel
zebub and cry "Kamerade" ; even though nine million
men went to bed with their boots on, and one hun
dred and ninety seven billion dollars went up in
smoke, in this recent fight for the best seat in the
sun. Don't forget that this is a world in which extremes
meet. Though the angels never looked down on a
darker day they also never looked down on a brighter
one. Though some men were never more like imps
of hell, others were never more like sons of God. All
men are not devils. Character is not all carnal.
Selfishness nationalized, on the verge of being uni
versalized, got an awful blow. Might met meekness,
carnality met charity, autocracy met democracy, —
Hell met God. There is a remnant in the land.
"Earth's darkest days and earth's brightest days
are only one day apart." Out of every pandemonium
there comes a millennium. Cassar rules but does not
reign. For every dark Friday there is a resurrec
tion morn. All the salt has not lost its savor.
So our faith was never stronger, our jewel of hope
for the world's tomorrow never brighter. God has
not failed. Meekness is inheriting this earth. Love
that never faileth is ruling. A charity that seeketh

44 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
not her own is abroad in the land. The Job char
acter is being vindicated. All men are not blood
suckers. The morning of life and light and peace
is breaking. The iron age is passing, Tipperary is
at hand. Baal has not captured the whole bunch.
We know there is a fly in this ointment, a bitter in
this sweet, a Judas at the table. We are not ostriches
with our heads in a sand bank. We know man will
play his me-and-my game. He will squeeze a dollar
until he leaves a dent in it. He will demand his
pound of flesh from the heart of his fellow man, he
will water his roses with the tears of women, wring
millions from the bare backs and empty bellies of the
sons of toil. Man in the humdrum will be a devil
and many have been. But when the crisis comes,
when the world's best life is at hazard, "the crown of
a woman's fearless smile and the throne of a baby's
chair," the woods are full of men who have not bowed
the knee to the god of gold. We hardly thought it
possible of ourselves, our creeds proclaimed it, how
ever our conduct did not prove it. But when the test
hour came, when a bunch of human devils were run
ning their juggernaut, ambition, over everything
sacred in the annals of God and man, men by the
millions as by magic rose up and bared their breasts
for whatever blow might come, and said to the devil
in the person of the Hun, "In the name of God and
humanity, you stop!" We have enough sacrifice in
us to lick all hell out.

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 45
A National Illustration
Not that we are better than others but as a nation
we have made old Satan eat his words until by this
time he must have infernal dyspepsia. It will take
more than a bottle of Mother Winslow's soothing
syrup to quiet his troubled soul. Business is not
picking up for him here in Uncle Sammie's Land. As
a nation we kicked the slats out of hell's playhouse —
selfishness. Oh, we can hustle for dollars but we
can also die for an idea. The square deal is our
biggest deal. Base ball is our pastime, brotherhood
is our passion. We are too proud to fight for power
or place or pelf but we are past masters in the fight
to help the other fellow reach his place in the sun.
Jericho's road is a bigger street to us than Wall
Street. We can shout Excelsior with the best and
biggest of them, but when the cry for help comes we
are Johnnies on the spot. We are democrats, each
for all and all for each, Laplander or Hottentot, all
nations in need of a boost up the sunlit hill of truth
to where Freedom lives, look alike to us. We don't
give them the boot we give them a boost. We don't
do it for glory nor for gold, we do it just because we
are built that way. Our vision has always been tele
scopic not microscopic. Our Shibboleth has always
been Thee and Thine not Me and Mine. Our method
for making the world better is to do and to die for
the other fellow. We civilize through sacrifice. We

46 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
draw the sword not to revenge but to reveal. Cold
steel is our prayer for national righteousness.
Christ died to make men holy, we can and do die
to make them free. Perhaps the grandest scene that
the angels ever looked down upon, was this nation, a
nation that could have licked Rome any morning be
fore breakfast, could have laid one hand on Greece
and there would not have been a spot left, a nation
in whose military power and program, an Alexander
the Great could not have been a second lieutenant or
a Napoleon a drummer boy; this nation, a giant of
the giants, entered that world-clash just for place
or power or pelf ? No, never, no ! but plunged into
the sea of the world's deep need just to save and there
was not a nickel in it.
Ah, Satan, go chase yourself! Why, there is a
spark of manhood even in a dog and that is no insult
on the dog either. Satan never heard that word
Saviour, he could not spell the word Mother. He
could not translate the heart throb of General
Pickett, who shouted to the men under his command
as they rode into that hell of fire, "Come on ! you fel
lows, if you want to live forever!" No, skin for skin
was Satan's motto. Was it that of his victim? is it
yours? is it mine?
Why, the woods are full of men who would take
their stand on the deck of a sinking Titanic and say,
"Women and children first." Would you be the first
sucker to fight your way into the life boat? Old

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 47
Satan says you would. Have you given him the lie
yet? Some man says, "I have never been given a
chance to stand on the deck of a sinking Titanic and
show what I would do." Well, thank heaven you
have not. Say, man, must we sink a Titanic, drown
fourteen hundred people just to give you a chance
to show off? Must they start a pandemonium before
you can prove yourself a patriot? Must we run the
earth knee deep in Mood before you can manifest
your love for humanity? Is it only when the cannon
boom that you can be a brother? Is khaki the only
dress for character? Is it only in a world hell that
Big Business can serve instead of squeeze ? Was this
fight for democracy only a grand stand play?
The Humdrum
Great God, show us how we can be men, patriots,
humanity lovers, in the humdrum. The humdrum?
Yes, the humdrum, where hell gets in its work. And
the man the world needs most today, is not the
patriot with a beating drum nor a smoking gun,
but the man who is a man in the humdrum.
"God, what a world, if men in street and mart,
Felt that same kinship of the human heart,
Which makes them, in the face of fire and flood,
Rise to the meaning of True Brotherhood."
Is man a paradox or a parody? We can climb
San Juan hill in a shower of bullets to die for a man

48 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
to whom we would not speak on the street. We can
make brotherhood our battle cry, but not our daily
cry. We can pass the Golden Rule as a war meas
ure, but we don't have it nailed on the fence posts
around our homes. In the temple man can be a saint,
on the stock exchange a bull. We can p-r-a-y to our
God on Sunday, and p-r-e-y on Tom, Dick and
Harry on Wednesday, and get by with it. Our defini
tions are all right, our dispositions are about all
wrong. We are orthodox, but not humane. We can
shout and shoot for democracy, and skin a flea for its
hide and tallow, and skin our neighbor Jones to get
the flea. We can be law righteous and have one foot
in hell. We are not hypocrites, we are just not con
sistent. Our patriotism stirs when the band is play
ing, but we lose the step when we go chasing for
dollars. We say Autocracy is a menace, we think
Plutocracy is paradise — and most men want to get
to paradise. We forget that junkerism is another
way of saying commercialism, that militaryism is
just moneyism gone mad, that the man who would
"drive a sharp bargain" is the type of man who
might drive an army through Belgium. Oh, this
man is not a Kaiser, he is just a commercial leech;
not an autocrat, he is just a "baron," coal baron,
wheat baron, food baron, a man who scoops dollars,
while the boys pour blood, who is patriotic when it is
popular, does Jiis bit for the government, but sits up
nights to do the people. He is the man who would

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 49
make a sacrifice hit, not in the dollar game, but only
in a ball game. A man who would be a ghoul on
the field where heroes die, but for martial law.
The Leading Question
Can't we glorify the humdrum? Can't we plough
corn, conduct a store, run a railroad, even a beef
trust, with the same enthusiasm for God's humanity
and the selfsame abandonment to the good of the
whole, as has the man who faces the cannon's mouth?
His is not to reason why, his is but to dare and die,
for home, God, and fellowman. Are soldiers the only
possible heroes? Must you carry a gun in order to
be great? Is the battle-field the highway to immor
tality? Can't we glorify this dollar game? Can't we
make the stock exchange our holy of holies? Can't
we make Wall Street the highway leading to the
temple of God? Can't we go through life shouting
"Excelsior! Excelsior! I am my brother's keeper."
Can't we make charity a perpetual passion, not an
incidental spasm? Can't we make every day's living
on the part of every man, the utmost living out for
the whole, of the inmost possibility of being? If we
can't the trick is up. We are living in a fool's
heaven. Our peace dream is a pipe dream, a mirage,
"a ship on a painted sea." "We are dealing with ma
jestic energies in a very unmajestic manner." We
are laying up judgment against the day of judgment,
things which will not only mock us, but damn us;

50 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
and in the hell of human failure, carnal ambitions
deified, we shall lift up our voice and cry to the com
ing generations, "Make not our mistake, but learn
the lesson God through the ages would teach man:
that the thing which is to save this world from a
human hell, is the triune qualities of serve, save,
sacrifice, by every man, everywhere, every day.
From Greenland's icy mountains to India's coral
strand, righteousness in action, which is charity re
duced to conduct, must be a perpetual passion, not
simply an incidental spasm."
Change of Motive
The world can never be the same again. We are
not only changing the map, but we must change our
motive. Has not the race had its Peniel experience,
seen a Damascus Road vision, heard a voice from
the deep blue saying "It is hard to kick against the
pricks." Has not the race shed tears enough, blood
enough, agonized in soul enough to come out of this
clash of the ages breathing a prayer "O God, help
us lest we forget." The Kaiser may be more guilty,
but few men can stand in this maelstrom of blood and
plead 'not guilty.' Me and Mine is the motto on
too many letter heads. We like to be masters. "You
first, Alfonzo," has not been our shibboleth. "Lord
is it I? is it I?" is the question facing every man as
he looks out upon his world clutched in a death

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 51
struggle for material mastery, social and political
supremacy. The Super-Man
Whatever our past achievements in head and
heart may be, whatever the political destiny of Bel
gium, Poland, Servia may be, the world's tomorrow
demands a super-man, superior to that produced by
the aesthetic culture of Greece, the jurisprudence of
Rome, the "kulture" of Germany, the formalism of
England, liberalism of France, or the individualism
of America. It demands a superior man, big enough,
divine enough to move out and on and up with God.
A man big. in soul, sympathy, vision ; one that rises
above the petty, the local, the victories of a carnal
ambition, though that makes him the possessor of a
billion dollars, the pilot of a nation, even the master
of a world. This is the man for whose coming the
centuries have waited, the man who is to give Satan
the lie, defeat hell, redeem a world, and call the angels
back to sing over it "Peace among men," the man
whose God is not his belly.
Was Job this type of man? Was he master of
those ambitions which threaten to drive the race
mad? Was his moral integrity a greater possession
to him than the world would be even with its heart
packed with diamonds ? Was Job a world overcomer,
in it, but not of it, playing its little game of strive
and get, but living in an atmosphere where his soul

52 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
was serene, his faith in his God supreme, and his life
a stream of sunshine as he went in and out among
his fellow men? Yes, at least his Maker thinks so,
and seems anxious to take another chance to prove
it. So again He turns him over to Satan, with the
ironic question, "Hast thou yet observed him?"
The Sweat Box of the Soul
"No," chuckles Satan to himself, "I have not yet
observed him but I will soon. I will give him hell's
second degree, the sweat box of the soul. I will go
after him instead of stuff that belongs to him. I will
take the halo from his head and change his praise
into a curse." So Satan went forth and smote Job
with boils from the sole, of his feet to his crown, a
leprosy in its most terrific form which covered the
body with a hard knotty cancerous bark like the
hide of an elephant. The whole frame of the man
was in a progressive state Of dissolution, his life
sands dropping out a grain at a time, the reading of
which has made the heart of the world sick.
No Parallel
Now it is childish to ask why God should be a
partner in such a diabolical thing; stand back and
permit such a thing ; torture a man as you would not
a snake. Torture, yes, the intensity of which only
a demon or God could make possible. A parallel to

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 53
this is not found in human history. Hell has not
fired the human passions so as to create a counter
part to this. The cannibal of the sea — the red man
of the forest, can make a bonfire of their victim, the
poison cup, dagger, dungeon, and cross, expose the
deep depths of the cruelty of the human heart —
man's inhumanity to man — but only a demon or a
God could make this ash heap possible, in whose
agony and bitterness of soul all other devices for tor
ture fade into insignificance. Foolish to ask why.
And, man, if you stand and gaze upon this ash
heap, with its victim, until the handful of gray
matter in your think box has evolved an answer to
the question, why? you will go mad. The natural
instinct revolts from this, sickens at this, maddens at
this, and turns with a curse upon the person, demon
or God that makes it so. There is no justice in this.
As far as these eyes can see, as keenly as these
passions can feel — as deeply as this intellect can
penetrate into the chasm of mystery, God had no
right to do this. Deep Water
But man, your soul passion or sense of justice is
not the plumb line 'that fathoms the deep mystery of
being. You can not see the why but there may be
one. You can't see over, or through or beyond an
ash heap but some one else may. You cannot see

54 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
the justice, the fitness of the arrow that pierces the
heart, the sorrow that ploughs deep the soul, the
experience which makes time, — the parenthesis in
eternity — an epitome of hell; but someone else may.
The justice of temptation is out beyond you, as far
as eternity is beyond you. You can't now see the
why. More Facts m the Mystery
But this you can see : God, it seems in this entangle
ment of life, is looking for character, not innocence.
He wants spiritual giants not pigmies ; men with
knot, twist and soul fiber to them, able to stand up
and stand alone. And the question is how to get
them. He can make star dust by fiat but He can't
put the backbone into an oak tree without the aid
of the storm. He can make innocency and He did,
when he made the heart of your babe ; and it seems
He ought to be content with that, but He is not. In
nocency delights Him, but does not satisfy Him. It
shows His purity but not His power. Innocency is
of the kingdom of heaven but it is not the highest de
gree in the kingdom of heaven. God wants character,
soul-toughness, moral heroes for His eternities. And
it seems that it is the pull up hill, the bitter in the
sweet, life's affairs sometimes gone to smash, that
makes soul power possible.
Character is not cosmetics put on with a chamois
skim,; but character is the granite of the heart of

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 55
God, kneaded into us with the iron knuckles of afflic
tion, pounded into us with the pile-driver of ex
perience. Meaning to Madness
Hence the ash heap is the twin necessity to the
cradle in the process of becoming perfected souls.
The soul comes into being as pure as the heart of
God; it goes back to Him — having run life's awful
gauntlet — strong and steadfast, approaching the
character of God. "Tis sorrow builds the shining
ladder up, whose golden rounds are our calamities,
where on our firm feet planting, nearer God the spirit
climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed." "Made perfect
through suffering" is the divine formula for char
acter. The end perhaps justifies the means, even
though the means grinds your little earth life, with
its ambitions, mud pies, presidential aspirations, to
powder. God wants you to have a stiff backbone
when you come up before Him to receive upon your
self the eternal weight of His glory. Were it not for
the ash heap you perhaps at that hour would be
made a hunch back.
Mrs. Job
Job not permitted to enter his neighbor's house —
perhaps not even his own, sat himself down on the
ash heap outside his dwelling, the saddest spectacle
no doubt the cold stars ever shown upon. His wife

56 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
appears, the bride of his youth, joy of his heart,
mother of his children, now dead, his life partner for
better or for worse, down as well as up, ash heaps as
well as rose beds. A big proposition, ladies! She
looks him over. Poor thing! Who knows which
of the two hearts ached the harder? It is ofttimes
easier to stand the cruel shaft of pain when it is
run into your own heart, instead of into the one you
love. Helpless, Hopeless—Silent
Now shut your eyes as this woman stands there,
looking, not into the face of the dead, but into the
face of a living death. We are satisfied she could
have stood the testing of that ash heap, boils and
all. We men with all our boasted brain and muscle
(as advertised by ourselves), we don't know any
thing about pain ; a little bit of a tooth ache will put
us out of commission. Why even the cat has to get
out when father is sick.
This woman could have stood the testing of that
ash heap; but to be a witness of it, to stand there
helpless, hopeless, Ah God ! silent ! The first two
she was compelled to do, the third, alas, she was
simply unable to do. And with a paroxysm of pain
mentally, she cried, "Dost thou still retain thine
integrity? Curse God and die."

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 57
Divorced
A shudder goes through Job's frame. A greater
convulsion than that of pain seized him. For a time
his lips refused to speak, for his soul had no reply.
Why did she say it, why did she say it? Ask the One
who is making up the eternities, why? In the next
moment worlds, years in building, went to smash;
hearts, yea, souls, grown into each other, were torn
asunder; and hell knew that the divinest partnership
this side of the stars, two hearts made one, was
ruined. Also the great bulwark that protected Job
and made him a man strong and true, that
woman's love for him, yes, but something diviner
still, that woman's faith in him, had been scaled. Job
and his wife, in heart, vwere then and there divorced.
And with a voice which sounded strange to her
but stranger to himself he said, "Oh foolish woman,
shall we receive good at the hand of God and not
evil? Shall we bask in the sunshine and then com
plain at the storm ? Is the inner man to be as chang
ing as his outer circumstances? Is man to curse his
God over every broken toy or shooting pain? Is
there not more to man than what he eats, wears and
enjoys ; must life be a rose bed to keep a man good?"
Job's Message
In all this did not Job sin with his lips. Whatever
he does in the future, up to date he has set a pretty

58 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
fast pace. And the spirit of this millionaire comes
into our world today not to amuse us but to enthuse
us, even to set in judgment upon us, for what ever
one man achieves in moral life, others may, more
should. We are not looking at essential divinity, but
at possible humanity. So this man comes to me in
my littleness of soul and says, "Behold me, you might
be strong if you would." He comes into our world
today, hell ridden as it is, and says, "Man there is a
better way." He comes to the twentieth century in
its struggle for place, power and pelf, and says
"Change your mind, your life's objective. You are
getting things inverted, you are grasping for the
tinsel, letting go the gold of life. If you had more
peace of mind, you would have less of pandemonium
in your life. You may gain the sun but lose your
self." This man's ambition seemed to be the reverse
of the present order of things, not what he could get
out of life, but rather what he could put into it, —
he had not the carnal mind from which the carnage
of life has come. God's Only Mistake
We have been told that Bob Ingersoll used to
receive about $300 a night, going up and down this
fair land of ours showing up the mistakes of Moses
— you remember Bob and Moses were in business
together. But we hardly think the Old Law Maker
(not the black sheep but the Blackstone of Israel)

HUMANITY AT THE CORE 69
would charge us a dollar and a half a night, if he
should undertake to show up a few of Bob's. Per
haps Bob has had time to change his mind on some
things even aside from his politics.
Adam and Job
But if the Almighty ever made a mistake it was
in His selecting Adam instead of Job with which to
start Eden.
Between these two. men there is a wonderful paral
lel and a contrast. Both men were tempted, both
tempted of Satan through their wives to renounce
their allegiance to God. Note the contrast. Adam
tempted when at the summit of his felicity, off on
his honeymoon, on life's Easy Street. Job tempted
in the deep depth of his misery. Adam assailed by
the suggestion that God had unjustly deprived him
of good. Think of that — kept a nice piece of apple
pie from him, put up a sign, "Keep off the Grass."
Job tempted by the suggestion and to him the
awful experience, that God was pouring down upon
his righteous head the vials of His wrath.
In the May day of life, in a nice little seven by
nine Paradise, old Adam went down. In life's De
cember, Job stood up.
In the one man, Adam, we have a type of all men ;
in the Job man, dare we think it, we have a fore
shadowing of the God man.

CHAPTER IV

TURNING TURTLE

Job was a high climber. He scaled the Alps of
experience to heights few have attained. But what
goes up must come down. Whether that is a fixed
law in soul gravitation, we dare not say, but in Job's
case it prevailed. If ever a man of history took a
header and plunged from the mountain top to the
very bottom of the valley of despair, if ever a man
got below zero in his soul temperature, if ever a man
breathed the malaria, miasma and the damp fog of
the valley of soul depression, it was this man Job.
He came as near freezing up and making a moral
wreck of himself as any man we know.
The hero of this story, you see, was not made to
order. He had his "downs" as well as his "ups," an
evidence of the genuineness of his character.
Life in this test period is not lived on a dead
level, though it should be on the square. The man
who has never taken a ride on a soul toboggan,
dropped from mountain top to valley, hasn't climbed
God's incline very high. If you don't know how to
doubt, you don't know how to trust. "Down goes
60

TURNING TURTLE 61
McGinty" is not a tragedy, it is simply testing a
man out as a submarine. If you don't know what
feeling your way in the dark is like, you don't know
how to shout "Eureka." If you never placed an
interrogation point here, there, over yonder, you
don't know what it is that has made the souls of great
men strong. "Art thou the Christ or do we still
look for another" is the question of a man who is
getting somewhere. The spiritual jelly-fish is not a
spiritual giant. Soul life has its dark valleys; it
looks through dimmed eyes as well as clear. It stops
to ask who? why? when? where? Its view is micro
scopic as well as telescopic. It sometimes measures
life by only what it sees, hears, knows ; yes, at times it
will measure eternity by the two feet of earth upon
which it stands.
This man Job did that very thing — almost. He had
his New England Winter. His soul trembled on
the brink of despair. His life and his light both,
almost went out. His sweetness and strength of char
acter, which we have so much admired, were badly
frost bitten. Job got so cold in his soul life that it
almost makes one sneeze to read of him. Everything
was barren, cold, and dead; and his soul was held in
the grip of an Arctic night.
A Moral Giant
Where Job differs from the majority of men is in
the fact that there was more of him. Nature was

62 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
good, perhaps partial to him; she built him large.
Job was no two by four man in any department of
being. Where most men are local, he was cosmopoli
tan ; where some of us are built on the plan of Rhode
Island, he was on the scale of Texas. There was
nothing small about him. He didn't bow to the
grand stand every time he made a base hit. There
was no froth to him. A few dollars didn't make him
vain. He wasn't a peacock in the barnyard of
life. Job could laugh, but he had no use for that
society smile which is put on with a glove stretcher.
He was up in society but he wasn't up on himself.
He could go fishing or play golf with his poor neigh
bor, even if Jones didn't own a stock farm. Job had
a big heart but not a big head. Job didn't belong
to the smart set, even though he could show a sheep
skin from the best university in the land, Experience.
Job was human, even though successful; hence the
mediocre man didn't feel like going out when Job
came in. Job loved dollars; but God's humanity,—
the brain, heart and soul of men, — meant more to
him, than champagne, gossip and the sea foam of the
giddy whirl. Accident of Birth
Job was big, strong; the Gods put in a lot of time
constructing him. Every timber in his being was
sound ; he was built out of hard wood, well seasoned.
Why? You will have to ask the Architect of the

TURNING TURTLE 63
Skies why — but he was. The accident of birth is
something I don't know much about. The shop
where individualities are created, put up and labeled
and sent out a thousand millions of them, no two
looking alike, is a place I have never visited. Why
God puts mush in one man and Bessemer steel in
another He never made plain to me. Why He puts
a tin spoon in one mouth, a silver one in another is
too much for me. Why one babe is born in a hut,
another in a palace, one carried on a silver platter
into the presence of Royalty to get its name, two
yards long ; another left nameless on your door step ;
why, just why Cupid was not born a little coon, is
not made plain in my arithmetic.
The Running Start
Ah, this accident of birth! suppose you had been
born on the other side of the fence, who would your
mother-in-law have been? What color might you
have been? "One day," related Denney to his friend
Jerry, "when Oi had wandered too far inland on me
shore leave, Oi suddenly found thot there was a great
big haythen, tin feet tall, chasin' me wid a knife as
long as yer ar-rm. Oi took to me heels an' for fifty
miles along the road we had it nip an' tuck. Thin Oi
turned into the woods an' we run for one hundred an'
twinty miles more, wid him gainin' on me steadily,
owin' to his knowledge of the counthry. Finally, just
as Oi could feel his hot breath burnin' on the back of

64 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
me neck, we came to a big lake. Wid one great leap
Oi landed safe on the opposite shore, leavin' me pur
suer confounded and impotent wid rage." "Faith
an' thot was no great jump," commented Jerry, "con-
siderin' the runnin' sthart ye had."
Not Up to the Mud Turtle
The key to the riddle of life may be in that homely
thing, the running start. And if you are jumping the
lake, and we hope you are, why, put it down that that
is your job. And remember there is no special
chromo on the other side of the lake for you. So just
get up and go to jumping. If you can't make it in
one, make it in two. Don't elevate your nose at an
angle of 90 degrees at that poor club foot coming
up the road. Jumping lakes is not his job; that is
yours. The Creator of things never put it up to a
mud turtle to sing Grand Opera. It is the giraffe,
not the guinea pig, who is to pick the high foliage. Is
the English sparrow to be chased out of town because
the Maker of birds gave all the gold foil to the
oriole? And is the bald-headed eagle to be given a
back seat because the bird of paradise has all the
plumage? The Jacob and Esau situation is still
open for remarks. "The one I loved, the other I
hated." That makes the wiseacres hold their breath
as they look at life's spoon-tray with its silver and
tin. Job was big; hence into his every act went the

TURNING TURTLE 65
force of his mastering personality. So this man who
had within him the native power to create such a
halo about his head, who had it in him to climb to
such heights; when such a man jumps the track, you
are going to see a wreck. Remember he was a whole
freight train. If some of us should jump the track,
it would only be a hand car. When such a man goes
to pieces, he is going to plunge into depths of despair
a smaller person could never fathom; when such a
brain goes mad and such a heart grows cold, you are
going to see a spectacle which, thank God, it has been
the lot of but few to produce. Zero
Despair is born of strength. A lobster never dies
of nervous prostration nor sweats its soul out over
the enigma called life. Job was no whiner, fretter,
chronic grumbler. He wasn't a religious dyspep
tic, a calamity howler, a pessimist, a man with a
putty backbone, blood-shot eyes, nosing around
looking for something he didn't want to find; but
Job was a giant with his heart frozen. The deep
fountain of his spiritual life had clogged up, and a
stupor like unto spiritual death seized him. It is
our lot now to listen to his wail, his soul's com
plaint, his invective on life. It is not a cry of dis
tress, not a plea for help, nor for mercy, but rather
a cold, emotionless musing on the problem "to be or
not to be." Job is looking into the face of eternal

66 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
night — the work of a life-time a junk heap at his
feet — and he is asking, "is life worth while?"
But remember while Job took a header, he was
not a backslider, he just turned turtle. His fall was
not premeditated, it was precipitated. He was not
a prodigal, he was kidnapped, hit by the hard hand
of fate and dragged out into the desert of despair.
The Woman in the Case
You ask what it was that brought him from his
glorious heights to his inglorious depths. Well we
cannot spoil a story even for woman's sake. We
would fight any old time in defense of woman's
character, but this is not a case of character; it is
a case of creed, not how she behaved, but what she
believed. His wife you remember had been spared.
In the storm that swept away property and family,
she escaped. We don't like to think that she was
spared merely to be the straw that was to break
the camel's back, but this she proved to be and do.
Job had a good wife, we wish all the voters in the
land had. The old bachelors should be fined ten dol
lars every full moon to furnish go-carts and sooth
ing syrup for the rest of us. Young man, with all
your getting, get married; it is the one thing that
will bring out the man or the fool that is in you.
We know marriage is the union that causes a great
number of strikes but join it, anyway. Get into this
game of give and take, and it is mostly take.

TURNING TURTLE 67
Suffering in Silence
Mrs. Job was good. Was she great as well as
good? Let us see. She could stand a property loss
if you call that great. She could sit by her fireside
listening to the stories of how the Sabeans had
stolen the oxen, how the fire had fallen from heaven
destroying the sheep, and she still kept her head.
When the bank went up she didn't go down. She
could go off in the cool of the evening and stand
over ten new graves, and you don't hear a word of
complaint from her any more than you do from
Job. Please don't forget that. True you hear no
note of praise, "The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken
away, blessed be His name," but on the other hand
you hear no word of complaint. Ah ! Woman's lot
to suffer in silence. In this master drama, which
deals with the enigmas of time and eternity, the
woman gets six lines which deal with her weakness ;
Job the head of the family gets a book. Thus it
has ever been. It is Mr. Job or Mr. Jones who get
the head lines in the paper.
Dog Fights
Have you noticed that the historian hasn't very
good eyes for seeing wayside flowers ; that he can't
see much in the world but big muscles, big guns,
presidential candidates and- royal pow-wows? If
you want to be noticed, be a man with a lot of sheep.

68 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
If you want to be a real hero, bust trusts or put the
kibosh on some Kaiser Bill. The difference in the
write-up of Mr. and Mrs. Job, to say the least, is
significant. Dog fights are easier write-ups than an
gel visits. The Westminster of the world has its
poet's corner, statesman's corner, soldier's corner, —
the King occupies the rest of the house,— but like
the Inn at Bethlehem, no room for The Madonna.
Taking life, makes better reading than giving life.
Hence the hand that rocks the cradle isn't much
talked about, perhaps you think it does quite
enough of its own. If woman could only swing a
sword instead of a broom, if she could bring the
big stick down on the head of the corrupt politician,
instead of a slipper on a boy where it is needed
most ; if she could only throw the boss out instead
of getting supper for "the boss" when he comes home ;
her worth to society would be easier for a lot of the
lords of creation these days to compute.
Mountain Mover
A man who lived in Boston said, "Wifie! Wifie!"
He said this when he was stretched parallel with the
earth in the morning, while she was building the fire
and getting the breakfast. You know that is the
time when a lot of men solve the problems of state.
This bean consumer said, "Wifie ! I have a faith that
could remove mountains." She gave him a look

TURNING TURTLE 69
that spelled doubt or disgust and replied, "I wish
you had the faith that would move the ashes out of
the cellar."
But the mountain mover went on to ask, "What
would happen if a woman were elected to the Presi
dential chair?" And Yankee fashion he answered
his own question by saying, "A lot of things will
happen before she is, but if she were elected to it,
all she would use it for, would be to stick gunv
under." Now if that hollow pated commentator on wom
an's capacities should go and look under the throne
of England, we imagine he would find that Queen
Victoria put something else around there than a wad
of pepsin chewing gum. The Empress Dowager of
China, although she is out of a job now, did some
thing else than chew old gum shoes reduced to wax,
and stick the cuds around on chairs in the Palace.
And Frances Willard, America's Uncrowned Queen,
was clear-eyed on the problem which makes most
politicians cross-eyed, yea, which gives even candi
dates for the presidency a bad case of the lock
jaw. They know what to do with microbes but
John Barleycorn gets their goat.
Silent Forces
We know there isn't as much pig metal or brass
in woman as there is in man; that she doesn't climb

70 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Bunker Hills or San Juan Hills for bunkum or
glory ; that she sits on the floor to put on her shoes ;
but don't go off and say that the Lord made her
and forgot to put gray matter in her cranium,
because she prefers to put her heart trust in one
man, who may not be worth fifteen cents, we would
like to make it thirty, gentlemen, rather than form
a money trust out of a dozen men.
Woman is one of the silent forces of the cosmos,
like gravitation and life; hence the story of her
daily round doesn't make thrilling reading. One tin
soldier and a gun makes more noise than all the
light which has poured forth from the heart of the
sun. Noise
Noise! Noise! Man is an expert on noise. We
can all play solos on bass drums. But in the world's
tragedy, the most diabolical war of all history, it
dawned on us that the real things in a world, may
not be noise, bluff, brute force. We are beginning
to see, having it burned into us, that you can't
measure the size of a fish by the splash it makes in
the water; that Baalam's mule would not bring
first money simply on the ground that it had a loud
bray; though a bullfrog makes more noise than a
whale, yet it doesn't bring as much on the market;
that the rooster does lots of crowing, but it is the
hen that delivers the goods.

TURNING TURTLE 71
Different Not Better
We do not say that woman is better than man ;
but we must admit she is different — hence she has
a different contribution to make to the world. Man
is physical; she spiritual. Man is passionate and
wandering, a fighting and conquering genius ; and
when he breaks loose pandemonium is to pay. Man
hardly feels normal unless he has a gun in his hand.
He will fight at the drop of a hat and he will drop
a hat to get up a fight ; every foot of his so-called
march of civilization has been soaked in human
gore ; every railroad tie is a tombstone.
The world is headed toward bankruptcy to-day
because man thinks the only way to build a king
dom of peace is through a fight. But if statesman
ship is a crazed captain on a sinking ship, thank
God the race has Mother left.
Mother
Was it not Lew Wallace who said that "When
God saw that He could not be in all places at the
same time He gave men Mothers."
We think He smiled His sweetest, not when He
thought of meteors, but Mothers, her purity, sweet
ness, her part in life ; for it is into her care, Mother's
care, that God placed the making of the eternities.
Man may build empires, which some other man may
overthrow; but Mother is God's co-laborer in build-

72 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
ing a heaven which all hell can't overthrow. The
world outgrows the song of the poet, it forgets what
the statesman said, and the wise man's wisdom be
comes to it foolishness. Man is a great contributor
to the scrap pile of time. By the flames of Rome
he plays his fiddle, but St. Helena is the terminus
of his bloody trail. But Mother takes the race
, even before its birth hour ; she woos, coos, sings her
lullaby over it, breathes her soul into it and will
lift it at last to God. Man's Tool Chest
Man can bring intellect and muscle, law, logic,
and dynamite to the solution of life's problems ; that
is about all he has in his tool chest. But that pa
tience which disease cannot wear out, that hope,
faith, which the rust of sorrow cannot eat out;
that love which brutishness cannot beat out, —
God's levers under a race, — it seems He only had
enough for one and He gave it to Mother.
Your philosophers, politicians, policemen, kaisers,
kings, and soldiers have to do with a real life, but
a very rudimentary life. But when you want some
thing with life and lift; when you want something
for the heart that aches and the spirit that fails ;
when you want something that holds to the utmost,
that pleads, prays, forgets, forgives : yes, when you
want to climb to the place where it is but a step to
heaven, then the world thinks of Mother.

TURNING TURTLE 73
Mother o' Mine
"If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
I know whose tear would get down to me,
Mother o' mine.
If I were hanged on the highest hill,
I know whose love would reach me still,
Mother o' mine.
If I were damned in body and soul,
I know whose prayer would make me whole,
Mother o' mine."
So Let It Be
We don't know whose name will be cut the high
est in that City where there is no night, sin, dis
ease, death or even a temple. We sing of poets,
preachers, presidents, statesmen, soldiers, men who
have done or are trying to do, a man's part in the
redemption of the race.
But if the Michael Angelo of the skies sees fit to
take his chisel and cut the highest on the Jasper
walls of the New Jerusalem just six letters,
MOTHER, then we all, poets, preachers, presidents,
statesmen, soldiers, with uncovered heads, will bow
and say, "So let it be."
The Harder Part
The woman in the drama of life, not great ? Why,
man, she has the harder part, not the splash, splut-

74 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
ter, kingdom smashing or kingdom building stunt,
but in the realities of life where the soul is in the
making. Who crossed the Alps, or dug up the
North Pole? What ice will that cut a million years
from now? Mrs. Job cried, she went to pieces, she
talked as a foolish one. Yes, but when? Where?
As she looked upon the wreck of life? No. As she
stood gazing upon dead sheep, oxen, dead babies?
No. But her cry rang out, it pierced Job to the
heart, as she thought upon the philosophy of her
age, as she restated the creed of her brain and
had to apply it, as she looked upon the standard
by which her world measured men : namely, that God
blesses the good man for being good and gives him
sheep, oxen, and real estate for being good; that
God condemns the wicked man, and takes from him
his sheep, oxen, and real estate; that the externals
of a man's life are the indications of his inner life;
if a man has boils he is a devil, if he has cash he is
a saint. Believing that, she stands there looking,
not upon devastated fields, but upon a devastated
man, the other half of her, the man who knew her
as no other, the man whom she knew as no other,
and she cries : "Oh Job, my Job ! The man I loved,
the man I trusted, God's saint?"
Ah, she is going mad now! "God's saint? he is
a black-hearted hypocrite, and this ash heap is the
proof of it. Curse your God and die! You have
deceived me, but attempt no longer to deceive Him."

TURNING TURTLE 75
Have you ever been there? Have you ever been
called upon to hold onto a mortal under a shadow
as black and cruel as hell? Are you big enough to
believe in the moral integrity of a fellow being
when your creed condemns? This woman did not.
Don't tell me she could. Few people are ages ahead
of their time. Job is not the only man who has
been consigned to hell because he did not fit the other
person's creed. This woman has gone her limit, the
limit of her gray matter. She has reached her
circumference, beyond which there was nothing but
night, and in her distress, not despair, she cries,
"curse God man and die." She was orthodox. She
believed something. She was consistent. She went
to the stake, the most cruel one for woman. She
cut the cord that bound their hearts, yea, she tore
out of her heart the heart of the man that had
grown into hers. Why? Because she believed.
The Beginning of the End
That was the beginning of the end with Job. his
start down the toboggan. The strong prop on
which he had leaned was taken away. He is out on
the desert of misery now, all alone, and all his soul
can do is to feed on itself. In the nature of things
its life will be short. Despair is a hot desert upon
which grows no soul food. Man, though in touch
with the Infinite, is dependent upon the finite. Many
a soul mounting Godward has used the sympathy of

76 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
another heart upon which to climb. Every man in
his Gethsemane, like the Christ, wants some one
near. Men can go to the brink of despair if the
heart tendrils of some pure girl, wife or mother en
circle them; but let these break, they plunge head
long down the abyss exclaiming, "My God why hast
thou forsaken me?" Adrift
Who knows but the trellis for Job's soul was the
sympathy of his wife? Who knows but that her
love for him, confidence in him, were transformed
in the crucible of his soul into love for and confi
dence in his God? Who can say that if she had
been able to stand the fierce storm, the world would
ever have listened to Job's complaint, his invective
on life? But alas! he was thrust out to a depth
she could not follow, he had faith she could not
see, a God she never knew. She could stand the
waves but not the billows mountain high; when they
rushed upon her, she simply went to pieces. And
the cry of the narrow-sighted, shallow-souled woman
— "Curse God, man, and die," struck Job to the
heart, broke forever their bonds of mutual sym
pathy, sent them adrift, she into oblivion, he into a
living hell. He went to pieces because she lost faith
in him. She went to pieces because she lost faith
in him. Job could hold to his God though He
turned from him. She could not hold to Job when

TURNING TURTLE 77
God had turned from him. He could believe in the
Infinite to the utmost, but she could not trust the
finite to the utmost. Her head dethroned her heart.
Her logic was stronger than her love.
Heart Not Head
Her" head was her pilot. She has had a lot of
company, wise and otherwise. Man has been slow
to learn that it is with his heart he believes, not
with his head. Slow to see that sympathy is a safer
guide than syllogisms ; that love-lit eyes see truer
than telescopes or microscopes ; that affection goes
farther than demonstration; that the soul of man
thirsts for God, though he can't keep his noodle
straight ; that man can love his way into the fellow
ship of the Infinite, though with his head he can't
reach even the hem of His garment.
Head, yes man has a head but had he followed his
heart more his hands to-day would not be so red.'
Man has been going head-on, so about every full
moon he and his affairs bring up in hell. If he had
more heart he would be less a Hun. Had he been
following his heart he would have missed Verdun.
The world needs a League of Nations because it
has not a union of hearts. The race has to be held
together by power because it is not bound together
by love. It is a compressed mass because it is not a
cohesive whole. It has trusted only its head, hence
in its hands are a dagger and a gun. The consum-

78 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
mation of head civilization was a world on fire.
With the heart man believes in his world, in his fel
lows, in his God. Hence he can feel farther than his
passions, deeper than his prejudices, higher than
his misunderstandings. The heart heaps coals of
fire, not hand grenades. Its function is to build a
heaven not to sit as judge to consign to hell all it
can't understand or with which it does not agree.
Woman, learn this lesson ! It is not intellect but
heart that is to save man and our world in the
wreck. We don't say you can't think we are only
saying the world needs some one who can love — love
big. If you can't, the trick is up. The roads lead
ing to a Diet of Worms and a Paris Conference are
well beaten. Man has worked long and hard trying
to dig Millennium Machines out of his head. Self-
determination is the last scheme in which he has
fixed his faith. He thinks he can put cold air zones
enough around hell to keep it from breaking out;
and make his dogmatics so scientific that even the
Almighty will have to watch His step. Man thinks
a lot of his sign "Keep off the grass."
But however long man is on thinks, he is short on
love. He can propound Blackstone but it goes hard
on him to say, "Father Forgive." He can explore
the moon but the heart world seems to be "no man's
land." Woman, that is your world. You are to ex
plore its heights and depths, and exploit its saving
power. God has so decreed. You are in this

TURNING TURTLE 79
world, but not so much of it. Let man play with
its air bubbles, you are to furnish the soul realities.
Love then to the utmost even though you can't see.
Should your brain go mad, keep your heart calm.
When you can't see or think — love. Your anchor
seems to grapple on the eternal shores — hold. You
are bigger than all creeds, deeper than all philos
ophies, diviner than all logic. Like your Maker you
are love; love that believeth all things, endureth all
things ; love that never f aileth.

CHAPTER V

A UNIQUE TRIO

Job no doubt was a popular man; many ac
quaintances, many friends, who thought they would
honor him by inviting themselves to spend their sum
mer vacation at his palatial home. Job had all the
star boarders his wife and servants wanted to cook
for. He was a good fellow, kind, big-hearted, so
free with his money, that everybody counted them
selves as being his special friends.
Job had a big wad but he wasn't a tight-wad. He
was unlike that fellow who ran a grocery up on Pen
obscot Bay ; he was so stingy he wouldn't give his
children middle names. If he loaned a ten-cent
piece, he always sang three verses of "God Be
With You Till We Meet Again." And when the
preacher would give out Old Hundred, that fellow
would sit there and sing Ninety and Nine, just to
save one per cent. And he always talked through
his nose to keep from wearing out his store teeth.
His cow broke into his neighbor's front yard one
night, and the next day, he sent him a bill for two
dollars for using his cow as a lawn mower.
80

A UNIQUE TRIO 81
An Ax to Grind
It is amazing how many special friends one may
have if he has a lot of good things to eat and give
away. Some people love you so long as they can
use you. They will cover you with tin foil affection,
so long as there is something coming their way, but
let a little cloud of adversity arise, and these friends
will scatter like chickens at the cry of a hawk.
If you want to get rid of a lot of sycophants, who
bask around you, just go into bankruptcy. Job
had many friends in the days of his fame and plenty,
but you don't see them with red eyes surrounding
that ash heap. No, that crowd prefers a dining
table to an ash heap, a play hall to a sick room.
Rare But Real
There are friends and then there are friends, —
people who will desert you in the middle of the
stream, others who will go with you to your utmost ;
appalling disaster or the grim hand of death can't
shake them off. The greatest thing in life is the fact
and power of friendship. It is the bond that holds
the race together; not creeds nor treaties, but heart
strings. "A friend is a volume of sympathy bound in
cloth." "A friend is another right arm."
"He is a balancing pole to you as you walk the

82 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
tight rope of life." So it was with Job. He had
three friends. After the crowd had gone through
the reducer, tribulation, he had three left, Eliphaz,
Bildad and Zophar. We don't know where their
mothers found those names, but that is what they
were christened. Eliphaz
Eliphaz the Temanite, no doubt, was the oldest,
at least he is the most profound; given much to
study and deep spiritual reflection, a seer, a man
who discerned spirits, dreamed dreams, and en
joyed intercourse with the unseen world, — though
he wasn't a spiritualist. He wasn't in the business
of calling up your dead grandmother, — a dollar
please, — to consult her regarding the distribution
of her property. Bildad
Then there was Bildad the Shuhite. He was a
smaller man, furthermore, he had a narrower vision
of things, truth, religion and the world. In fact, he
looked at life, not from the mountain top, but
through a knot-hole in the fence. His horizon was
so small that he scratched it all around every time
he put up his umbrella. Bildad was a very ortho
dox man, hence a very good man. He believed in a
correct religion, a cut and dried one.
Bildad had a theology that was moss-covered,

A UNIQUE TRIO 83
hence the best one for Bildad. Bildad never used
up any brain cells thinking for himself, new thoughts
to him were always counterfeit. But Bildad could
quote from text books and catechism all day. He
had his creed in his head, in fact, he was a theolog
ical and philosophical encyclopedia. If you wanted
the last word on any subject, from how many shin
gles there were on the ark to where Lot got his wife,
consult Bildad.
This man always fished up the stream of time for
truth, and the further up he got the better it suited
him. Truth to him was known by the moss it had
on it. Poor Bildad! every time he wanted to go
forward, craw-fish fashion, he went backwards.
"Don't craw-fish, there may be some one coming
back of you with a shingle." Bildad was like the
firebug Shakespeare sings about:
"The fire bug is a brilliant thing
But it hasn't any mind;
He soars and soars around through space
With his headlight on behind."
Bull Mooser — Stand Patter
These two made a great combination; Eliphaz
the prophet, Bildad the priest. Eliphaz making his
tory, Bildad studying history. Eliphaz trying to
grasp to-morrow, Bildad holding like grim death to
yesterday. Eliphaz, Bull-mooser; Bildad, Stand
patter. Eliphaz a pessimist, because he thought

84 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
the world was not getting anywhere. Bildad, para
lyzed because he was afraid it would go where it
shouldn't go. Zophar
Then there was Zophar the Naamathite. He
was the weakest of the three, although the biggest.
There wasn't a clear voice to Zophar, he was only
an echo. He didn't dream dreams, see things in
vision outline, as did Eliphaz; except when he had
eaten too much supper.
He hadn't strong convictions as to the everlast
ing truth, as had Bildad. No, in sentiment, Zophar
was only an echo. He didn't think twice in the
same place. Thinking thoughts made him sleepy.
He was coarse, had big hands ; he could bawl out
his conventionalities and undigested sentiments like
a young God of thunder; Zophar could put arouse-
ment into a dead testimony meeting. He could fur
nish wind enough to rattle a good many dead bones.
Zophar was a very useful member of this trinity of
friends. For when Eliphaz and Bildad got serious,
— Eliphaz thinking the world was so slow it would
never get anywhere; and Bildad sick at heart be
cause it was going so fast, and liable every moment
to jump the track; when they both got weary with
themselves and with each other, they could turn
around and look into the big moon face of happy-

A UNIQUE TRIO 85
go-lucky Zophar, the man who took things just as
they came.
To the Rescue
These three are on their way to see Job. There
is nothing to show what they are by profession;
bankers, sheep speculators, or stockholders in the
camel trust. But one is free to conclude that it is
not gold bonds that bind this quartet of hearts.
They may have been magnates, but they were also
magnets. You must look into their brains and
hearts for their connecting links, not merely into
their pockets. They are coming up the road now
leading to what was once Job's home. They had
heard of the raid of Sabeans, in which Job lost
his oxen ; the fire which fell from heaven and de
stroyed his sheep; the Chaldeans who carried off
his camels ; and the cyclone which came from the wil
derness and killed his seven sons and three daugh
ters. They were prepared to look into the face of their
old friend, filled as it would be with sorrow, the work
of devastation and death; but they were not pre
pared to look upon Job as he was. They were pre
pared to walk with him over his devastated farm
and say "Cheer up, old friend, you will win it all
back again." But instead of seeing their friend
walking about, though bowed with grief, or coming
to meet them, they saw a mass of human corruption,

86 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
seated on the ash heap ; it was Job but they did not
know him.
Suspicion
This is the second tragic moment of this story,
not because of the sorrow that burdens the heart,
but on account of a suspicion which enters in and
chills the heart. It is not the echo of the first, but
it is a repetition of the first, and one which has
received more advertising than the first. It is the
outsiders — friends — -three strong men, facing the
test the wife had to face, the test of love and creed,
confidence and suspicion — and they went the way
the wife went. Creed won, hence suspicion possessed
them. A terrible one now seizes these three friends, for
on nearer approach they see that the doubled up
form on that ash heap is Job. They stop. They
look. They are glued to the spot, for the first mo
ments they are motionless, speechless, paralyzed.
But at last they break the spell, in uniformity
their suspicions arise, and in unison they cry aloud
and weep, they rend each one his mantle, they sprin
kle dust on their heads toward heaven, sit down on
the ground near by and for seven days and nights,
— or a long time — say not a word to Job.
Good Old Times
Silence is golden — but in this case it is many
things. Why sit there so dumb, silent and unsym-

A UNIQUE TRIO 87
pathetic? We have been told that the Oriental had
a custom which protected a sick man, or a man in
deep sorrow. They did not need to put a twenty-
five dollar per week nurse at the door with a shot
gun to keep the curious callers out, or the talkative
ones silent. The Orientals had a way of telling
when it was time to keep still. If a man had eaten
too many green apples, his neighbors had not the
pleasure that we have of going to that man in his
hour of distress and telling him, — gently of course,
in a very guarded way of course, a way so as not to
jar his nervous system, — that we feel sure that he
is going into quick consumption, that a germ has al
ready taken up quarters in his left lung and we rec
ommend a change of doctors.
If there is any place in the world where well-
meaning people can make fools of themselves, it is on
the stock exchange or in the sick room.
But with the Oriental, whether it was a case of
being petted or pestered, the sick man had to give
the signal. So long as he was silent, his visitor was
supposed to be. Their Creed
Perhaps it was a delicate sensibility that kept
them silent; they would not intrude upon a sorrow
so profound and deep. If you can't go strong, go
fishing. Another man's valley is not the place for
you to relieve your tear duct.

88 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Perhaps it was reverential awe that made them
silent, seeing in their friend one upon whom the hand
of God was laid. But back of all this there was
something deep ; that silence spoke volumes. It
meant the crystallizing into conviction the belief
that lies buried in the heart of the Oriental, that a
suffering man is a wicked man. It meant the burn
ing into their consciousness the conviction which is
the fallacy of this book, that prosperity is the evi
dence of God's favor, that adversity is the indisput
able evidence of his wrath. Convicted
This they believed, and this kept them silent.
They could not speak; the revelation was too sud
den and too great, too awful; that Job their life
long friend, the man they loved and honored, the
man whom they thought feared God and hated evil,
that he after all was a hypocrite; that Job, their
Job, was a two-faced man, a whitewashed sepulchre;
but at last his sins had found him out, "the scarlet
letter on his vile breast was exposed, and the secret
of his life published to the world, because down
upon his unworthy head the judgments of a holy
God were being poured. True Under Fire
Is it strange that the evidence of such convic
tion, the proof of such an apostasy, paralyzed their

A UNIQUE TRIO 89
tongues? It was love that made them silent. For a
whole week facing that terrible evidence they clung
to their old friend, held to him under a suspicion
as black as hell — about six and a half days longer
than the average man holds to a friend to-day under
a shadow. Yes, whoop it up for the man who is carrying the
guns, busting the trusts or chasing the boss to the
tall woods ; but I want to doff my hat to the man who
stands by the man who has gone wrong, when it
costs something.

"It's all right to stand by the fellow that's true,
To call him your friend and be proud :
But oh, the poor fellow with errors to rue
Who has won the distrust of the crowd!
The poor, craven wretch, with his .heart in his
mouth,
His eyes on the ground 'mid the throng —
I tell you it takes the best courage there is
To stand by the man that's gone wrong.
To stand by him faithfully, knowing the while
That you injure yourself by the deed;
That you're stretching the custom of men among
men,
That you're utterly broadening the creed.
To share in the sneers that are cast on his name,
To defend him, to plead for him long —
I crown with the crown of true courage the man
Who stands by the man that's gone wrong."

90 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
The Tragedy of Limited Vision
But in this case no one had gone wrong. Job,
though on an ash heap, is as clean in hand and
heart as on any day when God's smile rested on
him. But because his material heaven was turned to
a hell, for a purpose, the purpose of testing, and
man brings his puny intellect to bear upon the
changed situation, to analyse, conjecture, con
clude ; this opened the door for the devil of suspicion
to come in, and he came. He seizes both wife and
friends. The woman, perhaps true to her kind,
cries out in distress ; she throws wide open the flood
gates of her soul, "Curse, curse your God," she
cries. This was a situation too deep for intuition,
woman's gift. The man, perhaps true to his kind,
draws within himself, he muses, ponders, thinks, —
at least he thinks he thinks, — he analyses, com
pares, infers, at last concludes. The die is cast, the
mischief is done, and crouching around that ash-
heap, they watch Job, as the beast of the jungle
would its prey. Faith gone, confidence gone, love
turned to contempt, these men think hell into one of
God's sublimities. Here we have a pen picture of
our world. > God's ways are past finding out; and
because man can't see, can't know, can't encircle in
finitude with his tea cup brain, he turns from friend
to fiend, condemns instead of consoles, and cruci-

A UNIQUE TRIO 91
fies a Job, even a Christ, on the cross of his preju
dice and bigotry. The Cloud Burst
Job did not go as a lamb to the slaughter. He
did not break the silence with a cry for mercy, but
his pent up grief broke out like a flood. Forgetting
man, forgetting even his God, conscious only of him
self, from the depth of his ocean of misery and woe,
comes his husky voice, "Let the day perish wherein I
was born, let darkness and the shadow of night
claim it as their own. Why did I not die at birth,
then I should have lain still and been silent with
kings and counsellors, and princes of the earth,
where the wicked cease from trouble and the weary
are at rest ? Why is light given to a man whose way
is hid, a man whom God hath hedged in? Being is
worse than no being. Cursed, thrice cursed the day
when I first saw the light. Let it be erased from
the calendar of existence, dipped in misery, buried
in obscurity, and blotted out from all remembrance.
I am weary, a-weary, O God that I were dead !"
This is the bursting of a human heart, pent up
grief which a soul tried to burn up but could not, a
crushed spirit uttering its musings as with the
tongue of a demon, a man in revolt against life, the
finite passing judgment on the Infinite, and tossing

92 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
back to Him in profound contempt His greatest of
gifts, the one He calls Life.
Satan's Mistake
Satan, it seems, has won the wager. God, it
seems, has placed his confidence again on the wrong
man. Satan said, "Do this, remove his property,
and Job will curse instead of pray; do that, touch
his person, and vileness will proceed from his lips
instead of praise." And the murmurings coming
from the deep depths of Job's soul, sounding like the
wailing of the lost, would indicate that Satan knew
whereof he was speaking. But did he? Satan has
wrought his worst on Job. He has stripped him of
everything to which man by instinct clings ; yes, the
light in his soul even has gone out. And he sits
there on that ash-heap, no doubt the saddest spec
tacle that earth, eternity's soul shop, has produced;
destitute without, dying within, with curse after
curse escaping his lips. But listen, — (yes, become
so quiet that you can hear the flutter of angel wings
about you), do you hear the curse Satan promised
you would hear? Ah! don't miss the significant fact
that Job in his cursing, cursed his day, not his God.
He cursed the fact of his existence, not the author
of his existence. He prayed to be blotted out; he
did not, through his cursing or reasoning, attempt
to blot his God out. Note that: Satan destroyed
his property, family, person, paralyzed his tongue,

A UNIQUE TRIO 93
and for seven days made him sit in mute silence ; but
when the soul at last finds its voice, it spits not
venom in the face of God; it only bewails the fact
that it ever had its being. Ah! your Satanic Ma
jesty, where are you now? You thought that by
plunging a man into an earth night, that he would
plunge himself into an eternal night. You thought
that by taking away his playthings, he would slap
his Maker in the face; but you reckoned on the
wrong man. All men aren't babies — though some
men are. Job had in him the stuff that surprised
even devils. He had in him the soul timber God
could trust even to earth's utmost. He was a living
demonstration of the fact that despair need not
lead to blasphemy ; a living witness to earth's high
est moral achievement, — namely — a man, though his
bread and butter world were turned into a hell,
retaining his conviction that above and beyond his
world, still lives and reigns a God who is just and
good. The First Lesson
Hence the first lesson every man must learn is
that he is not the whole thing; that every man's
world is not his ; that the universe is bigger than his
back yard ; and that God may be good even though
he, a man, has a boil on the back of his neck. Don't
measure everything in your quart measure. It may
be raining in your town, but not all over Texas;

94 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
there may be an eclipse on your little world, but
you are not the only planet swinging in space.
Your bread may have fallen butter side down, but
don't say all the Jersey cows are dead. No, man,
the universe will stand even though you do have a
leg off. Man's Short Measure
Where Satan missed it on Job, he thought that
this man would do as so many in our world do,
measure time, eternity, God, in terms of the local
and the personal. Satan had been around town
enough to know how men talk, the tendency of the
man with the toothache to say that every atom is a
microbe, for the man who lives a ground mole life to
say that everything tastes like sand, for the man
with bat eyes in his soul to say there is no such
thing as a golden sunset. Yes, Satan knew men
well enough to know that if a man was a moral
dyspeptic, he wouldn't see a thing in this world
but hospitals, funerals and the graveyard. In this
world you will have trouble but you are not in a
world that is all trouble. So, "When you get down
in the mouth, think of Jonah — he came out all
right." Admiral Noah had troubles of his own but
he didn't have to stand on the bridge during that
big rain looking for submarines. Be your face ever
so homely, cheer up, there is no" other one in town
just like it. "Don't cry over spilt milk, go get an-

A UNIQUE TRIO 95
other cow." "Sell your hammer and buy a horn."
I like that little aria of Handel's, "Life is naught
but a merry-go-round, and even when you are dead
and stuck in the ground, the merry-go-round will go
round." So when you say, life is naught but a
desert drear, don't measure it by the sand grain in
your own eye.
A Distinction With a Difference
Job cursed his day. Can you really blame him?
We don't think it strange that the man cried "Take
the cup away." The Christ of God even did that.
Hell can load the soul to the crushing point. The
strongest man can be driven to the point where a
leap into oblivion would be relief. Job was as much
alone as the Christ of God was alone in His Geth-
semane. The soul of the Christ trembled under
Hell's onslaught. Think you it strange then that
the soul of Job, a man like the rest of us, in its
awful Gethsemane, grew dizzy, staggered and almost
went down. But remember, Job no more cursed his
God nor doubted His justice and goodness than did
He who in His Gethsemane cried, "Thy will not
mine be done." Ah! Job thou Godly soul, feeling
for thy Maker, aided by the dim light of nature and
reason only, yet thou didst find Him, love Him,
trust Him, to earth's utmost.

CHAPTER VI
THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE
Wind Mills
An old colored parson in Georgia beginning his
sermon one Sunday morning, announced that he was
going to define the undefinable, explain the unex-
plainable, and unscrew the unscrutable. We have
the pioneers in this business before us now, in the
long drawn out debate between Job and his three
tormentors, pardon me, comforters.
This ash heap debating circle has the average
sewing circle beaten a mile in talking and not say
ing anything. If any political party to-day should
run short on wind pounders, if they could resurrect
these three old wind mills, the party's calling and
election would be sure. It takes a lot of wind to run
the world's theory machine. We have often won
dered where Kansas gets the supply of wind for its
cyclones, when so much is consumed by man in solv
ing things he knows so little about.
No, these men didn't hold a prayer meeting with
Job. They didn't throw their arms around his neck
96

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 97
and say, "Cheer up, old friend." They didn't advise
him to take a vacation, go to the seashore and soak
himself in salt water. They didn't recommend a
sure cure for boils. They didn't offer to advance
him money to start up business again; nay verily;
but they sat there as cold blooded as lizards and en
tered into a long, hair-splitting discussion on every
thing in general, suffering and misfortune in par
ticular. Eliphaz is the first speaker on the negative. He
is a very polite and oily gentleman, very correct in
his manner and address. He begins low, proceeds
slow, warms up to his subject. He even begs Job's
pardon for making a speech; and says he doesn't
want him to get angry if he presumes to say things,
some personal things, talk to the point and not at
the air; but mad or no mad, he, Eliphaz, has to
speak. The world would have thought more of him,
had he kept still; but a man of the Eliphaz stamp,
who has a solution for everything under the sun,
is in bad shape until he gets his speech out of his
system. If some men couldn't blow off, they would
surely blow up. Miscued
Now we are bound to respect this man Eliphaz,
even though we do not admire him. He had the
courage of his convictions. So has a mule, or even
a hound pup barking at the moon; but we admire

98 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
the pup more when he shuts up, not when he is
whooping it up. Give us men who are dogmatic,
but save us from the fellow who is bull-dogmatic.
Eliphaz had courage. He was no milk and water
man. He didn't wear a blindfold nor a muzzle.
Knowledge of things didn't give him the lock-jaw.
He didn't sit on the lid. He was not holding down
a job, playing to the gallery, nor for re-election.
He did a mighty hard thing to do; he went to his
best friend, the man he admired, loved, and in whom
he had confidence, and told him of his sins. He went
right after the skeleton in Job's closet. He had the
courage, but he miscued on his moral diagnosis. Ah !
there is the rub. Judging a man or a world with
out the use of a moral X-ray machine, is dangerous
business. You can candle eggs, but you can't diag
nose men with your intellectual taper. Most of us
need to get the saw-log out of our own eye before
we go pawing around for the mote in our neigh
bor's. There are thistles in the human garden, but
the order from the Master of the vineyard is, "Let
them grow until harvest." Disobeying these orders
has given the world a lot of its trouble. But man
still persists. He may have the vision of a ground
mole and the brain of a humming bird, but most men
regard themselves as Time's inspecting officer; so
God, angels, devils and men have to pass before them
in review. This explains the fact why most reform
ers are only wind jammers.

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 99
Putting It Up to Job
Eliphaz in substance said, "Thou Job hast cor
rected many another man ; when others, your neigh
bors, have been afflicted and murmured, thou didst
show them that they were suffering only what they
deserved. But now the shoe is on the other foot.
Calamity has come your way, what do you do? Ah
physician, why don't you take your own medicine?
Why don't you practice as well as prescribe? Is
this sadness, wailing and cursing, a sample of your
faith in God, confidence in your own integrity, and
a demonstration of the humility with which a man
should endure what he justly deserves?"
Preaching vs. Practice
While Eliphaz was mistaken in his opinion of
Job (Mistaken? Yes mistaken, for his opinion was
no more inspired than was Satan's, though both are
in the Bible), yet he voiced a truth, which might
well bear inspection. It is no trite thing to say that
all men are not yet dead with whom it is easier to
preach than to practice; easier to give pellets of
consolation than to use them; easier to smile when
the boil is on the other fellow. We can all say "Con
sider the lilies, they toil not, neither do they spin,"
when we have a mortgage on a town lot or a block
of Standard Oil stock. Oh, for preachers who be
lieve half of what they preach! Oh, for Peters,

100 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
James, Johns who can stand a Gethsemane as well
as a Transfiguration! Oh, for saints who can sing
even when they are not full of angel food! A lot
of sentiment expressed these days in the realms of
preaching, politics and patriotism is simply a par
ody when it comes to putting the thing to the test.
If we had to prove one-half of what we say we be
lieve, we fear there would be a man on an ash heap
in every back yard in the land.
We can make a big noise on the Fourth of July
but when it came to making the world safe for de
mocracy most of us had to be conscripted. We can
fight for our country if they let us shoot our
mouths. We are great on gas attacks. Some peo
ple belong to the Batallion of Death, but most of us
are Byzantine Legothites, fine talkers. If the
strategy board could have corraled the wind storms
in Congress and shipped them "over there." Prus-
sianism would have been blown off the map in a
month. Yes, Eliphaz, there are a lot of us who are
great on preaching, there are a lot of things that
we think we believe, but please don't make us prove
them. We have out a lot of promissory notes, but
our creditors do not accept a settlement, for our cur-*
rency is hot air. If our character or real self, was
up with our sentimental self, what pumpkins we
mortals would be !

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 101
Blowing Bubbles
But emotion is all right, soul air bubbles are nec
essary. Climbing the Mount of Transfiguration,
without making any arrangements with an airship
company for getting down to earth again, is all
right. Give us a religion that stirs us, a patriotism
that thrills us, anything that makes us feel seventeen
times larger than we are; makes us shout "There
are no Alps!" when in fact we do not surmount
the ant-hill of difficulty that confronts us; makes
us hustle, do real things when the war is on even
though we slump when it is over. We need inflation,
expansion, even though we shout more than we
shoot, feel more than we do, seem more than we are,
preach more than we practice, promise more than we
pay ; for it is the shouting, feeling, preaching, prom
ising, which reveal what we might be. And what we
might be, is what keeps faith in this world. It is
only some country the other side of the moon which
is inhabited by people who have cashed all their
outstanding obligations.
ji Life is greater than logic. Religion is not a fixed
science any more than love is. If lovers could not
coo, gush, and giggle, have a honey-moon before
they have to pay the rent, the Matrimonial Bureaus
would go out of business in a month.
The critic is not much of a booster. He may
swing the universe on the aorist tense, but he is not

102 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
often called on to lead the rooters at a ball game.
In the realm of stocks a man may know where
he is at, but in the realm of soul, "it doth not yet ap
pear what we shall be." If we did not get drunk on
idealism, life in the humdrum would be a very sober
affair. The Universe Around a Knot Hole
Eliphaz was good, but not infallible. Infallible
men have been scarce in my town ; there may be one
in a religious museum across the pond; but opinions
on the street change, much like the weather. Eliphaz
was conscientious, but wrong in his view point ; a sit
uation which has caused a lot of trouble in the
world, and has made a lot of mighty fine citizens
become kindling wood for bon-fires.
The trouble with Eliphaz and his associates was,
they had a nice little theory and they tried to build
the universe around it. Eliphaz was a good prophet,
but he made a poor diagnosis of society; he was up
on his theology, but lame on his sociology. He was
great on logic, but knew little about life. He made
a good saint, but a mighty poor superintendent of
the associated charities. He could hear angels sing,
but a groaning man to him was an enigma. He
could see out of one eye only. He was not cross
eyed, he was one-eyed.
And when across the vision of his one seeing eye
there passed the spectacle of Job on an ash heap, it

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 103
knocked him into a cocked hat. But when he got his
wind again, he gathered himself to his full height,
his eye flashing, his teeth grinding, and he hurls into
Job's face a question which is the epitome of the
entire philosophy of his time — "Whoever perished
being innocent, and where were the righteous cut
off?" Loaded
"Who ever perished being innocent?" Look at
that little bit of pietistic philosophy, a philosophy
which held the oriental world in its grasp; it looks
innocent but it is loaded.
What did he mean? He meant that every man
got in this world just what was coming to him; that
whatsoever a man reaps that hath he also sown. Well
now, that is true where God lives, but it is not true
where you and I live. It is true universally, abso
lutely, finally; it is not true locally, temporarily,
immediately. Every man will reap his harvest.
Moral causation is as fixed and sure as physical; a
man prepares his harvest of soul as well as his har
vest of buckwheat; but where does he harvest his
harvest of soul?
Do you tell me, Eliphaz, that every man gets paid
off here, that a man's temporal condition is his eter
nal reward, that if a man has boils he is a devil,
if he hasn't he is a saint?

104 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Hard Nuts to Crack:
Do you tell me, that Peter, crucified with his head
down, got what was due him? That Stephen with
his head crushed, got the reward of the righteous?
That John the Baptist, with his head off, received
just what the forerunner of the Christ should
receive? That the Christ on Golgotha's hill top, got
what a man ought to get who went about doing
good? Eliphaz, get your eyes open. Do you tell me
that all fellows on the band wagon are God's
heroes? Do you tell me that all people on pillows
of down are the Almighty's darlings? What about
the wayside flower people, the struggling masses,
coal heavers on the Ship of State. Are they getting
one hundred cents on the dollar out of the bank of
life? We believe that the next world will be ripened
fruits of seed sown here ; but you can't make us be
lieve that all men reap here just what they have
sowed here; that men get out of this life just what
they put into it. Every man with a pain in his
body has not a vile sin gnawing at his heart. All
sick men are not rebels, nor are all millionaires
saints. Observation vs. Inspiration
Some people in the land will go with cold feet
this winter, and they will say their prayers, too, or
their beads.

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 105
i You can't make me believe that my mother, an
invalid for years, suffered because she had sinned,
any more than I think the Christ hanging cold and
dead, suffered because He had sinned.
Why do men suffer? I don't know. I only know
this, that "man is a native now of the territory of
woe." It got through the fence somehow and is
here — this is no theory, it is a situation. How or
why this world came to be so, I don't know. I am
simply face to face with the fact that it is so. Suf
fering, heartache, loss, are a part of man's heritage.
You say that it is the result of sin — violated law.
Yes, I can see that ; I can see that a law sinned
against stings, just as a bumble bee would, should
the bare-footed boy step on it. I understand that;
I have seen indolence go hungry to bed, and it
should; but I have seen thrift do the same. All
hungry people aren't hoboes ; all men out of work
are not men who won't work. I have seen the
profligate man hauled off to jail and he ought to
be, but the same conveyance may take one of God's
saints to the poor house. The Psalmist said, "Once
I was young, and now I am old, but I have never
seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging
bread." Well, I have. That is observation, not in
spiration. If he were in Belgium or Poland these
days, he would change his opinion as to man's per
sonal righteousness guaranteeing him a mansion on
Easy Street or even "three squares" a day. I have

106 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
read of skinflints, human devils dressed in purple
and fine linen, feasting on the fat of the land ; and I
have also read in the Holy Book that the heroes of
faith, men, women, of whom the mud earth was not
worthy, that they had mockings, scourgings, bonds,
imprisonment, that they were stoned, sawn asunder,
that they went about in sheep skins, goat skins, yes,
destitute, hiding in the mountain caves, deserts and
holes in the earth.
The Dollar Not the Crown Nor Test of
Righteousness
Ideas are more constructive and destructive than
battle-ships. Ideas prevail where men fail. The
battle of the ages has been one of ideas, not men nor
nations. Men differ, not in the characteristics of
human nature, but in the various ideas which pos
sess them. If all men thought alike all men would
be alike, except for the slight difference in color.
The color line is not the great Mason and Dixon line
of society. The color man has had a hard time de
ciding which is to be the permanent shade. He has
tried red, black, brown, white ; each has had its run
of popularity. White seems to be the favorite to
day, but there is nothing to prove that it is to be
permanent. While the pale face is doing the world's
thinking and acting, yet we can't say much; this
may simply be his turn. There have been others,
there may be others. It seems that the Great Gen-

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 107
eral of Time calls one man, one nation, to the front,
sends another to the rear, just about when He wants
to. They play their part and bow their exit. What
private knows when the Anglo-Saxon army will re
ceive its orders "To the rear; march." But if the
army goes, many of her ideas will remain. An idea
is one of the few things which seem to be moth and
rust proof.
To understand an age or race, you must under
stand the ideas which dominated it. The idea is the
heart which furnished it life and action, the inher
ent truth in the idea is the thing that gave it per
manence. Ideas are relatively true — not absolutely,
as all ages have used only smoked glasses, no man
having seen the white light of truth. So upon a
false premise or partial truth have arisen mighty
systems, hierarchies. Great constructions in philos
ophy and theology have been reared on foundations
of sand. The size of a system is no indication of
the truth it possesses. Enthusiasm in devotees is no
evidence of clearness of vision, and conscientious
ness is no proof of wisdom. Realities
The business in hand is a fine illustration of this.
Sin, to the early nations of the earth, was a more
real thing than to us, to-day. They did not apolo
gize for sin as we do ; explain it away, have such
fine spun theories as we do; they didn't discuss

108 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
heredity and environment in their clubs and cur
rent literature, as we do ; they didn't talk as though
sin were nothing more than a wart on a man's face,
a little fire in his blood, or abnormality of appetite
or passion. But sin with the early timers was a real
thing, an individual thing; with us the only thing
that sins is society or Standard Oil or some other
impersonal, irresponsible portion of the body politic.
Sin was so real to them, I presume, because God was
so real. He, to them, was no well worded idea, a
text book definition, or a catechism lesson, some in
definable non-get-at-able combination of myth,
shadow and emotion; but God was a supreme per
sonality in the affairs of life, whose will was law,
and His will could be and was violated by man — ¦
which was sin. If God is real to a man or a nation,
their sins will be.
Sin and God to "the men of Job's day were real ;
with that we agree. With their theory of God's re
lationship to sin, or proof in a man's life that he
had sinned, we beg leave to differ. When you come
across "Thus saith the Lord" let it stand, but when
Balaam's mule is making a dissertation on life, we
beg leave to differ with the mule.
God's Cookie Jar
The idea of commercialism, or profit and loss in
things of the spirit, is what led to wrong conclu
sions.

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 109
They believed that when a man was good, God was
pleased; and as a reward to man, God would fill his
life with good things to eat, wear and enjoy. On
the contrary if a man had sinned, God was angry;
and as a punishment, down upon the head of the
sinner, the judgments of God would come, and the
man's life would be filled with loss, disease, and at
last destruction. It was easy for them to pick out
the saint and the sinner. They went to the banquet
hall for one, to the hospital for the other. If a
man's wardrobe was full, he was on good terms with
the Almighty; if his stomach was empty, they two
had had a fall out.
A very convenient test, this commercial test. All
people with wealth and smiles were good, all people
with boils and red eyes were bad. The banker and
the doctor were the committee on spiritual diagnoses.
This was their philosophy, by it they judged all of
life's phenomena. God said to a man as some moth
ers do to their boys, if you are good I will give you
a cookie. God's cookie jar was the Alpha and Omega
of their religious philosophy; be good and you will
be happy; be pious and you will never want for pie.
Causes
Let us see. They traced all of life's phenomena,
toothache or tornado, fighting dogs and fighting na
tions, back to one supreme cause, God. Well, God
is the great first cause; but as we understand His

110 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
scheme for a moral universe, He has a lot of subor
dinates, men and women, who are good at causing.
While they had but one cause for fortune or mis
fortune, we can imagine that there may be a dozen.
It is hard to-day to get the Man with the Hoe to
think that the millions which come some men's
way, are a special dispensation of the Almighty and
a reward of His for personal righteousness, because
they go to church twice on Sunday. When we see
a hungry child we don't assign the cause to the Al
mighty; the direct cause may be a drunken father,
or a combination of human devils putting the price
of food so high that a widowed mother can't buy it.
Now the Almighty doesn't send ravens to feed that
child. Oh! we believe in the ravens feeding Elijah,
and the widow's flour barrel that always had one
more handful in it — special dispensations ; but the
Almighty isn't always doing special things, per
forming miracles to counteract the foolishness or
devilishness of men. He wouldn't have time for any
thing else if He did.
God runs the universe but your neighbors have a
lot to say as to what goes on in town.
Man in the Case
We believe in the imminence of God ; but the
prominence of man is the other factor in the equa
tion of life. God made the universe, but He didn't
dig the Panama Canal. He surveyed the Milky

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 111
Way, but He is not responsible for all the water
in the milk that comes your way. He wrote the
Decalogue, but He wasn't in the lobby at Washing
ton when they made up the tariff schedule.
God is in the details of life, a Waterloo or a
widow's kitchen, when He has to be or when it is
expedient for Him to be. He was in the Exodus
of the Jew from Egypt, but all the land grabbers
of the West can't claim Him as a Senior Partner.
He helped Luther drive the twenty penny nails
which fastened his convictions to the door of old
Wittenberg Abbey, but there have been a lot of
church fights, heresy trials and sewing circle bouts,
God hasn't been mixed up in. God was with the
Pilgrim Fathers, but a lot of City Dads walk home
nights all alone. God sent Moses after the Philis
tines, but some one else may have tipped Dewey off
to go after the Philippines. God burned up Sodom,
but he did not shoot up Belgium.
There is a secondary cause, man, who in three-
fourths of life's details, smiles or heart-aches, be
comes the primary cause. All ash heaps aren't piled
up by the Almighty; so if your cup is kicked over
instead of running over, God may have had no more
to do with it than had P. T. Barnum.
The Mule Not the Almighty
God may have been foolish in making man a liv
ing, thinking, creating soul and letting him loose in

112 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
a world He is supposed to be running, but He did;
but even if He has, He is not responsible for all man
does. He made man big enough and wise enough
to keep the rules, if he doesn't man is sure to get
hurt ; but remember it is the mule that kicks, not
the Almighty.
The incidental may be the cradle but it is not the
grave of the universal. God's solution of life's
entanglement may start with your mud pies, politi
cal hot air or religious logic ; but it doesn't end
there. Hence, O mighty man, the world will move
on, the entanglement will be straightened out, even
though you do fall on a banana peel and break your
neck. Cash or Character
Again: those early philosophers mistook the na
ture of life's harvest. This is a very essential point
to keep clear on. If you don't you may go and
jump in the lake.
The man who sows iniquity here does not necessar
ily reap temporal calamities here. Every sinner is
not burned out. Some sinners try to* burn them
selves out— but God doesn't send an angel with a
flaming torch to apply to their property. If that
were the rule, there wouldn't be quite so much real
estate in town and the insurance companies would
not be carrying so great a surplus. A man's horse

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 113
doesn't die simply because the man swears, the horse
may want to die. His cow isn't struck with light
ning simply because he picks potato bugs on Sun
day; the man who sows to the wind here, isn't al
ways cleaned out by a Kansas cyclone.
Don't get things mixed. We remember the rule
for the game of life, "Whatsoever a man sows that
does he also reap" ; meaning that a man prepares his
harvest of soul as well as his harvest of buckwheat ;
but remember it is a harvest of soul the unright
eous man reaps and not necessarily a poor harvest of
buckwheat. He will reap his harvest of soul — he
may have the best crop of buckwheat in the com
munity. Character Without Cash
That compels us to stand straight up to the other
side of this proposition, namely: The good man is
no more liable to reap temporal blessings than the
ungodly man is liable to reap temporal calamities.
Obeying God is no guarantee for a 100 per cent
raise in salary. Godliness is profitable in all things,
but it makes very few men bondholders. It isn't
piety that gets dollars, it is push; not grace, but
genius. The man who prays may be heir to eternal
riches, he may be as poor as a church mouse here.
A man doesn't write his check by the length of his
prayer. If that were the case the preacher would

114 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
be the boodler. The man who does not pray may
control his millions — but not have currency enough
of the right sort when he reaches the realm of the
spirit to buy one drop of water.
Don't think you will never go hungry to bed be
cause you trust in God. A pure heart is a pass
into God's presence — not to a banquet hall. God is
more than a commissary, butcher, baker and candle
stick maker. His reward is something else than a
full stomach or a health certificate.
He has not promised to keep you fat, well and
happy even though you do pray three times a day
with your face toward Jerusalem. You can't pick
saints by their clothes, possessions or positions.
It was the man who lived on crumbs who got'
through to Paradise. God's reward fits the soul,
not the back — it satisfies the spirit, not the pride nor
the passions.
We conclude that in the bread and butter world,
God doesn't mix up much. Pious or impious —
deacon or devil, men are treated about alike. God
will provide, but the other fellow may swipe it. He
thinks of you, you are more than a bird; but He
doesn't put up your portion in a special package
because you are a church man, nor when the drought
comes does He send a water cart around to water
your onion bed. Whatever it is, the dollar is not
the test nor the crown of righteousness.

THE ASH HEAP DEBATING CIRCLE 115
Another Guess Coming
A man gets just what he deserves here? Only the
wicked who get the short end of things, only the
saints who spread themselves like green bay trees?
0 Eliphaz, you make us smile. As we look at the
game of life we see bad men on thrones, saints on
ash heaps, tyrants in palaces, heroes in dungeons.
Life is full of hard tack and men who pray can tell
you what it tastes like.
This world one where every man gets a square
deal? Why Eliphaz, you haven't traveled much.
Tiberius flung men who prayed over the precipice
into the sea. Nero lighted up his pleasure gardens
with blazing martyrs, using their skulls for lamps,
yet the human devil died on a bed of roses.
We fear, Eliphaz, you will have to guess again.
Did you not live to learn that in the tread-mill of
life where character is being ground out, men may
have to endure things for a season which God can
not prevent now? The harvest time is coming. The
innocent truly shall not perish. Integrity of soul is
as lasting as the ages, yes, as divine when found in
the heart of a wash-woman as in that of a Paul.
Though the mountains melt with fervent heat, and
the heavens be rolled up as a scroll, yet the pure-
souled man shall say good morning to his God, when
the night of life has dawned into eternal day.

116 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Pink Tea Soldiers
Hold on then, thou suffering Job, whoever, wherr
ever thou art, a change of program is coming by
and by. When you take your place near the
throne of God you perhaps will understand why life
is so, and you will hear an angel say, "These are
they who came up through great tribulation." And
the pink tea soldiers of the cross will be so far back
that they will have to use long-distance telephones to
know what is going on.
The innocent perish? Yes — sometimes, yes, in a
world where tin foil passes for silver plate and the
splutter and splash for the rock bed of merit and
truth ; but hold on, thou faithful, honest, toiling one
— unseen, unheard; the last shall be first. Oh what
a change when the band wagon crowd will have to
get off and walk.

CHAPTER VII
THE DAYSMAN
Interrogations
Life is full of interrogation points, at every turn
in the road you meet a new one. What the world,
even with its Solomons, does not know would make
a great book. It is not what we know, but this
never let up trying to know, that gives us the
headache. Some interrogations are older than others. Man
didn't solve all the problems in the arithmetic of life
at once, he is taking the thing a page at a time.
Some interrogations are universal, others only local.
All things that trouble you don't trouble all men.
All questions you raise don't command the at
tention of the community, state, nation, world or the
ages. Some interrogations may keep you up nights
but the man next door may be snoring. You may
be serious, but to him you may be foolish. Who is
the foolish man? It is the man who is universalizing
a local interrogation point; who spends his deepest
thought trying to decide what color of paint is best
117

118 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
for his barn door. All the world is a stage, but
some men spend too much time playing second fiddle
in the orchestra. Start something- of your own.
Don't spend all your days carrying water to some
other fellow's elephant. The sad thing in life is
not that the universal things have been localized and
made personal; but men, blind as ground moles, have
tried to universalize and eternalize the local and the
temporal. Some men never look higher than their
backyard fence. Hence the universe to them is an
onion bed, a pig and a cow. The man who has uni
versalized the local is the intellectual and moral
pygmy. The man who has localized and personal
ized the universal is time's and eternity's genius.
Don't fill up on soup, the bread of life is on the menu
card. The Leading Question
Job's question makes us stop, look, and listen.
He is not asking the market price of sheep, nor a
cure for boils, but he brings the race up short by
exclaiming, "How can a man be just with God?"
This is a universal question made local and per
sonal. It is as old as Eden, as inclusive as Time,
and the human race; one of the few questions which
has burned its way into the consciousness of all
ages and of all men. Ever since the evacuation of
Eden, this question has been up for solution. Some
men struggle with it in the dark, others under a

THE DAYSMAN 119
fuller light, others solve it under the full blaze of
revelation. We look at the question not under the
blaze of revelation; but we go back to see how the
mind of a man worked who was guided only by his
reason, judgment, sense of justice, and the phe
nomena in life he saw about him. Remember this
book is the human intellect trying to untangle life's
entanglement. There is no revelation here, no soul
inspiration. This book is nothing more than a
handful of gray matter trying to analyze life, the
universe and God. It makes your heart ache to note
the failure, but this is the world's best attempt.
This is the finest and the saddest piece of thinking
the mind has left on record. All it did was to re
veal its own limitations. So Mr. Know-it-all, or Mr.
Archimedes in a bath tub, about to shout "Eureka,"
take notice! This is Time's invective, the intel
lect's best attempt to reach beyond its own horizon,
its own finiteness, to encircle the Infinite.
Bildad — Guardian of Time's Junk Heap
Bildad, the second member of this trinity of
friends, now makes his speech. It was a nice little
speech. Nothing new in it, in fact, he was not sup
posed to say anything new. "Some people have
minds like beds, they make 'em up then sleep on
'em." So with Bildad. Bildad was good on quot
ing but he wasn't much on original thinking. He
was no new-thought editor. He may have been

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on good terms with his neighbors, but he had a pro
found respect for the fathers; wisdom died with
them. If Bildad wanted to know anything he con
sulted the fathers. He was not a prospector, nor an
introspector, but a retrospector. Truth to him was
known by the moss it had on it. The former days
were the best days. Hence to him a theological or a
philosophical junk heap was paradise.
Hitched
Bildad was no expansionist, he was of that class
who think that the Almighty gave all he knew to a
few men, equipped them to do the world's thinking.
Bildad never went far astray because he had him
self tied up with a ten-foot rope to a stump on the
bank of the Sea of Truth. If that suits Bildad,
we have nothing to say, but some others don't like
it. They can't live by simply absorbing the over
flow of another man's mind.
They feel that what the hour needs is that which
is new and peculiar in them. Hence they don't con
sult the sage of the dead and buried past, they trust
the voice of their own soul.
No Baltimore Lunch
The past is not a free lunch counter for the
present. You have no right to sit down at its well-
filled table until you bring your own quota of soul
experience; nay you have not honored the past,

THE DAYSMAN 121
you have not performed the part of a living entity
until out of the crucible of your own soul you give
a new product to the world, write a new experience,
reveal a new truth. Was Shakespeare something
old made over? Was Milton a revised edition?
Luther a devotee of the creeds of his fathers ? New
ton a cold storage institution? Christ a machine or
a school-made Man? Or were these men conscious
of themselves as entities, upon whose spirit life the
Omnipotent hand had stamped a new thought, a be
fore unknown truth; and they gave voice to the
same, although customs, institutions, creeds, thrones,
kingdoms went down as a result.
Figure Heads
The evolution of the ego within you, not the con
sultation of the sage who went before you, — that is
living. But alas, must we say that there are more
figure heads than real heads, more second thoughts
than original thoughts, more crammers than crea
tors, more text-book worms than living men, more
exegets of the authority of yesterday than exposi
tors of a living truth to-day? The church is a hos
pital full of invalids, trying to live on mental and
spiritual hash, prepared food. That man who has a
vital life within him, who has discovered his own
God through his own spirit illumined soul, is the
exception. Sticking one's head into a sand bank of
theology and shouting "glory" is the test; that is

122 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
orthodoxy. But where would humanity be today
had the makers of history remained orthodox?
Orthodoxy ofttimes has been the fool's heaven, the
lazy man's panacea, the mental and spiritual
tramp's paradise; other times it has been a prison,
yes, the hell from which a living soul was trying
to escape. History is the doleful requiem, the sub
dued or passionate outcry of one age trying to
break down the walls of environment built by an
other, trying to dispel the dense darkness of super
stition believed by another, trying to climb the sun
lit hills of truth not seen by another, trying to ad
vance on the chaos and dark made by another.
The Junkman
The good was the property of yesterday, the bet
ter is the possession of today, the best is in the
unknown tomorrow.
This is a world of moving on ; nothing accom
plished is final ; nothing believed is absolute ; nothing
discovered has exhausted the source ; man has not
yet caught up with the on-moving God.
The omega of life is still the heart secret of to
morrow. Hence living is simply getting rid of old
clothes. The junkman of time comes to the back
yard of every age, generation, crying, "Any rags,
any bones, any bottles today." If you have any,
sell them.

THE DAYSMAN 123
The Missing Link
Bildad said to Job, "Enquire I pray thee of the
former age. They will tell thee the secret of thy
trouble, confirm what I have said, that God will not
cast away a perfect man, nor uphold the evil doer."
Job nodded his head, he said, "That is all right, I
have heard something like it before, but the thing
I want to know is, not what the ancients think
about this, that, or the other thing — but how can
man be just with God? Man who is but the creature
of a moment, ignorant, limited, weak, an insignifi
cant nothing, upon whom the eye of God rests, from
whose doing He never turns away, how can a man
be perfect in His sight, — He who seeth all things?
Mystery and Might
"Why if man should attempt to argue with God,
attempt to prove his innocence, justify his life, he
couldn't answer God once in a thousand.
"God is all wise and all powerful, it would be
simply folly for a man to contend with Him.
"He removeth the mountains and they know it
not. "He overturneth them in His anger and shaketh
them out of their place. He sealeth up the stars.
"He alone stretched out the heavens, and treadeth
up the waves of the sea.

124 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
"He maketh the Bear, Orion and the Pleiades and
the Chambers of the South.
"How can a man be just with Him, He who rules
the sun and stars, how can a man choose out words
to reason with Him?
"Even though I had challenged God to a contro
versy and He had bidden me stand up and plead
my case, yet I could not believe that He had thus
answered me and would allow me boldly to stand
before Him, and freely challenge His doings.
"Such condescension on His part, such abnegation
of His supremacy is simply inconceivable.
"Think you that He would patiently hear my jus
tification, calmly weigh it and heed it, when He is
already overwhelming me with His wrath, crushing
me with a very storm of calamity, multiplying my
wounds without any cause?
"So hot is He after me that He gives me not even
time to take my breath.
"If there is to be a trial between us, it is He who
is strong, not I; and if I were to make my plea who
would appoint for us a day?
"Even if I did, my own mouth would condemn
me, so hesitating and confused would be my words.
The Injustice of Inequality
"Though I were perfect I would not know it my
self, for my present life I despise.
"If I say I will put aside my load of grief, that I

THE DAYSMAN 125
will be of good cheer, simply forget there are such
things as boils, aching hearts, loss of property, chil
dren, friends — alas, I fear my sorrows.
"They are the evidences of God's displeasure, the
proof that He does not regard me as innocent. I
am wicked, am already condemned. God has al
ready passed sentence upon me. What then is the
use of my arguing?
"Why seek to justify myself? Why try to change
the case? Nothing that I can say will change my
lot. "If I wash myself with snow water, make my hands
clean with lye, He will only plunge me into the ditch
again, and hold me forth a more loathsome wretch
than ever. Despair
"God is no man that I can answer Him. There is
no meeting ground for us at all.
"He cannot come down to me, I cannot rise to
Him; there is no equality in a contest between us.
Might not Justice would decide the contest and the
innocent, being weak, would suffer. Because there is
no daysman, no arbitrator between us, no one to
referee the trial, step in between us, and keep us
apart, no one to hear the evidence and render a just
verdict. "My soul is weary of my life, yea, I loathe it, hence
I give full expression to my complaint.

126 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
"My God ! do not pronounce me wicked ! but show
me wherefore Thou contendest with me.
"Is it good to Thee to oppress me? is it becoming
of Thee as Maker to despise the work of Thine hand ?
"Hast Thou only eyes of flesh? and seest Thou
only as a man seeth? Art Thou a short-lived crea
ture whose span of life is only that of a man, that
Thou enquirest so diligently after mine iniquity?
"Although Thou knowest that I am not guilty,
and although none can deliver me out of Thine hand,
for Thine hands have made me and fashioned me,
yet Thou dost destroy me !
"Remember I beseech Thee that Thou hast made
me as clay, then wilt Thou undo Thine own work?
crumble me into powder and make me mere dust
once more?
"Hast Thou not poured me out as milk and curdled
me like cheese? Hast Thou not clothed me with skin
and flesh, and hast Thou not knit me together with
bones and sinews?
"Hast Thou not given me life, called me into be
ing? and has not Thy continual care preserved my
spirit, from infancy to manhood, and from manhood
to a ripe age, in peace and prosperity?
"But ah! the dark plot! for all the while Thou
wert giving me being, preserving my being, loading
my life with favors, Thou wert hiding in Thine
heart the intention to bring all these calamities upon
me. I know this was Thy purpose.

THE DAYSMAN 127
"If I sinned Thou didst make note of it. Thou wilt
not acquit me, for the record of all my iniquity Thou
still haSt against me.
"If I be wicked, woe unto me! I accept my doom.
If I be righteous yet will I not lift up my head. I
am full of confusion.
"Thou huntest me as a fierce lion. Thou multiplies!
Thy judgments against me. Host after host of
calamities come against me, the evidence that Thou
art angry with me.
"Wherefore then hast Thou brought me into
being? Oh that I had died at birth, given up the
ghost and no eye had seen me !
"Are not my days few? Cease Thou, O my
avenger, and let me alone that I may take comfort
a little before I go whence I shall not return, even
to the land of darkness and the shadow of death; a
land without light, without beauty, without form,
without order, a land of darkness as Darkness itself."
This is pathetic. Is it also prophetic? It is man
in his final dilemma, his naked soul crying for help,
for even a straw to clutch at in the whirlpool of life.
But is it only a dilemma? Is it only irony? Is it
only a cry to the cold stars? Does this sob in the ear
of God go unheeded? Is this where Hell wins? Let
us see.

CHAPTER VIII
RIFT IN THE CLOUD
The Master Question
The next scene sends a thrill to your soul. It is
not pathetic nor tragic, but it is the irony of fate. It
is not the ash heap that holds your attention, a
more momentous question than that is up. It is not
the putrefying portion of the world's heart-ache, a
disease-eaten body, that now concerns us. It is not
the charred ruins of what was once a happy home,
not dead sheep, nor life's affairs gone to smash. You
forget about the past, the wreck of life; your
thought is riveted upon the thick uncertain future,
that something, or nothing, into which you leap from
the shore of time. You are concerned now with the
tomorrow of being; the past has closed up, will a
future open up?
You see Job, bowed down. He has been chased to
hell's last ditch. He opens his eyes, not to gaze
upon devastated fields, but upon the spreading
boughs of a tree that overhangs him; now he fixes
his gaze upon the upturned face of a daisy at his
128

RIFT IN THE CLOUD 129
feet. There is a gurgle in his throat, cold drops
of sweat stand out on his brow, the light from his
face is gone, his eyes are glassy, hands cold and
clammy, there is a pull and a tug at his heart
strings, the earth seems slipping away, the dark
ness of eternal night begins to shut him round.
With a stifled breath he asks the tree, the flower:
"Tell me, is life an evermore or a nevermore; if a
man, the image of his Maker, he who can measure
the stars and feel the passion of eternity m his
soul, if he, man, die, shall he live again?" A silence
as deep as that which hovered over abysmal space
before the hand of the Creator broke in upon it with
the first act of the miracle of creation, surrounds
him. "Tell me, Oh little flower, that goes to sleep
beneath a blanket of snow and rises again to kiss a
June sun, tell me, if a man die, shall he live again?"
But the tree made no reply. Its succor rose from
a dead stump, but it spoke no message of hope to
Job. The little flower, as it came back to life, only
added injury to irony, as it smiled at man's fate.
Job read no prophecy in its sweet face. All that he
could see as he scanned the entire horizon of his
being was a hole in the ground; all that he could
hear was the earth ringing hollow, calling him down
to its sunless depths ; all his master mind could con
clude, as he was about to make his last long leap out
into the darkness of oblivion was, — man, the image
of your Maker, ahN you are the football of time,

130 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
and you are going to your high, your great, your
glorious reward, you are to become food for worms.
The Long Look
But no, something besides worms began to breathe
a message to him then, something besides a daisy or
a tree spoke unto him then, something besides cold
reason was set in operation within him then. Yes,
when the intellect had propounded its last dogma,
when the logic of life's events was running him into
a hole in the ground, at the moment when hell was
holding demoniac carnival about him, when every
drop of life's nectar had been wrung out, when
living was a hideous nightmare, when everything
and everybody had turned against him, and the vials
of God's wrath even seemed to be poured out upon
him ; at that moment he turns his face toward the
skies ; he seems to catch his breath again ; the
pulse in his spirit begins to beat, he holds his head
up, the first time for days. He looks out into space,
out beyond the daisy, out beyond the ash heap, out
beyond the tree tops, out — out beyond the stars ;
he looks out into the deep heart of the eternal world.
A ray of light from the unseen throne strikes on
his face, a face upon which is depicted the tragedy
of time. It takes the white light of God to bring
out such a face. A pure, strong, soul, surrounded

RIFT IN THE CLOUD 131
by the wreck of time, looking out through a disease-
eaten body. We can't picture it, the brush of a
Michael Angelo would make a daub of it.
Secret of the Eternities
At that moment with his feet pointing towards
oblivion, when the fates were about to spring the
trap which would shoot him down into hell's never
more, something opened the windows of his soul and
he looked out on God's evermore.
He mounts that ash heap. His victorious soul
gives strength to his weakened body. He mounts
that ash heap surrounded by grinning demons. But
look! Ah — Hell you may well go hide your face.
Death you may well sulk off to the darkest nook of
perdition, for your victim, ha ! ha ! your victim has
escaped you. And though he stands there, time's
battered wreck, yet hear him shout to the on-coming
ages, see him catch the secret of the eternities and
send it echoing down the corridors of time: "I
know that my Redeemer liveth and that He shall
stand at last upon the earth, and after my skin hath
been thus destroyed, yet from my flesh sh-all I see
God." The Soul's Pike's Peak
This is the thought climax of the book, Job's
soul's Pike's Peak. It is the highest and deepest

132 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
thing in human consciousness, the one- conception,
fact, hope, around which all others gather. How
Job reached it, away back there in the dim shadows
of the morning of time, we do not presume to tell.
But this flash-light of the eternities, this new star, —
immortality, — shot out upon the dark firmament of
this man's soul. And he wanted it cut in molten
letters upon the rocks so as to defy the ravages of
time, that it might shine on and on forever, scat
tering the darkness of a sinful world and cheering
the hearts of dying men.
This soul's Pike's Peak is a dizzy height for
ground moles to climb; men through whose brains
there flashes nothing greater than Panama Canals,
reciprocity, reduction of the tariff or elephant hunts
in Africa.
Remember you are away back of two thousand
years of Christian history, back of Olivet, pentecost,
resurrection, crucifixion, incarnation ; outside of Je
rusalem, out in the black heart of the heathen world,
where God is not supposed to live, or even visit.
But here is a man, — not a prophet, priest nor a
king, but a business man, — after the storm has
stripped his life, disease almost eaten his vitals away
and friends have run an arrow of suspicion more
cruel than death into his soul, yet you hear him
shouting, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."

RIFT IN THE CLOUD 133
The Goel
Flying machines are new on the market, but man
has had some notion of a Redeemer for a long
time; he had it before he knew his a b c's. Where
he got it, or how he got it, is an open question.
The prophet did not create it, Israel had no mon
opoly of it; before Abraham was selected, before
Sinai blazed or Isaiah sang of the Suffering Ser
vant of God, mankind had some idea of a Re
deemer. If you haven't you are in a bad fix.
In the Mosaic code the Redeemer or Goel was the
next man of kin, whose duty it was to redeem a cap
tive or enslaved relative, to buy back his sold or lost
inheritance, to avenge the death of a murdered
kinsman, or to marry his brother's childless widow
and raise up a family to his name. A sort of handy
man to have around in case of need.
But we venture a guess that Job from his height
caught a vision of something bigger and better than
that. Job was not looking toward the earth, when
he made this declaration. He was not thinking of
some younger brother who was to step in and get
him out of trouble, but this Ash Heap Man was
looking toward the skies; the veil had been parted'
and he was looking into the deep heart of the eter
nities, when he shouted, "I know that my Redeemer
liveth." And history, science, philosophy and good

134 . THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
old common horse-sense say he was looking in the
right direction. Imported
Redeemers for a man in Job's fix, don't grow on
the earth; they are not raised in the hothouse of
culture; the universities do not graduate them; bat
tlefields do not produce them; legislative halls and
business arenas do not develop them. No, a Re
deemer for a man or a world in Job's fix is the prod
uct of another clime. He is imported. And the
biggest thing God ever did was not to stretch the
Milky Way so far that seemingly her two ends
* would never meet, but when He proved to princi-
f- palities and powers in high places and in low, that
the declaration of this Ash Heap Man was true;
that Job wasn't beating the air nor simply seeing
things when he shouted, "I know that my Redeemer
liveth," for out of that distant clime, that country
in which there is no sin, night, disease, death, tem
ple nor policeman, there came One, a Redeemer. He
didn't grow up, He came down. He wasn't pro
duced; He was projected. He was not the product
of evolution, He was the miracle of a devolution.
The angels stood amazed as He made this great de
scent; for the visitor to this mud earth of ours was
nothing less than the Infinite become an infant, Di
vinity localized, eternity epitomized.

RIFT IN THE CLOUD 135
Conquering Death
And where was this Redeemer to take His stand,
where was He to do His greatest work? Ah, not in
the Halls of Congress, not on a throne was He to
sit, to reign and rule, not with a gleaming sword
was He to cut His way to victory and to glory, but
"He shall stand up upon my dust," — the grave.
The woods are full of throne saviours, philosoph
ers in their dens, statesmen in their arenas ; advo
cates of pure food, pure laws, square deals ; society
mechanics; manufacturers of Utopias, moral mus
tard plasters for wooden legs, balms of Gilead for
the world's healing. But can you point me to one
in the long list of the saviours raised on this mud
earth, poets, preachers, statesmen, soldiers, that
takes his stand over the six feet of earth that at last
opens its black mouth to swallow a man ; there
to fight for man, there to win out for man, there to
pull him out of the iron jaws of death!
Man civilizes, but he doesn't save. He is a so-*
ciety mechanic, but not a Redeemer. He can kill
woodpeckers, but he can't stop the rot at the heart
of the tree. He can write poetry, hold Peace Con
ferences, sink battleships, and beat his swords into
pruning hooks or fishing hooks. He can pass his
laws commanding his neighbor to keep off the grass ;
yes, man can build a human heaven on the sands of
time. But man, mighty man, wise, great, courage-

136 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
ous man does not carry in his two-pound brain the
scheme, nor in his strong arm the blow that can kill
death. Job had reached the point where he was needing
something more than a square deal, regulated rail
roads, or the number of microbes reduced in his corn
beef. He wasn't looking for some one to bust the
trusts, but for some one who could burst the bars
of death and lift him from its cold embrace. There
came such an One. He was the football of His time.
Men spat in His face, beat Him with thongs and
hung Him on a cross. But though religion cursed
Him, philosophy scorned Him, the State crucified
Him, and with all its pomp, brass buttons and feath
ers stood over Him with a gun ; yet some one reached
down and ripped the gates of hell and death from
their hinges and this crucified Nazarene came forth.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth and that He
shall stand up at the last upon the earth." Great
telescope Job was using that day! It pierced the
mists of doubt, the fog banks of uncertainty; it
leaped the chasm that lies between the unknown and
the known ; it penetrated God's mystery box ; it saw
land ahead on the borders- of the eternities. Job
was the Columbus of the soul.
Man Complete
But look again! Listen to what this man saw as
he stood on his toes and gazed. This is the vision

RIFT IN THE CLOUD 137
that made Death hang its head and Hell sulk off to
its darkest nook. But listen to him, Hell and
Death ! Hold up your heads, listen to him, listen to
him! "Though worms this body destroy, yet from
my flesh shall I see God."
Job didn't look upon himself as a handful of
moonshine which would fade out into a sublime noth
ing. He didn't see himself carried out to the con
fines of never-never land and dropped head first
down the pit of nothingness "and eternal forgetful-
ness. But it seems that some angel pulled the cur
tain that intervenes between things seen and un
seen, and Job caught just one glimpse of the third
stage of this great truth.
Job didn't look long enough, nor perhaps far
enough to see the magic word "Resurrection" cut in
golden letters on the trestle board of the New
Jerusalem. He didn't catch the master word from
the Hiram Abif of the eternities, but as he looked
he caught a glimpse of himself as he would be in
the last day, and he had a body.
He doesn't say much about golden crowns or
harps, but as he sees himself he has a body, and it
is his body, the companion of his joys and his sor
rows, the other half of himself. Job doesn't tell us
how, he didn't know how, he only saw the fact. He
who took the sting out of death, robbed the grave
of its victim, completes the story, "I am the Resur
rection and the Life."

CHAPTER IX
SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD
The Slapped Cheek
"Yes, my complaint is bitter, yea rebellious";
cries Job, "but the blow I have received is greater
than my complaint." Ah, there's the rub again.
Sorrow may harden rather than soften the soul. A
dog sometimes will kiss the foot that kicked it, but
it comes hard for a man to do that very long. Some
men are able to turn the other cheek but when they
get that slapped, they are apt to say something else
than "God bless you." Job is getting both cheeks
slapped and for no earthly reason so far as he knew.
When Job got one cheek slapped he went to a
prayer meeting. He cried, "The Lord gave, the
Lord hath taken away." Sheep, oxen, children, all
gone ! "The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away,
blessed be His name." But the thing that is knock
ing the pinning from under him is, he is being slapped
all over. The more he prayed, the more he was
persecuted; the brighter his faith, the greater his
calamity; the more he tried to find God, the more
138

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 139
God withdrew from him. And a greater one than
Job in an hour like that cried, "My God, my God,
why hast thou forsaken me." Hell can load the soul
to the breaking point. Jesus and Job are the two
men of history who have tried hell out. She turned
every 16-inch gun she had on them, she has gone
after us with a pop gun.
The Suffering Servant
Jesus knew what He was up against ; Job did not.
Christ deliberately walked into His Gethsemane. He
took the cup, the contents of which was the world's
redemption, and He gladly pressed it to His own
lips. He didn't know what was in it, but He knew what
it was for. "For this purpose came I," was His
claim. Hell fought Him, not because He was good,
but because He was going to make an atonement
through His death for the world's sin. And all God
did, when the furies of Hell began to gather about
Him, yes when they broke in a storm over Him, was
to leave Him alone. God could not do otherwise.
Jesus was offering His soul as a sacrifice for sin.
Explain that as you will. And when the blow was
being struck, when hell bore down upon Him, before
eternity opened up to him, when Christ was at the
midnight hour, He cried, "My God, why hast Thou
forsaken me?"

140 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
The Suffering Man
But with Job, it was different. He didn't choose
this ash heap. He didn't select it as the means
through which he was to see the travail of his soul
and be satisfied. He was not doing the part of
God, dying for a race. But Job was forced into
this soul Gethsemane. Hear God say to Satan:
"Take him and do unto him whatsoever your satanic
mind may devise." And the thing that made Job's
black hell blacker was the belief that it was God
who was striking, the God whom he loved, adored,
trusted to the utmost. The Contrast
Dare we think Job had the harder task, not
greater but harder ? Christ walked willingly into the
Gethsemane of Salvation. Job is forced into the
Gethsemane of character. To Jesus, Gethsemane was
His night before His day of eternal glory, to Job, his
Gethsemane was his day of glory turned to night.
The soul of the Christ grew dizzy when forsaken,
the soul of Job grew bitter because he was perse
cuted. The Difference
Both men cried out: the one, "My God, why hast
Thou forsaken me?" the other, "Oh that I knew where
I might find Him." The one is a perfect soul offer-

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 141
ing itself, the other is a human soul defending itself.
The one gave up the ghost, the other is sending up
a bitter complaint. The one cried, "It is finished."
The other cried, "Oh that I knew where I might find
Him, that I might come even to His throne. I would
fill my mouth with words and argue my case before
Him." The Encircling Gloom
We think the angels wept for Job. This is pathetic.
Oh this hell of human limitations! Why can't we see
things in the large? Why do we turn things into a
tragedy, when He — God — intends them to be sub
limity? We are now looking through a glass darkly.
Salvation vs. Character
Jesus with the vision of the Infinite, scanning the
entire horizon of being — went as a lamb to the
slaughter — His soul was heavy, but He did not open
His mouth. Why? Because He saw that the Geth
semane of Salvation was the biggest thing a God
could enter.
The Gethsemane of character is the biggest thing
we mortals ever have to enter. We are forced into
it, driven head first into it. We don't know why, we
can't see why. But the Gethsemane has not done its
work until we come to the place where we open not
our mouths.
"Though He slay me yet will I trust Him." Job

142 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
had not yet reached that height. Have you? Have
you ever gone after God with a club? Have there
been times when you couldn't pray, your heart was
cold, spirit dead, because the lightning had killed
your cow ; and you just wanted to meet the Almighty
and have it out with Him?
Searching for the Umpire
Job wants to find the throne where God sits meting
out judgments. He has his mouth full of words and
he is prepared to tell the Almighty a few things.
"Oh that I knew where I might find Him," he hisses.
Yesterday Job would have gone into God's pres
ence with supplication. "How can a man be just
with Him?" he cried, "I can't argue, contend with
Him." Today Job is going into the eternal court
room with a gun. That is man for you. He changes
his moods as Oscar Wilde did his neck-ties. One day
man is a suppliant — the next day he is giving the
Almighty a curtain lecture. One day he is on his
knees, the next day he is the big man on the job
running a universe. Not Guilty
Job wants to get into the supreme court with his
case ; he is through with district courts or police
courts. He has failed on Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar,
but he feels that he can convince God that he is a
righteous man. I don't want to try that myself. I

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 143
will chance it on convincing or bluffing Eliphaz,
Bildad and Zophar, as to my righteousness ; but I
am not anxious to take my case to the supreme court
of the skies, put my life and my heart on trial
there, and have a verdict returned on the facts and
evidence. But Job is ready. This is not bluff, nor a fool's
desire ; but Job is ready for the supreme court. He
knows that he is not guilty as indicted. The ash
heap court has gone against him; but he is ready
now for God's verdict. Ready? Yes, for Job had
been keeping tab on himself. Ah, not the number of
times he attended a bean supper in the name of the
Lord, or got out to a musical Sunday night ; but Job
feels sure that he will be acquitted even when the
searcher of the thoughts and intents of the heart
brings in His verdict.
When it comes to character, Job could produce the
goods and he knew it. Jesus wasn't afraid of Pilate,
Job is not afraid of God. That sounds like audacity,
a bad case of self-righteousness, a man with the
moral big head, a man with a chip on his shoulder
for church people to knock off, but it is not.
Big Head
Job was not a selfrighteous man. He wasn't look
ing with contempt upon Christ Jesus saying, "I have
no need of you." Job knew nothing of Jesus. He
knew nothing of being saved by grace. The word

144 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Saviour was not in his dictionary. He never heard
of the love that gave Jesus to die. Job is not flaunt
ing dirty rags of righteousness in the face of God,
nor tramping His heart in the mud. But Job is a
man, conscious of his righteousness. Job isn't just
as good, or better than Dea. Jones, but Job is the
man of whom God has said "there is none better in
the land." Job didn't have to read the prayer every
Sunday, "Lord, have mercy on me an unprofitable
sinner, I do the things I should not do and leave un
done the things I should do." Job didn't presume
on the Almighty, play the devil and then pay
penance ; carry in his pocket a skin-of-the-teeth pass
port to Paradise. Job's Business
Religion with Job wasn't simply an appendix to
his business. He didn't put on his religion when he
put on his Sunday clothes. Religion with him was
no expediency. He was a good man all the way up,
all the way through, all the time. Job worked at his
religion. They didn't have to get up a "men and
religion movement" to get a move on him. It didn't
require a Punch and Judy circus to get him out;
Job went even if the band wagon was out of repair.
Job's business was religion. He simply raised sheep
and oxen to pay expenses. He sought first and
hardest the kingdom of righteousness; he didn't
simply snatch at it on a death bed. At home, in

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 145
the temple, at a stock show, in thought, word, act,
Job made good. He had old Adam beaten to a
frazzle. Had he started house keeping in Eden, the
mountains of life would not be so full of Wandering
Sheep. He would have held Paradise against the'
onslaught of hell. It would have been up to you to
hold yours. Three in One
"Three poets in three distant ages born
Greece, Italy, England did adorn;
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed,
The next in majesty. In both the last,
The force of Nature could no further go.
To make the third, she joined the other two."
We don't know how true this is with the Homer,
Virgil, Milton combination, but we sometimes feel
that God must have joined two arch angels and one
of the other kind in making Job.
Surrounded by Darkness
Job is a good man, but he is not getting a square
deal; there is a miscarriage of justice somewhere
and Job wants to go to headquarters to see about
it. It is a square deal he wants from the umpire
of the game of life. But "Where is He? Where is
God?" Job cries. "Behold I go forward and He is
not there. I can't put out my hand and touch Him.
I turn backwards but I can't see Him. I turn to the

146 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
left, even into His workshop, the place where He
makes stars, lily buds, diamonds and snowflakes, but
I can't find Him. He hideth Himself on the right
and I can't see Him. Oh that I might find Him!"
Job was no fool saying "There is no God," but Job
was God's man conscious in His innermost soul of
his own integrity, and yet he had lost every evidence
of divine favor, yea, of the divine presence. He looks
to the north, south, east and the west, but God,
man's benefactor, is not there. Job has gone the
limit. He is in earth's lowest hell and God is lost.
Emerging from Darkness
Now get ready for another rise in a soul aero
plane. "I can't find Him. I can't touch Him. I
can't see Him. To my sense He is not." But!!
But ! ! ! That is the pivot upon which the whole thing
swings. But, that is the word we have been looking
for, waiting for. "But He knoweth the way that I
take. He knoweth the Gethsemane through which I
am passing. But when He hath tried me, I shall
come forth as gold."
Seeing Through the Stone Wall
"When He hath tried me I shall come forth as
gold." This is the first ray of light that has shown
on Job's ash heap. . The first and only sentence giv
ing an explanation for its existence — the word that
justifies God in permitting it. Cut that sentence out

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 147
and life is an enigma, a mess and a mass of imper
fections, injustices and tragedies. Cut that sentence
out and this world is one which some God made, but
didn't know how to run. Cut it out and this world is
the devil's play ground — an atom of heartache tossed
upon the shore of Time.
But leave it there, then life's darkest hour, fiercest
pain, greatest calamity, has a meaning. Leave it
there, — then the poison cup, dagger, dungeon and
cross, life's affairs gone to smash, are simply the
tools which the Michael Angelo of the skies uses — in
carving out the angel of white from the marble of
humanity. "When He hath tried me, I shall come
forth as gold."
Job's soul has reached its second Pike's Peak.
From the one he saw his Redeemer. From the other
he saw a meaning for the world's madness and sad
ness. The world's ash heap is the anteroom to the
soul's Holy of Holies, the crucible in which the dross
is run out, the machine in which God produces the
chief commodity of the eternities — character. "When
He hath tried me," — there is soul sanity, the logic
and philosophy and greatest creed of the spirit.
"When He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold."
Time's Big Job
Character is God's biggest job. He was only
amusing Himself when He made stars, put the back/
bone in the Rockies, and built the fire in the heart

148 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
of the sun. I think He will really start to live when
<$ he gets a house full of companions, men — women —
whose spirit life has been wrought out through the
mill of experience, into qualities, endurable as the
eternities. Character is the liveliest experiment God ever
undertook. Stars and atoms can't be anything else.
Jupiter couldn't jump the track even if the Creator
should turn His back. All nature is a dull monotony.
It never thinks, feels, asks who, what, how or why.
If the stars should fall and the heavens melt with
fervent heat; if this infinite order should crash and
smash and fill abysmal deep, the angels would not
even hear a whisper from them asking why, who
determines it so.
But man is the riddle, God's great potentiality.
He is both a paradox and an enigma. Today he
prays ; tomorrow he curses. Today he says, "Thy
will ;" tomorrow he hisses, "my will." Sunshine and
darkness, joy and sorrow, sin and righteousness,
spirituality and carnality, angel and devil, make
him up. But up through the darkness, sorrow, sin
and the carnal, God is drawing with the cord of
love the creation He calls His child. And the faith
that fills His infinite heart is not that the stars will
not fall, nor the heavens be rolled as a scroll ; but He
is saying to Himself, as He sits over this smelting
pot, — the earth — "When I have tried him, when I

SECOND RIFT IN THE CLOUD 149
have tried him, he will come forth as gold." God
then will smile His best. Compensation
We don't know what immutability is, eternal inno
cency is, but character is the wild heart of man cap
tured by the lasso of love, and a lasso that cuts to
the heart. Those whom God loves He chastens. No
wonder He prepares an eternal paradise in which
His loved ones may roam.
The Soul Astronomer
"When He has tried me, I shall come forth as
gold." Whatever other men have said or thought on this
complex thing called life, with its rose beds and ash
heaps — we want to give the medal to Job, as the
clearest in thinking and the sanest in his conclusions.
He was a creed buster, and would have taken high
honors as a trust buster; but he was the first man
who could see through a stone wall, the first man
to take the midnight of life and shoot it full of the
glories of the eternities.
If more of our creed-makers had spent time in
the smelting pot ; if more of our logicians had reached
the place where they couldn't think; if more of our
dogmatists had been shut up in the dungeon of the
soul; perhaps the conclusions they draw would not
have needed revising every full moon.

150 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
The ash heap seems to give clearness to vision,
purity to convictions, and widens a man's horizon
so that he can see beyond the fence and take in the
deep purposes of God.
Honor and praise to men who go up in a balloon
so that they can say "hello" to the man in the moon ;
but had Job not climbed this, his second soul's
.Pike's Peak, the intellectual world today would be
lost in a fog.
All up for the Sky Pilot from the land of Uz.

CHAPTER X

THE GRAND FINISH

The closing speech on the negative, now begins.
It forms the central and most solid portion of the
book. After brushing Bildad aside as not having
said anything, Job proceeds to open up his heart,
to give expression to his real sentiments, his simon
pure self. From a literary standpoint the closing
speeches of Bildad and Job are significant. Bildad
peters out in a speech of six verses ; Job finishes in
a grand climax of 161 verses. In a race it is usually
the finish that counts. To look at these two speeches,
even a boy would say that Bildad had winded him
self and didn't have anything to finish on.
Bildad's Masterpiece
We smiled when we first found this nice little fin
ishing up speech of six verses. Cicero's rule for
speech-making was, "Begin low, proceed slow, take
fire, rise higher, to spirit add form and sit down in
a storm." To look at this speech you would think Bildad sat
151

152 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
down in a tub of ice water. They didn't have to mop
his classic brow or fan him when he had finished.
It sounds more like a two line speech for a kinder
garten exercise, than the summing up of this mighty
discussion. If I were Bildad I would petition the
printers to leave this last speech of mine out. We
shouldn't poke fun at the man, he has been a long
time dead, and can't defend himself. But in the con
struction of this thing, the speeches of this ash heap
debating circle, does it mean anything that the argu
ments of these three theorists just collapsed, yes —
like the dying gasp of a cat-fish. All three of Job's
contestants had plenty of mouth, but it takes more
than mouth to fathom the mystery of life.
The Real Job
Job is through arguing. In this closing speech
he just opens the windows of his soul and allows his
real self to pour out. This is the period in a man's
life when it is a genuine pleasure to meet him, when
he has all the arguments out of his mouth, no chip
on his shoulder; when he has no prejudice to express
nor pet theory to defend, when he throws away all
cant, all professionalism, all semblance of intellec
tual warfare and bluff, and just sits down on a dry
goods box and opens up, lays his mind bare.

THE GRAND FINISH 153
The War Zone
There is a vast difference at times between a man's
philosophy, "his talk stuff" and the things he would
say if you two went fishing.
The thing that keeps life cut up into sects, fac
tions, six by ten doxology shops, is that men don't
play together often enough, take off their robes, pro
fessional or theoretical duds, and just be plain Mr.
White and Mr. Brown.
Two men won't fight over transubstantiation or
tariff on the golf links. And if there are a half dozen
missing links in the chain of apostolic succession, you
won't miss them if the fishing is good. And two men
who could not commune at the Lord's table could
eat a square meal from a round table at a picnic.
What fools we mortals be when we get into the war
zone of theory!
The man from Galilee prayed that His disciples
might be one. Perhaps they will be some day, but
that unity won't be brought about through an ash
heap debating circle, though all the Bishops in king
dom come are there. Job's Parting Slap
In this speech we get at Job as he really is. He is
to draw a pen picture of himself, hand and heart,
creed and character. He is to take a long pull at the
pipe of peace. He is to show us the real Job — the

154 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
man you would like to meet, yes, go a long way even
to see.
Because Job is getting out his pipe of peace, don't
think that there has been a sudden revolution
wrought in his being, that he has been turned into a
meek-as-Moses man over night, that all the sting has
been taken out of his tongue. No, that is a miracle
which requires a lot of time, and even grace, to per
form. The Unruly Member
It is easier to tame lions than tongues, especially
when a tongue is tied in the middle. Job is going
to say some nice things before he gets through but
he has to take a parting slap at Bildad. Bildad has
petered out ; Job now is going to proceed in the most
genteel, polite way to knock him out.
The prayer "Lord forgive them for they know
not what they do" is one that has not come into gen
eral use.
No, most folks are very human; they have to run
a little diamond pointed dagger into a man's float
ing ribs even when they are praying for him.
With Job, life's affairs have gone to smash, but
his tongue has one more thrust in it. Like a turtle
he can bite even with his head off. Job didn't hit
foul, but he hit Bildad when he was hanging over
the rope.

THE GRAND FINISH 155
Rubbing It In
Note the irony, sarcasm, even contempt; Job is
going right after Bildad, the second handed religion
man. "How thou hast helped him that is without
power. How your words have cheered me, how they
have bouyed up my drooping soul. Your words have
been as honey to me in the bitter of life."
He is stabbing Bildad to the heart but with a
dagger scented with the roses of Sharon, with a smile
on his face and with words which have been boiled in
olive oil.
"How thou savest the arm that is without
strength." There is a lot of taffy in that, enough to affect
any man's head, so that he would want his salary
raised. But Job meant there wasn't a gnat's eye
full of strength in all these fellows had been saying
for a week.
"How thou hast counselled him that hath no
wisdom, and how thou hast plentifully declared the
thing as it is."
How would you feel if some man on an ash heap
should throw that bouquet at you? Mr. Preacher,
how would it fit your case? Have you been talking
all year but haven't said anything? And you Philos
ophy Spinner, you who get up the isms and syl
logisms, you have been making a lot of sound, but has
there been anything besides sound?

156 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
And you, Politician, the third member of the big
three, you who are dying to save your country, you
who get religion on Nomination Day and lose it on
Election Day, how long could the world live on your
wind pudding? Those of us whose occupation it is
to give the world good advice, would we dare to make
this announcement even in quotation marks, "The
words I speak unto you, they are wisdom and they
are life." The thing the man on the ash heap de
mands is, that when we talk at him we say some
thing. In the realm of politics, business or battleships,
shoot the air full of holes, if you want to ; but in
the realm of life — soul, character, destiny — if you
haven't anything to say, don't say it.
Mr. MultUoquence
"How thou hast counselled him that hast no wis
dom, and how thou hast plentifully declared the
thing as it is."
The blacksmith and hod carrier have little con
cern with that, but the "Talk Man" would do well
to spend his next vacation studying the reach and
force of it.
The question Mr. Multiloquence is up against
is, — has he a message when the ash heap council is
on. When a man in life's misery and mystery cries
out for light, can we take him even a tallow candle.

THE GRAND FINISH 157
Up to Some One
The world needs something. Who is it, what insti
tution is it that has a message containing power,
wisdom, Ught, life ? Some men are building gunboats
to protect it ; some are writing books to entertain it ;
some are forming political parties through which to
rule it ; some are saying things to instruct it. Great
God, send us the man with the message that will
save it.
I would rather take the sentence of a tattooed Hot
tentot, the morning Gabriel blows his horn than the
sentence of the man or institution which enters the
ash heap council with nothing but talk, talk, talk.
People who have good advice for the world, but no
good news ; who have a scheme to propose, but no
Saviour to proclaim ; who talk at the air, but who
do not "declare the thing as it is." Save, save us,
Oh God, from proverbs of ashes and a salvation
scheme for the world's sin and woe, which is only
words ! Missing the Mark
Job continues, "To whom hast thou uttered
words;" that is, for whom did you prepare your
speeches? Certainly not for me, for they haven't
anything to do with my case. They don't touch the
spot. You have shot holes in every cubic foot of

158 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
atmosphere around this ash heap but you haven't
helped me.
"And whose spirit came forth from thee?" Where
did you get your speeches ? What second hand store
did you visit? What philosophical junk yard did
you steal them from, what religious mummy has been
talking through you?
Hash
If you know anything with a sharper point to it,
than that, tell me where you found it. I can see old
Bildad, the proprietor of the religious junk yard,
grind his teeth, get green in the face and look over
his shoulder at the moon. Every thought that came
out of his think-box had moss on it, was stale, petri
fied. He weighed 200 pounds but his own spirit had
not grown three inches, because his only diet was
mental, moral and religious hash.
Bildad was good but he wasn't up to date with
God. The spirit that lighteth every man had never
told him anything, because he had made no engage
ments with Him. Bildad never trusted himself. He
never dared to filter a truth through his own soul.
He never dared to trust the almighty impulse tug
ging at his heart strings, crying for expression
through him.
Ah, "whose spirit came forth from thee?" Bildad
had religion but he didn't have life. He had form but
no power. He knew every nook and corner of the

THE GRAND FINISH 159
sanctuary, did over time during Lent; but the
truisms which fell from his lips were not truth nug
gets formed in the crucible of his own soul.
The World's Big Need
This is tremendous !
Mr. Churchman, whose spirit comes forth from
you? Are you mentally and spiritually alive, or are
you simply a phonograph?
Foremost among the big needs of the world today
is a personalized Gospel. Gospel? Just that. And
if there is no Gospel for this world and age, the
trick is up. Statecraft, church craft, stunt craft
are in the ditch. What the world needs is not a
council of religions nor a world peace conference, but
the sweetness, love, power, life of The Son of Man
reduced to terms of your own personality and
then projected into life. "Whom say ye that I am?"
"Lovest thou me?" "My peace I give unto you."
Go, gospelize the world.
You can't do this on echoes from conventions, re
ports of committees, or by swapping methods. The
world will wander around in the fog, until the indi
vidual can reduce God to terms of his own life, then
speak Him out and love Him in.
We don't want a new Gospel; we do want new
creations gossiping the Gospel.
Clean house, O Bildad, clean house. We don't
care how many rats the women wear in their hair,

160 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
but toss the mummy out of your soul and let in the
Living Spirit. The Divine Ways
"You sit here and talk as though you were familiar
with the ways of God," continues Job. "His doings
in a world, saying that even the stars are not pure
in His sight, and ask again how can man, a mere
worm of the dust, be justified before Him. This is all
old. Jehovah wonderful ! Why even the dead from
under the waters tremble at the thought of Him. Hell
is naked before Him, and destruction hath no cover
ing to hide her secrets from His searching eye.
"He stretches out the North, the grand constella
tions visible to your eye, over what was empty space ;
and He takes the earth, and suspends it in vacancy
with nothing to support it but His own will and His
own firm laws.
"He covers up the face of His throne and spreads
a cloud as a cover over it. He withdraws from the
sight of men, making clouds and darkness His abode.
And the mountains, the pillars of the heavens, trem
ble at His presence ; and He stirreth up the sea with
His power. At a breath from His mou'th, the
heavens, once a storm cloud, are made bright and
calm ; and with His hand, He smites Rahab through,
the proud one, who made war on God.
"But lo, these deeds, great as they are, are only
the outskirts, the mere fringes of His doings — yes, a

THE GRAND FINISH 161
small whisper; who then could stand the thunder of
His mighty deeds or comprehend them?"
As is a sand grain to a mountain,
A dew drop to the ocean,
A fire fly to the blazing sun ;
So is what man knows of God compared to that
he does not know.

CHAPTER XI
TIMES OF YORE
Bellamy the First
The last thing you would expect this man Job
to do, would be to look backward. This he did with
a vengeance, although looking backward is a thing
which has been outlawed. It is a poor thing to do.
If you don't see the point ask Mrs. Lot. The per
petual "look back" will surely become a moss back.
He may wring a little satisfaction from his deeds
of yesterday but you can't build tomorrow in last
year's birds' nests.
The man who can start a good forgettery would
do his country as great a service as the one who
starts a new party. "Forget it" is the monogram
on the letter heads of the men who locate the Klon-
dikes. The retrospector is a poor prospector.
A Good Retrospect
But when a man has no prospect, he is lucky if he
has a good retrospect. Job was short on prospect
162

TIMES OF YORE 163
(the undertaker already had the measurements for
his shroud), but he was long on retrospect. The
physical in his past was all on the wreck, but his
mental, moral, social, religious account had many
bright places. What Job hadv has gone to the
scrap pile; but what Job is, is the picture he dares
to draw, to be hung up in the art gallery of
time. Outside and Inside
It's a great picture. You are safe in calling it,
time's masterpiece. You will not find this portrait
of Job in The Louvre at Paris in company with Da
Vinci's "Mona Lisa" or in Rome with Raphael's
"Sistine Madonna." But this portrait of Job has
these old worthies beaten, for it is an outside and
inside picture of a man, painted by himself.
Rubens could hold the eye and heart of the world
with his masterpiece "The Descent From the Cross,"
but have you ever seen a snapshot of Rubens' heart,
a pen picture of his soul?
Rembrandt could put on canvas his dream of power
and strength. But what master has dared to put
on canvas or on page, a picture of himself, act and
thought, hand and heart, to be held up for the in
spection of men and angels, devils and God.
The master artist may not be a master man.
Yes, the heart life of some men, who have given

164 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
the world its masterpieces in art, poetry and song,
would not look well hung up in the Holy of Holies.
Foundation Color
Notice how this Master from the plain of Shinar,
this character artist of The Land of Uz begins, how
the colors are mixed, and what he puts in for a
foundation. "Oh that I were as in the months of
old, in the days when God watched over me ; when
His lamp shined upon my head and by His light I
walked through darkness ; when His secret was upon
my tent."
Perhaps you thoughthe would put in sheep and
oxen first, the stock he held in the Camel Trust, or
the bank account he had laid up for the rainy season
of life; but he didn't.
Job had something else back there in the days
of yore, greater to him than sheep and green-backs.
"In the days when God watched over me, when the
secret of God was on my tent, when I held sweet
counsel with the Almighty, who was with me." And
it is not the loss of his sheep that he mourns first,
but the loss of his roommate — God — who as guard
ian, guide and friend was an habitual visitor at his
tent. The girt of your soul is the number of people
you love. If you have never had friends or having
had them have lost them, you are as near soul bank
ruptcy as you will ever be.

TIMES OF YORE 165
Master Friend
But Job has lost his Master friend — God. And
the thing that is breaking him down, is not the boils
on his back, but the aching void in his heart; his
confidential friend, the one who was his balancing
pole as he walked the tight rope of life, the one
who knew him in all his moods, before whom his
soul was bare — his God friend and friend God — is
gone. And in the painting of his picture he puts
first what man is apt to put last, divine friend
ship. Domestic Love
With divine friendship as a foundation, he begins
his picture — his soul portrait. And to divine friend
ship he adds domestic love. He speaks of the two in
the one breath. "When the Almighty was with me
and my children were about me." Human love is the
twin of divine; and the institution that stands for
its highest expression is not my lodge nor your golf
club, not your social set where you go through the
tiddledy-wink stunts of society, but the biggest and
divinest institution this side of the love-lit throne is
home,^be it ever so humble, there is no place like
home. If we had more home, we would need less a lot
of other clap-trap devices.
Note the personnel of Job's club. "When God
was with me and my children were about me"; the

166 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
children get into this picture before the sheep, yes
the "kids" before the goats. Job had a home in
those days, not simply a boarding house nor a place
to stay nights,' but it was a HOME — spelled in capi
tal letters. Neither business nor religion interfered
with it ; and the thing his ear is aching to hear is not
the braying of his mules, nor the bleating of his
sheep, but the voices of his children.
Money
Now comes the yellow in the picture. He gets
down now to what the average man is trying to
climb up to, the almighty dollar. And we don't
care how many dollars he puts in so long as the stor
age rooms of his being are filled with divine and
human love. The man who loves is the only man
who is safe to trust with the dollar. We don't blame
Job for thinking of his money, $10,000 dollars then
for every boil now. The love of money is the root
of all evil — yes — but money is the thing that makes
the mare go. If the wolf is barking at your door
you can't do much for men or God either. "A bank
account may be a bulldog on your front-door step in
wolf time; it may be a golden sunset in old
age." Well Fixed
Job was once on Easy Street. His notes never
went to protest. He didn't have to worry when the

TIMES OF YORE 167
rent came around. It didn't give him palpitation
of the heart when some one rang his door bell. He
didn't become a hunch-back trying to make ends
meet. Job had the dough. He didn't have to spread
his butter so thin, he could taste it only in spots.
He could even wet down his streets with olive oil.
Every rock on his plantation was an oil geyser.
Judge Job
Job, not Rockefeller, was the head of the first
Oil Trust. But he wasn't chased all over the globe
with a subpoena, as Uncle John has been to get him
into court ; on the contrary, Job was the Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court. He settled all the
troubles of the town from the dog fights to the sew
ing circle bouts. He was their honored citizen, the
first man of the land, the Judge to whom there was
no string and about whom you would never suggest
a recall. They did business in Job's court room, but his
court room was not "a shelter in the time of storm"
for Big Business. Job was no federal Judge, respon
sible to the Almighty only and that four months
after The Judgment.
Job didn't live in the crowded centers of popula
tion, where they sleep three in a bed and two in
the middle, but Job in his Monday morning court
had all the troubles he wanted to handle. A little
country town with its inflexible social traditions, its

168 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
petty animosities, its jealousies, its crude gossip
about all it can't comprehend, its rivalries on a half-
inch scale, may be as complicated and as hard a
place to live in as old Sodom itself.
No Exile
But though Job occupied the position in which
all the stones and over ripe eggs in town might have
been thrown at him, yet you don't see him dodging
once. He never had the occasion to dodge. Job
had a clean conscience, also a clean record. His
books balanced. When the investigating committee
was around, Job didn't have a sudden call to
visit a sick aunt in Canada. When he walked the
streets the Asphalt boys didn't pass remarks, but
each one got behind a telegraph pole, or stepped
into a dark alley to keep from contaminating the
atmosphere as this good and holy man passed by.
Yes, as he walked the streets of his own town, the
aged men, the city fathers, rose up and stood with
uncovered heads. Frenzied Philanthropy
And here you see Job not in some office forcing up
prices, not as a bull nor a bear on the market, but
here is the millionaire of the Land of Uz going in
and out of the alleys of life, doing good. He was not
cutting his name on cornerstones of libraries, not
endowing colleges, not establishing a peace founda-

TIMES OF YORE 169
tion, not doing some mighty stunt in the realm of
frenzied philanthropy — impersonal, high geared,
ebony polished, bon ton, kid glove charity, — wages
kept back from men, then tossed back to the com
munity under the garb of philanthropy, something
that is making the "Man with the Hoe" sick.
Overseers
Men don't want charity but they are demanding
justice, and they are speaking right out in meeting
too. There are a lot of self-appointed overseers of the
poor, these days, getting headlines in the paper.
But put in the envelopes of the wage earner, Satur
day night, what is justly his own, then the asso
ciated charities, could go out of business ; and the
frenzied philanthropy man, riding in a limousine on
Jericho's road, looking for sites for colleges and
libraries, would have to find some other way of prov
ing that he has a genuine case of the enlargement
of the heart. Giving to society what belongs to
individuals, is a form of charity which may keep
the angels up nights, figuring out its true merit ; or
it may be that the news of these "magnificent gifts"
has not yet reached the head bookkeeper of the skies.
It was the poor widow with her mite, not the plunger
with his millions, who took the medal as a gift giver
in the old days. Any thief would be a philanthro
pist, give back ten per cent, if society would put a

170 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
halo around his head instead of a halter around his
neck. This helping-hand work of Job's was not a stunt,
it was a life ; not a fit, but a habit. He did it every
day. Job didn't name his beneficiaries in his will, he
went to them in their huts or hovels. With Job's
gifts went the giver. He didn't drop them down,
but he himself dropped down, even over the man
on Jericho's road. When a poor man, oppressed
by his neighbor, cried out for help ; when an orphan
poured into his ear a tale of distress ; when a miser
able, half-clad, half-fed portion of the world's heart
ache, thrust out its hand; — yes, when the world's
dowtas and outs knocked at his front door, he
shouted "Come in !" Job had a heart for every sor
row and a hand for every need. There was no bluff
in the WELCOME on his door-mat.
Job's Hat
He says, "I put on righteousness and it clothed
me; my justice was a robe and a diadem." You
shouters for the square deal! You apostles of civic
righteousness ! You modern saviours who think you
have discovered higher heights and deeper depths to
the law of human relationship ; please take the sec
ond look at that, "I put on righteousness and it
clothed me, my justice I wore as a diadem." How

TIMES OF YORE 171
many men do you meet on the street wearing that
style of hat?
Job is not talking about his creed, his church, his
high sounding definitions of God, or what he would
do if elected to Congress ; but he is talking about his
personal relationship to his fellow men, his seven
day in the week conduct toward Tom, Dick and
Harry. There is your social democracy if you
are looking for it — not on paper but in life —
brought about, not by legislative enactment, but
burning in the heart of a man, and actualized in the
daily conduct of a man. Job was no tune-raiser on
Sunday and hell-raiser on Monday. He says :
"I put on righteousness and it clothed me; my
justice, my relationships to my fellow men, — high
and low, rich and poor, noble and ignoble, my mil
lionaire neighbor and my cow puncher — my justice
and conduct toward all men, I wore up and down the
streets of my town as a diadem."
Job's Diadem
Do you get that? Because we find it in a story
book it hardly impresses us. Here is a man who
actually made good in the very realm where so many
of us are no good. "My seven day in the week
conduct toward my fellow men, I wore as a crown
or diadem." Some headpiece for a millionaire!
If more citizens wore that kind of hat, there
wouldn't be the hot time in the old town that there is.

172 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Job's kind of a hat came high; he didn't get it at a
rummage sale. His was not the crown of a ruler, it
was the crown of a right-doing man, the only man
that ever rules.
Another thing, the weather man, or fashion man,
didn't put it out of commission. He wore it on all
occasions, at a mule trade as well as to meeting;
in fact, he ate and slept in that hat. The big thing
to Job as you looked at him was his hat. He may
have had a Kohinoor diamond in his shirt front, but
he wore a crown of conduct for a hat. He may have
had his creed in his vest pocket, but he wore his
conduct on his head.

A Big Brother
"I was eyes to the blind and feet to the lame, I
was father to the poor and the man whose case I
did not know I searched it out. (Job's legal opinions
didn't cost $1,000.00 either.) I broke the jaws of
the wicked, and plucked their spoil out of their
teeth. Unto me men gave ear and waited and kept
silent at my counsel. I chose out their way and sat
as chief, I dwelt as a king in the army — not as abso
lute monarch — ramong the host of people, but I was
the one, to whom all looked for counsel, for comfort
and help."

TIMES OF YORE 173
Kicking Ass and Dead Lion
"But" — now comes the black in the picture.
"All this is changed. The very scum of the earth
deride me. Men and mere boys rise up and curse
me. They come to this ash heap, they mock and
curse me ; men, mere outcasts of society, dwellers in
caves, feeders on herbs, children of fools, who bray
like dogs or beasts of the wood.
"But now I am their song, yea their by-word,
they abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and they
spare not to spit in my face. Because God has
loosened my cord and afflicted me, has relaxed my
vital fiber, taken away my strength and reduced me
to helplessness." Look Eliphaz, here is a man reap
ing what he sowed !
"Terrors are turned upon me; my honor and in
tegrity are tossed about as in a wind. My soul is
poured out within me, days of affliction have taken
hold upon me. I am a brother of jackals, and a
companion to owls. My skin is black upon me — my
bones burn with heat — the flesh drops away— and
the pains that gnaw me take no rest. For God has
cast me into the mire. I am become like dust and
ashes. "I cry unto Thee, Oh my God, and Thou dost not
hear me. I stand up and stretch forth my hands
and Thou meetest my petition with a stare. Thou

174 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
art turned to be cruel unto me. With the might of
Thy hand Thou persecutest me! Thou liftest me
up to the wind! Thou causest me to be tempest
tost! For I know that Thou wilt bring me to
death, yes, to the house appointed for all living."
On Picket Duty
Now bow your head, as this man reveals his
heart, his inner world; the place where thought,
aspiration, passions, the bone and sinew of life are
formed; the deep fountain out of which come the is
sues of life. Bow your head as you are entering
the Holy of Holies of his soul, the place where man
would turn the key on every man — yes, sometimes
even His Maker.
Listen! "I made a covenant for mine eyes, the
windows of my soul, the inlet through which creeps
— yea, steals — yea, darts, with the speed of the light
ning flash, the external object which becomes the
internal content of the soul, be that object the blush
of a rose, the smile of a babe or the vulgar and
sensual, which infest life.
"I made a covenant for mine eyes. I set a guard
against the uprise in my heart. I stood as master
over the passions which surge and heave and swell
within a man. How then should I think upon a maid
with the canker worm of lust gnawing in my soul?
"For what is the portion of God from above, and
the heritage of the Almighty from on high for the

TIMES OF YORE 175
man who, while refraining from committing the
unrighteous act, yet steeps his soul in unrighteous
thoughts; who hangs on memory's wall pictures
painted in the studio of perdition; whose imagina
tion is shot through, permeated with those impres
sions and passions which take hold on hell?
"Yes, I made a covenant for mine eyes, namely,
the outside world shall not pollute my inner world;
for character is not a man's word, but his thoughts ;
not what he does, but what he thinks.
"Character is not that which lies on the surface
of life, its whims, its fancies; but character is the
self buried so deep in the abyss of being that God
only can find and know it."
As a Man Thmketh
So methinks as Job daily lifted his soul in prayer,
he gave voice to that desire, the high water mark of
the heart: "Not only my words, but may the very
meditations, smolderings of my soul be acceptable
in thy sight, Oh God, so that when the X-ray of the
eternities shall shoot me through, no sin of thought
or desire shall be found lurking in any nook or
cranny of my being." "For a man is not what he
thinks he is — but what a man thinks, he is."

CHAPTER XII
JOB'S SOCIALISM
Man the World's Paradox
"Now since my heart is right, the fountain pure —
let God test the issues of my life by putting me on
the scales of Justice. Let Him try out my external
life to see if it is not the full expression of my inner
life. Let Him see if my conduct is not the measure
of my integrity."
Please notice this, before we get so far from it that
distance only lends enchantment to it, and weakens
the force of its reality. Namely : Job's social reform
was one that worked from the inside out.
Job was no reformer with a lemon squeezer going
around town trying to get blood from a turnip.
He was never seen prancing up and down a platform
pawing the air and promising the kingdom of
righteousness by the next full moon, if they would
only kill off the microbes, kick out the boss, impeach
every Judge in the land but himself, and complete
the nation's redemption by sending him and his
crowd to Congress. Job's social reform started with
176

JOB'S SOCIALISM 177
Job, not through a protest but with a pure heart.
Job knew that men with the moral leprosy were
mighty poor stuff out of which to build a social order.
He would agree with Shakespeare, who remarked in
a suffragette convention — "There is little choice be
tween rotten apples." And though Mark Twain had
a smile that could be seen a block, yet when he was
up against this thing, — the inherent virtues of hu
manity — said, "I have no abiding faith in the good
end of a bad banana."
Will Have to Come to It
The world will sometime have to see that good so
ciety is the outward expression of good hearts ; that
a social, political or economic heaven is a righteous
man or community turned inside out. Yes, condi
tions are the fruit of character. Pig sties accompany
pigs. This is axiomatic. The first word in recon
struction is, the man with the right character is
supposed to create right conditions.
His first, last and big duty is to build a kingdom
of peace and good will right in town; and if he
doesn't do it, he is either a hypocrite or has lain
down on his job. And it is right here where the
religious man has fallen down, failed to make good,
failed to give his religion an earthward expression,
failed to be the salt of the earth, which was to sweeten
and save society.

178 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Orthodox But Not Humane
The world has seen the God-ward side of religion,
but not yet the man-ward side. It has seen saved
men but not saved society. It has seen men, candi
dates for heaven, playing the very devil in life. It
has seen a lot of creed, but not enough conduct;
abundance of logic but little of life; a lot of motion
but little of progress ; oceans of holy water, teacups
of holy hearts. It has seen man jealous, yes zealous
about his formulations, definitions, religious regi
mentals ; but alas for his human relations, his man
to man conduct in the dirt and dollar scramble of
life! It is right here where the blasphemy of the
ages comes in. Religion is the science of relationship,
God-ward, man-ward. No more God-ward than it is
man-ward. And man-ward because it claims to be
God-ward. But while man has made a sublimity of
the God-ward side, he has almost made a parody of
the man-ward side.
Man has been orthodox, but he has not been hu
mane. His temple stunts are all right, but his marts
of trade stunts are under suspicion. His belief atones
for his behavior, his profits vouch for his patriotism.
So heaven looks down on the anomaly — man in the
temple a saint — on the stock exchange a bull. Not
so with Job. He was no fig tree, long on sign but
short on fruit.

JOB'S SOCIALISM 179
The Cause of Labor
He puts his finger on the very quick of the social
order, and with an eye clear to the meanings, diffi
culties, sublimities of related life, and with a pur
pose, and character strong enough to meet its every
demand, he exclaims: "Let God examine the issues
of my life. Let Him see if I despise the cause
of my man servant and my maid servant." This is
not hot air, a Labor Day oration, campaign taffy nor
making the American eagle scream on the Fourth of
July. This is getting down where people live and
speaking right out loud regarding the man and the
woman who make it possible for the world to live.
We may be too proud to fight, in some of the human
dog fights, but somebody must do the chores in this
life — the world can't live simply on poetry. It needs
pie as well as poetry. Chores
Some men must wear blisters on their hands,
though others may wear crowns on their heads.
Somebody must do the work that brings the sweat
beads to the brow. You can't run a world on froth,
titles, functions and clothes, any more than you can
fatten spring lambs on air bubbles and knot holes.
The man with the hoe, not the one with the pen

180 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
or the sword, is the Atlas of this material order. He
may not rule over it but he is under it.
All up for the dinner bucket man and the lady in
the kitchen ! The man who makes coal smoke, as
well as the one who makes holy smoke! Yes, if
Martha should go on a strike, the world would miss
her more than it would Milton.
The Ash Heap Economist
Listen to this ash heap social economist, this mil
lionaire labor leader of Uz. "Let God examine me
to see if I despise the cause of my man servant and
my maid servant." Despise the Cause. When will
the world come to know that the man who takes off
his coat and works has a Cause; that labor is not a
God-made victim for exploitation, a mere merchan
dise to be bought on the market ? When will it learn
that the capacity to produce, add to the world's
wealth, create its blessings and its necessities —
whether it is a tooth-pick or the spire of a temple —
is just as much a God-made capacity as that which
produces an Aeneid, an Emancipation Proclamation,
or a note on submarine warfare?
No Exploiter
Job struck bottom when he set forth his challenge :
"Let God see if I despise the cause of labor. Let
Him see if I am making slaves of the people, who are
doing the world's work, because the world needs

JOB'S SOCIALISM 181
work. Let him see if I have been wringing my money
from the bare backs and empty bellies of the sons of
toil, because they are 'in my employ.' " Let him
see if I give my nickles and my dimes for the heathen
to buy song books from which to sing of the sweet
by-and-by; then refuse to pay honest wages so men
may enjoy the almighty present, and put the "rake
off" in Liberty Bonds.
A Hard Nut Cracked
We don't know whether Job was a union man or a
non-union man ; whether they worked eight hours
government fashion or eighteen hours woman fashion ;
but one thing is evident, Job had the labor problem
solved, at least on his own plantation. No strikes,
lockouts, shut downs at the Job and Co. Industries.
No strikers to burn up, nor state militia as police
men to guard Job's hen coops.
It wasn't socialism, single tax, communism, or any
other kind of industrial or political concoction, that
solved for Job this big problem ; that problem which
has caused the world's heart-ache, set the classes
over against the masses, the man with the money over
against the one with the muscle. Job didn't tell us
how he made out his pay roll, Saturday nights ; how
he divided up the dollar ; how much belonged to him
and how much he handed back to the man whose sweat
of brow or vigil of brain created the dollar,

182 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
The Pit
Created the dollar? Why yes, dollars don't grow
on trees, nor do they come into existence by spon
taneous generation.
However, one would think they did when looking
at the millions made on the stock exchange. Not
a plow in sight, not a saw nor hatchet to be found;
and if Uncle Sam should walk in and present the
bunch, — no the mob— with a pick and shovel, the pit,
(not the bottomless pit) would be filled with men
dropped dead with apoplexy.
Hot Air and Water
Everybody works but the man on the stock ex
change. Speculation is his profession ; gambling with
the values honest labor produces. The manipulator
is not a money maker, he is only a money getter.
Exploitation is the word that spells our economic
perdition. Hot air and water are the stepping stones
to financial eminence.
One per cent of the people own England — seven
thousand people own Mexico. In Russia the income
tax list could be put on a souvenir postal card. In
the good old U. S. A. five per cent of the people own
ing sixty-five per cent of the wealth, and not a
blister on their whole anatomy; sixty-five per cent
of the people owning five per cent of the wealth, and
it takes a cake of sapolio to make their toilet for

JOB'S SOCIALISM 183
the evening meal. Providence puts the kettle on, you
see, but even under a democracy as well as an autoc
racy, a few fellows swipe the tea.
Forty-four families in America, each with a
greater annual income than that of one hundred
thousand of the brain, body, muscle and soul of the
"Knights of Labor," is an indication that there are
still a few in the land who are not in Job's class — •
they despise the cause of the man and the maid ser
vant. Yes, call a spade a spade. They despise the cause
of labor.
The Goat
The man who works, or especially the man who has
to work to chase the barking wolf from the door, is
their victim. Labor's extremity, Capital's oppor
tunity, is the policy in the dollar arena. Silver bug
or gold bug, sixteen to one, or seventy-six to one —
Capital has not yet reached the place where it is
the Good Samaritan on the Jericho road of life.
It dabbles in charity, while the devils chuckle with
glee at the farce ; camouflaging charity, giving as
libraries what should have been given as wages, pro
viding soup kitchens and announcing it the feast of
the contented, the individualist occupying the throne
of the altruist. But this charity dabbler is not an
altruist, he is only a civilized, modernized, politically
galvanized, creedle christianized monopolist. But

184 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
with all the splatter and splash, band wagon and
show window display, the modern Dives supplying
an extra amount of crumbs for the modern Lazarus,
has not taken the hell out of Heligoland or any other
land. For on the horizon of every land, hatched by
the heat of war, is a spectre called Bolshevism, the
antithesis of boodleism, the man who has not making
his demand upon the man who has, with a voice and
a manner which almost shake the foundation of
hell. This is the pent up passion of the ages break
ing out in one wild cry. It is not sanity — it is in
sanity, not evolution — it is revolution, not method —
but madness. It will pass (though as- a cyclone
through city or forest), when the war demon is
chased back to its den. But beneath the wreck and
ruin will be found the old, old problem of money
and muscle, master and servant.
Banquo's Ghost
The end is not yet — though Prussianism has been
chased back where it belongs. For amid the wreck
there stands a man — with a dinner pail in hand —
demanding that this world be made a democracy.
Political freedom is only the anteroom to industrial
freedom. A free ballot box beside an empty bread
box is not the basis of universal permanent peace.
Liberty, justice, equality — which spell democracy —
is this man's cry. He is a purely social propagan
dist ; not a political propagandist, for his work 'is

JOB'S SOCIALISM 185
about finished. There is nothing great today for the
statesman to do, and the average politician hardly
earns his salt. He is not a military propagandist —
no his days are numbered. Mankind is through fur
nishing the blood with which a few demagogues may
write history. This new propagandist is not a reli
gious propagandist, for his days are about num
bered. The mystic, the ecclesiastic, even the critic
have let out about all their kite string. There is
nothing new to be said at a Diet of Worms, heresy
trial or a theological seminary. The statesman, war-
man, church-man have had their try. Their, voice
and gun have been heard long and loud in the land.
Another man has arrived. A new Archimedes has
jumped out of his bath tub shouting, "Eureka."
This new man wears not robes but over-alls. His
business is not to make holy smoke but coal smoke.
He is not a man of theories but a man of affairs. He
is not studying relationships between states or worlds
but between men. "Magna Charta" is not his cry,
but "more cash."
From this man is coming the demand for democ
racy. The statesman and war-man promised him
something which they failed to deliver. The dinner-
pail man shouted when the statesman and war man
sent forth their proclamations ; yea, he poured out
rivers of blood to prove that all men had inalienable
rights to life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. But
what the dinner-pail man got was more like a joke.

186 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
He feels that there is something more coming to him,
that there is a screw loose in this democracy ma
chine. He makes the automobiles but he does not
ride in them. He creates the luxuries but he does
not enjoy them. He makes the millions but they are
banked in some other man's name. The common
man's draft on the bank of democracy is discounted
at a very high rate of interest and he is getting the
notion that democracy ought to have something to
do with pay day as well as election day.
The thing this age is up against is this: the man
who sweats is beginning to think, the man who takes
off his coat and works, feels that he has the right
to live the human life and to have the living of a man.
He is not thinking of Bunker Hill or the Diet of
Worms but of his diet of pie. He is not orating
about political freedom or religious freedom, but he
is demanding economic freedom. He is not thinking
of his ballot box but the big thing on his horizon is
his bread box, two shirts for his back and a Ford
automobile as a go-cart for his babies.
The gospel of fraternity, justice, humanity, has
struck the earth right between the feet of the com
mon man. The word equality has stuck in his con
sciousness. It is in'his dreams, songs, prayers, — it is
his bright jewel of hope. The demagogue says, "It
sha'n't be" ; the religious pettifogger says, "It can't
be." The bone and muscle man — "The servant"
says, "It can be, it must and it shall be." "I am not

JOB'S SOCIALISM 187
going to get left this time," he cries. So the maker
of money is facing the getter of money today in a
death struggle, while society, fearing a social revolu
tion cries, "What can I do to be saved — make Capi
tal and Labor cooing lovers, instead of clashing
enemies ?" Tommy Tinkers
What will make the change? Let us stop to take
a long deep breath, and wipe the cob webs from our
brain before any man attempts an answer. Gun
powder won't do it. Injunctions won't do it. Court
opinions won't do it. Arbitration committees won't
do it. Labor Unions, or Capital Unions won't do it.
Jails, gallows, assassins' bullets won't do it. Fads,
isms, Utopias dug out of Plato's brains or Pat
Dooley's brain, won't do it. Governmental control
won't do it. Self-determination of nations won't do
it. Law — "The majesty of the law" won't do it.
The Capital and Labor problem is a heart problem.
It is a matter of attitude, and not a matter of exter
nal arrangements ; a condition of heart and not a
concoction of the brain. Capital and Labor will
never get together over the council table or in a con
vention: they will have to fall in love, or they will
forever remain fallen out.
If law could start even a flirtation between Capital
and Labor, America ought to be the suburb of
heaven. We have laws enough and schemes enough

188 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
to save seventeen worlds, but how nearly have we this
thing solved today ; how often does the lamb lie down1
with the lion, except when the lamb is inside the lion ?
Congress has passed miles of laws, and manufactured
a million little signs, "Keep off the grass" ; but how
nearly has the canker worm been killed out of the
Nation's heart, yours or mine? How near is that
day when to the angelic chorus -of "Glory to God in
the highest" the world's great heart shall throb re
sponse, "Peace on earth, good will among men?"
The Real Thing
But the reason the angels hovered over the Job
farm, and sang "Peace among men," was because in
the breast of the man, who presided over the destiny
of that- little world, there beat a heart that feared
God, and loved his fellow men. The social salvation
on the Job plantation was simply but sublimely —
RELIGION REALIZED.
Religion is not a failure ; go try it for a month
and see.
Religion with Job was not a bubble of emotion,
forms, systems, holy water and dogmas, which the
church kept in cold storage; but religion with this
man was relationship — God-ward, man-ward. It was
a heart-flame, a fervor; not a fit, a passion, not
simply a prayer book. Job loved his fellow men with
the same heart and with the same power that he
loved his God. He didn't soar God-ward and fail

JOB'S SOCIALISM 189
to reach man-ward. His arm was as long as his
prayer. He was not a religionist but he was a re
ligious soul. The First Democrat
Job was a Democrat, of course a social Democrat.
Political democrats are later inventions. He was not
a democrat of the Jacksonian type, he was of the
Jesus type.
This man shared his heart with the entire com
munity, he was humane. He owed to society all he
owned in society. He despised not the cause of his
fellows, the lowest, the poorest. Listen to this man
in the morning of time, announcing his commercial
and social platform, as he stood with his index finger
pointing to one of life's downs and outs, one of time's
unfortunates, a man with a crippled limb, perverted
brain, sluggish spirit, — time's handicap. Listen,
"Did not the same God who made me, make him?"
There is where Democracy was born, in the heart
of Job, the world's first Democrat. He was the man
who knew that all men had inalienable rights, created
equal in the realm of life, not by an Act of Congress
but by the Eternal One. There was no bluff about
it, no ifs or ands about it, no cheap condescension
nor smothered contempt about it. Job loved men
more than he loved things. Mankind first, dollars
second. Can you beat it?
Job had the Golden Rule nailed to every fence post

190 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
on his farm, but the original copy was burned deep
on his own soul. He practiced "In His Steps" four
thousand years before the Nazarene made a foot
print on the sands of time.
Life More Than Raiment
"Let God examine me," he cries, "to see if I have
made gold my hope, my Rock of Ages. Let Him see
if my belly is my God; see if I have rejoiced because
my hands have gathered me much."
The philosophy, "Take no thought for your life
what ye shall eat, nor for your body what ye shall
put on" wouldn't have knocked Job silly. How he got
on to the fact that life was more than porterhouse
steak and tailor-made clothes, we don't know. Job
got the jump on his age somehow; he holds the patent
on a good many things over which other men have
shouted "Eureka." You First, Alfonso
"Let Him put me on the scales and try me, see if I
have withheld the poor from their desire." Oh the
patience of the poor, even with the viselike hand of
greed on their throats ! "See if I have withheld the
poor man from his desire; not his rights, but his
desire; not the thing which is his by law but the thing
which I could have gamed; but I stood aside and let
him gam it, said 'You first, Alfonso'." Why, com
munism was an old song with Job; he didn't allow a

JOB'S SOCIALISM 191
man within his reach to want. He would give his
last shirt, yes, clip the wool from his prize sheep to
warm any man's shivering bones. But more than
that, he sat up nights to help a struggling man reach
his desire, help him hitch his wagon to a star, yes,
reach his place in the sun. He is the millionaire who
converted frenzied finance into fraternal finance,
killing the exploitation bug and monopolistic microbe
in his own system. Spirit Not Speed
Bob Ingersoll said, "In the grand march of
civilization we can't stop the procession long enough
to pick up the cripples." Job could. He didn't have
an automobile but he had an ambulance. The test of
¦any man, any age, is not their speed but their spirit.
The ear marks of any civilization are not pyramids,
submarines, nor men mounting up on wings like eagles
but the stoop there is to it, the disposition to reach
for the downmost man and lift him to the utmost of
his being. The disposition to look at the man pick
ing rags, or begging for crumbs, not as a problem
but as a human ; and to say as you stoop over him,
"Brother, the same God that made you, made me." It
is not the creeds we spin, laws we make, prayers we
mouth, nor the fact that we were baptized with a
gnat's eye full of water, or plunged into a tank of
Holy water, whether we go to Jerusalem or Gerizim ;

192 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
but the leading question in the creed of the ages is,
"Have we a heart moved with compassion?"
The Goal
For the job the great God is working at, is not
to fill this world's head full of facts about science,
philosophy or history, nor to locate the tailor who
can make the best phylacteries, but it is to melt its
stony heart, to weave a cord of love that will bind
man to man, nation to nation, earth to God. Not to
civilize us, but to humanize us. We are civilized but
not humanized. There is a lot of the Bengal tiger in
us yet. Even with saints it is pretty much a case of
dog eat dog. Saints are great venders of words,
pious words ; but they are not the exponents of a
disposition, nor the flesh and muscle embodiments of
a passion, like the one that sent the Son of Man
staggering up Golgotha's hillside, loaded down with
the cross of His own self annihilation.
Individualism Run Mad
Annihilation is the word that spells salvation, soul
and social. It is not patch work, legislation, reform
ation, but it is self annihilation. But that has not
been a popular thing. The man who carries the coal
bag is as far from it as the one who carries the gold
bag. The under dog is no nearer this enlargement
of the heart than is the one on top. All men don't
look alike, but all men under the skin are alike. The

JOB'S SOCIALISM 193
natural heart is loaded dice and no matter how you
shuffle them, the same side turns up. That man Cain
had a large family, they live in alleys as well as
on the boulevard; and no matter where you goj you
hear that snarl of the soul, "Am I my brother's
keeper?" This is an age of individualism run mad.
The pronoun "I" stands out on our body politic like
quills on a porcupine. The Devil of Selfishness can
use most of us for a hat rack. And what prince and
pauper, priest and prodigal need is a poultice of
Divine and human love, equal parts, put under their
vests on the left side to draw out their ingrowing
affections.
The Cure
The trouble with our world is heart trouble. The
genesis of man's woe is not conditions,but character ;
not the social system but the human system. Call it
punk or religious common-place if you will — but the
fact is, if we prayed more we would fight less. If we
had more sympathy we would have less commercial
savagery. If we had more man lovers, we would need
fewer lawmakers. If we had more Golden Rule, we
would have less rule of gold. If we didn't bottle up
so much, we would bubble over more, and it is the
overflow that spells Redemption. Human Dead Seas
make human hells.
And so the man that comes along with a sure cure
for the world's heart disease, — not heart ache, but

194 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
heart disease, — puts a stretcher in it, and pulls the
puckering string out of it, is the man who is going
to establish a social order that will endure over night.
And he will not be chased up the back alley of
oblivion nor his theories placed in the museum of
antiquities and labeled, "Tried but found wanting."
To this great end, the solution of the peace prob
lem, Job made a unique — permanent contribution. It
was his heathen brain that conceived of The Parlia
ment of Man. Job was a prince of peace. But
even then he was only what every man might be, the
nations must be, the world will be. He was no
miracle, he was sublimely a man. Hands full of
money, but his heart void of hate.
The Big Man's Hour
The need of this age, this twentieth century civi
lization that has to be reconstructed, is not more
poets, better preachers, nor even wiser presidents —
but more millionaires who travel in Job's class. This
is the big man's hour of opportunity, the hour when
society can be lifted from the top, not merely pushed
up from the bottom. Has this age learned the les
son, that the old way is too expensive? It costs too
much sweat and blood for the man with the hoe to
struggle up; the man with the millions can now lift
him up. This clash with political autocracy has
revealed that the man of cash may be one of char
acter, that the head of a trust may be a man in

JOB'S SOCIALISM 195
whom the people may put their trust, that a social
sucker may become a social saviour. Big business
has made good. The dough boy and the man with
dough have saved our world. Which of the two is
going to slump? Not the dough-boy, he made a
covenant with death. They told him the world must
be made safe for democracy. He cried, "So let it be,"
and over the top he went — the first act— for autoc
racy stood across the pathway of democracy. Who
completes the play, yea, the fray ? Oh man of might,
man of millions, man of power, this is your hour.
Don't become a joke, become a Joshua! The Prom
ised Land, the goal toward which the ages have
struggled, lies beyond. Man of millions, lead thou
God's people on! All Autocrats are not dead,
they may live in Boston as well as in Berlin.
Democracy of dollars is the next trench to take.
Captain of Industry, you are the Foch. If you
break faith with those who died, "They will not rest,
though poppies grow on Flanders' field."
We suggest no scheme. We ask only that you
consider this man of your set, Job of Uz, the real
constructionist. Hear him: "I put on righteous
ness and it clothed me, my conduct I wore as a dia
dem; I despised not the cause of my man servant
and my maid servant; I withheld not the poor man
from his desire; I rejoiced not because my hands
had gotten me much."
This is compassion, not oppression ; love for man-

196 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
kind, not simply love for money ; a millionaire's pre
scription for peace. It worked in Uz, it will work
in Us. Modern Millionaire, our faith is fixed on
you. Ability plus opportunity is the measure of
responsibility. To whom much is given, from him
much is required. Meekness coupled with sanctified
might can redeem this earth. The millionaire loving
, can bring the millennium.
The Portrait Complete
Now comes the master stroke in the picture, the
line which blends all other shades and colors and
makes the profile of this man's soul stand out, not like
the old man in the mountain, but like an angel look
ing through the windows of heaven.
"Yes, let God weigh me on an even scale, not the
one upon which he weighs sunlight, dew drops and the
down on a butterfly's wing, but the one upon which
He weighs motives, passions, the secret musings of
the soul. Let Him test me and see if I, like other men,
cover my transgressions by hiding my iniquity in my
heart. Let Him look me through and see if I am a
pious hypocrite, if I am only playing a part, putting
up a bluff; my religion only skin deep. Let Him
see if I am a Dr. Jekyl and a Mr. Hyde, a white
washed sepulchre, a devil that says his prayers. No,
I am not a hypocrite, a deceiver of men, I am not a
religious bat. My life has been lived in the open, my
record is clean, in my heart there is no guile. No,

JOB'S SOCIALISM 197
I am not a wanderer in the land, chased from pillar
to post because some sin is gnawing at my heart.
No, I walked not in the councils of the ungodly, I
stood not in the ways of sinners ; but my delight has
been in the law of the Lord, to do His will and love
His creatures has been my joy day and night."
The Almighty Challenged
"Oh that I had a man to believe this ! Oh that I
had some one to hear me ! Lo ! here is my signature,
I sign my name in the white letters of truth to this
picture. I have drawn it, I stand by every line, color,
shadow, shade in it. In conduct, charity, compas
sion and chastity, in fidelity, rectitude, freedom from
love of gold, from idolatry, from hatred and harsh
treatment, in kindness and hospitality, freedom from
guile and hypocrisy, all the qualities which make up
conduct and character, the outer and the inner man,
without a blush or a quiver of soul I pronounce my
self a true man. Lo, here is my picture, now let
the Almighty answer me."

CHAPTER XIII
THE VOICE FROM THE CLOUD
Jehovah's Vindication
There is a stir in the court room of the skies. He
who giveth no account of Himself, who tells not
even the angels what He does or why He does it ; He,
Jehovah, comes down from the serene altitudes of
His eternal abode, riding on the wings of the wind,
thundering with His voice, sending forth His light
nings, causing the solid globe to tremble beneath the
tread of His feet. He steps into the circle of this
ash heap; He comes near to this mound of misery
and heartache; He stands in the presence of this
man with a wrecked life and a crushed soul, — the
evidence that God doesn't know how to run a world
— and He accepts the challenge thrown down by this
man. God on the Wreck of Time
If you know of a more intense moment in history,
tell me! This is not Christ in Pilate's Judgment
198

THE VOICE FROM THE CLOUD 199
Hall, the victim of passion and superstition; but it
is God on the wreck of time, justifying Himself as
God. But notice! He hasn't a word of pity for Job,
not a word of apology for Himself, not a syllable
escapes His lips in explanation as to why things are
so and so. He doesn't say a word about dead sheep,
oxen, camels, children, or even boils. He doesn't even
deign to look at the picture, this character artist of
the plain of Shinar has drawn, and as we have said
before, there is only one that surpasses it, for beauty,
character, power, essential divinity. But with the self
respect of the Infinite God, — though standing in the
presence of this tragedy of time — jealous not for
His power but for His character, He demands :
"Who is this that darkeneth council? Who is this
that is trying to pry open the mystery box of the
eternities? Who is he that is doubting the justice
of this universe? Who is trying to define life with
his little words of wisdom?"
"You say you want your case tried, that you care
not whether I assail you or defend myself? "Well, I
choose the latter, says God. "Now gird up your
loins like a man, like a valiant hero, as you claim
to be, a man whose mouth is full of words, and head
full of wisdom. Stand forth now in this arena and
let us see."

200 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Some Leading Questions
"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the
universe, this material mechanism that fills the arms
of abysmal space?
"Who was it that drew up the plans and specifica
tions, stretched the line of infinitude upon it, de
termining how far the east was to be from the west?
"Who laid the corner-stone thereof, the day when
the morning stars sang together and all the sons of
God shouted for joy?
"Who was it that shut the sea up with doors, and
said to its proud waves 'thus far shalt thou come but
no farther.'
"Is it you who calls the day forth, telling the sun
when to arise and cast his rays upon the earth?
"Have the Gates of Sheol, the abiding place of
the dead, been opened up to you ; and do you know
the length and breadth of the earth?
"Do you cause the tender grass to grow? Are you
the" father of the rains ? Is it your fingers that mold
the dew drops and your command that calls forth
the ice and the hoar frost of heaven?
"Can you take the cluster of Pleiades and pull
them together like a bunch of grapes ?
"Can you snap the chain of light upon which the
constellation of Orion is strung and scatter them
apart?" Look at Job, mouth wide open, eyes bulging, knees

THE VOICE FROM THE CLOUD 201
shaking. "Of course you know the ordinances of the
heavens, you simply speak the word and the clouds
pour down for you their abundance of rain.
"You know the path to the mansion where light
dwells, and the cave where darkness is stored up ; and
it is your feet that lead them to the uttermost bounds
of space.
"It is your hand that feeds the lion and raven, by
your wisdom the hawk soars and the eagle mounts on
high." Muzzled
Up goes one of Job's hands. About seven tons of
conceit have been knocked out of him in three minutes.
He is up against something else now than a talking
machine. This is not an ash heap debating club —
Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar shooting the air full of
holes over dead sheep, oxen and the stumped toes in
life. Job cries, "Behold I am mean, I am small, I am
of no account." He has not lost the sense of his suf
fering, but he is beginning to lose the sense of his own
self-sufficiency — a hard thing to get out of a man's
system. He cries, "What shall I answer thee ? I lay
my hand upon my mouth."
Ah, Job ! that is the place to put it. You have been
feeling your head these past days and the more
you felt it the more it swelled. Now put your hand
right over your mouth and stop that flow of gas.

202 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Job says : "I have spoken once, yea, twice." Yes,
I guess he has. He hasn't been doing anything else
but talk. Now he says, "I will be silent." The pangs
of pain grip him, twist his body into a knot, but
he chokes a sob and gasps, "I will be silent." Then
he lifts his great big hand, from which a finger is
gone and the flesh is dropping, and he places it right
over his mouth; and with eyes, in which there is
starting the tear of true repentance, he looks up for
a moment into the face of his God.
This scene almost makes your heart stop. It
wasn't much that the Prodigal cried, "Father I have
sinned against heaven and in Thy sight." It wasn't
much for a thief on a cross to cry, "Lord remember
me." "Help me or I perish" has often rung out
amidst the storm of life ; but this is different, this is
greater, this is diviner. This is not a sinner crying
for salvation, it is a self-pronounced saint in the
presence of his God.
This is the moment loaded with destiny. This is
dooms-day, leading either to glory or to gloom.
This is the third vision necessary in leading a soul
through the entanglement of life. This is a vision,
not of a Redeemer, not of the meaning of the sadness
and the madness of life ; but the moment when a man
gets a vision of himself, when there breaks through
the crust of man's self-sufficiency — as thick as armor
plate — the consciousness of his utter insufficiency.
It is the moment when he measures himself, not by his

THE VOICE FROM THE CLOUD 203
opinion of himself, but as he stands up beside the
Eternal God.
Job trembles like an aspen leaf, as he feels the
thud of that heart of his, in which he said there
was no guile. He drops his head in shame as he
hears the echo of his oft-repeated claims to goodness.
Yes, he takes that picture, the best that mortal man
had ever drawn, compared with which the character
portrait of a Moses, Abraham, David, Isaiah would
look poor indeed; and he would cover the picture
with his rags, yes tramp it in the dust at his feet to
hide it from the gaze, the searching gaze, of Him,
the Judge of souls. And with bowed head, closed
eyes, sealed mouth, he stands in silence and listens.
Driving It Home
"Wilt thou disannul My judgments? Wilt thou
condemn me that thou mayest be righteous? Do
you tear me from the throne of the universe and place
yourself there? Come look up! Speak up! Hast
thou an arm like God? Canst thou thunder with a
voice like His? Do you uphold the worlds with the
power of your might, do you speak and the thing is
done? "Now deck thyself with excellency and dignity.
Array thyself with glory and beauty. Put on the
robes, not of a priest nor a king, but the royal robes
of Deity, of the eternal, omnipotent God. Pour forth
the over-flowings of thine anger!

204 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
"Behold everyone that is proud of heart, man or
nation, and abase them ! Look to every nook and
corner of the earth ! Tread down the wicked in their
places ! Hide them in the dust and make them as
though they had never been !
"If you can do this, if your eye sees all, and your
brain knows all, and your arm is sufficient unto all;
if you can tear down wickedness and upbuild
righteousness ; if you can cleanse, purify, sanctify
the passions that surge in one man's soul; then will
I extol thee, then will I render praise unto thee, then
will I confess unto thee that thine own right arm
can save thee." Waterloo
Up go both of Job's hands. He is knocked com
pletely out. He doesn't bite back like an adder, he
doesn't blaspheme nor curse, though his pride is
crushed ; but he throws up both hands. He makes
unconditional surrender. The angels shout "Glory !"
Hell is silent and dumb, because defeated. Defeated ?
Yes ! Defeated ! This ash heap victory is a com
panion victory for Calvary. For this victim of the
tragedy of life, this tried and tested man, forgetting
all about dead sheep, oxen, children and boils, uncon
scious of the pain that racked his body and the ca
lamities that had wrecked his life, cries out :
"I didn't know Thee, 0 my God! I didn't know
Thee. I cursed my day and I cursed my world. I

the Voice from the cloud 205
spit the venom of criticism in Thy face, but I didn't
know, I didn't know The One who sits on the throne
of the universe, and who looks through the telescope
that scans the entire horizon of being. I knew Thee
only by the hearing of the ear. I saw Thee only
through the thick mist and the deep mysteries
of life. I sat on this ash heap and tried to reason
up to Thee." Opened Eyes
"But now mine eyes have been opened, the scales
are fallen and I see Thee in Thy true beauty, Thy
true greatness, Thy true self. Wherefore I abhor
myself. I loathe my words. I am a creature unfit for
Thee. Thou art holy, wise, just and good."
And with that soul burst of confession, Job flung
himself prostrate to the ground, he stretched his six
feet of emaciated self across that ash heap, — the
epitome of the world's instability and man's insuffi
ciency; and cried: "Now I repent before Thee, O
my God, in dust and in ashes."
St. Helena
Job, the Napoleon of the Ash Heap? Yes, in its
supremacy and also its utter insufficiency, in its
glory, also in its ignominy. The Napoleon of France
had his Austerlitz. He was a master man. He made
the world tremble, bow and plead. He dangled
crowns from his belt as an Indian chief would scalps.

206 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
He was the Emperor, a classic in self-sufficiency —
but when stretched on his back on bleak and barren
St. Helena, looking off into space, he sees not the
ghosts of men whose hearts' blood he spilled. He
sees not the grim but grinning face of Wellington, his
conqueror, but he sees as he exclaims, "Oh the abyss
that lies between my soul's deep need and the eternal
kingdom of Jesus Christ!"
The end of every Napoleon in life is just the same.
No matter where or how he plays his part, whether
it is in the realm of muscle or mind, whether it is
carpeting the earth with dead or with daises, whether
it is chasing kings out of town or ordering the
Almighty around in town, every Napoleon — self-
sufficient man — will have his St. Helena. For the
Emperor of the skies has issued His ultimatum —
every knee must bow and every tongue confess. It
is wisdom to do that necessary thing before we reach
St. Helena — because St. Helena may be next door
to hell.
In the march of time, St. Helena seems to be the
station where our millionaire, Napoleonic age has
arrived. Will it get its eyes open or will it pass on
to outer darkness? Two alternatives confront us,
either prostrate ourselves or make the plunge. Our
greatness and our goodness have gone to our heads.

CHAPTER XIV
PARADISE REGAINED
Heart vs. Head
It is all over now but the shouting. We have
wandered around in this labyrinth of mystery, the
soul's Mammoth Cave. If you have found anything,
it has not been through your intellect but through
your heart. Life is not explained in any man's text
book. With the mind you simply analyze, with
the heart or affection you realize.
"I knew Thee only by the hearing of the ear, now
mine eye seeth Thee." This is not the leading plank
in a creed. It is the joyous shout of the man, farther
back, deeper down, than the one operating on the
scale of five senses. Job has worked his way through
the mystery of life, not with his intellect as a bat
tering ram, but with his heart as a sensitized plate;
a hint that there may come a time for the so-called
Thinking World to give its intellect a vacation ; and
though the pen is mightier than the sword, the heart
can out-run them both in leading a man or the race
out into God's daylight, 207

208 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
Scholasticism may be spiritual somnambulism and
while the thing may not lead to high treason, causing
a man to betray his country, it may lead to libel in
high society, causing a man to slander his Maker, the
One whose self-appointed task is to run this universe,
including the Job Plantation.
The Time to Bow
In the scene just closed, perhaps the most unique
in human history, we have this mighty man of Uz,
on his face before The Mighty One of the skies. Job
on his face before God, even on the wreck of time.
We could say, "Let the curtain drop here." Drop
here ? Yes. For no matter where man and his Maker
may meet, the proper thing for man to do, even if he
has given his body to be burned and his goods to feed
the poor, is to bow, bow his body and his soul. Man
mortal some day will stand, yes, have the right to
stand, erect in the presence of his God; but it will
not be until he becomes man immortal, changes
the groveling form of the terrestrial for the glory
and expansiveness of the celestial, his rags for a
robe. So when the Eternal comes to earth to visit
His work shop, it is time for all heads to bow.
A Big Libel Case
But strange and intense as this scene is, God says
not a word to the prostrate Job before Him ; but He
turns upon his three tormentors, Eliphaz, Bildad and

PARADISE REGAINED 209
Zophar; saying "My wrath is kindled against you,
for ye have not spoken of Me the thing that is
right." Yes, before Paradise was regained, the court
room had to be opened and the first big libel case of
history is on the docket. God is the plaintiff, these
three talkers are the defendants and the indictment
is libel. "Ye have not spoken of Me the thing that is
right. Your thrust at Job was a thrust at Me. Your
suspicion of Job was an insinuation against Me.
Your philosophy of the world was a misstatement of
the way I run the world. My wrath is kindled
against you." Settled Out of Court
It seems this story is to end under a cloud, the
great drama of life is to end with God a prosecutor
of man. But no, the case was settled out of court,
as all human and Divine suits can be and should be.
Repentance was the strange thing that atoned for
the damage, the magic word that dismissed court, and
will change the outcome of the moral universe. Eli
phaz, Bildad, and Zophar, the mystic knot un-
tanglers, driving a herd of bulls and rams, as they
did, through the streets of Job's town to offer a
burnt offering, is a different scene from the one of a
few days since, of their coming with their pockets
full of pellets of goodness, and their humming-bird
like brain full of theories for running a universe,
ninety-nine per cent of which was blasphemy of God,

210 THE MILLIONAIRE OF UZ
and the incrimination of their fellow man. They hit
the sawdust trail, not as prodigals but as wind-.
jammers, not as drunkards but as dogmatists, not as
the warden of a Siberian prison but as men who
would make a barbed wire pen for the Eternal, hob
bles for the soul of man and place his free spirit in
the dungeon called My Opinion.
Cowboys
If all such lie-bellers, running loose in the world
today, claiming first hand information from the coun
cils of the Eternal, were brought up, we think it
might block business on Broadway, as these dogma-
makers drive their herds to the place of sacrifice.
And this is the grand review the world waits to see,
not that of victorious doughboys, but vicious
dogma-boys, intellectualists, men who could make a
world if they only had the dirt, turn to cowboys,
coming to the ash heap, an acknowledgment of man's
insufficiency. Oh, intellect, thou art efficient, but not
sufficient. It is not the thinking brain, it is only the
loving heart that sees.
The Coming Time
When the procession of bullock-driving dogmatists,
theorists, zealots reach the ash heap, the world will
be ready for one of the sublime scenes of time; the
persecutor repenting, the persecuted forgiving, God
rejoicing for His children are one.

PARADISE REGAINED 211
The Passing of the Temporal
Paradise then will be regained, for man though
born to trouble, is not born to everlasting trouble.
This is hardly thinkable. An everlasting ash heap
would be a poor monument to the skill, power and
glory of a God.
And man, though he becomes a red-handed perse
cutor on the road to Damascus, yet Damascus road
is not one without a turning; a voice may be heard,
man's eyes can be opened. Yes, headaches and heart
aches, clash and strife, are only incidental, for man
now is only in the making; his stature will be at
tained ; he will become a man ; and the ash heap will
be removed from the stage of time.
Timber for the Eternities
So our story seems to end where it began. Job, a
happy, prosperous, God-fearing and man-loving
man. But note, the change is in the inner Job, for
his heart is purer, faith stronger, character fuller.
He has come out of the smelting pot of time, pure
gold. If the Maker of time wants to run an eternity
He has good material with which to begin. "For our
. afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for
us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."