Excerpted from A Nation Wrestles with God: American Prophets, Philosophers, and Firebrands, edited by Ilan Stavans. Published by Restless Books.
As the first quarter of the twenty-first century draws to a close, it is enough to listen surreptitiously in a sports arena, a restaurant, or a high-school hallway to the way people speak to acknowledge the versatility of the word god in day-to-day parlance, both in so-called “highbrow” English and in the many vernaculars. Often disconnected from religious meanings, god is used as an intensifier, an interjection, or a slang term in a variety of contexts. These expressions are often disconnected from their religious origins and can carry a range of meanings, from surprise to affirmation. For instance, “Oh my god,” or “OMG,” or “God, that’s crazy.” Or “Thank God,” as an expression of relief or gratitude for a positive outcome. Or “God forbid,” used with the hope that a particular outcome does not occur. There is also “Goddam” to convey frustration or anger. And “On God”: a slang term—abbreviated as “ONG” when texting—popularized in African-American Vernacular English and social media, emphasizing sincerity or truthfulness, similar to “I swear to God.” “God’s gift”: a sarcastic idiom used to describe a person with an inflated ego who believes they are perfect or highly desirable. “Play God”: to act as if one has unlimited or divine power, often by controlling the fates of others. And “God-awful”: an adjective used to describe something as very unpleasant or terrible. And there is “Gosh,” “Golly,” “Goodness,” and “Jeez” (for Jesus) or “Jeez Louise.”
At any rate, in the 1830s, when Noah Webster, who spent his life updating his lexicon, was approaching old age (he died in 1843), a new sensibility took hold. The New England Transcendentalists—a group of writers, philosophers, and social reformers centered around Concord and Boston in Massachusetts—believed in the primacy of individual conscience, the divinity of nature, and the potential for personal spiritual awakening beyond traditional religion and materialism. There is much that, in retrospect, could be said about the link between Transcendentalism and Eastern religions, especially the connection between nature and the divine. But the New England practitioners, at their core, were sternly intellectual, their quest filtered through ideas and less through emotion. As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it: “Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.” I like to think of Transcendentalism as a movement of self-affirmation that embraced individualism, even—and especially—when it was misunderstood. There is nothing more American than this.
The leading figures of Transcendentalism were Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Margaret Fuller. A Unitarian minister who served as a junior pastor at the Second Church in Boston between 1829 and 1832, Emerson believed that truth and moral insight come from within, not from external authorities like the church and government. He believed that “All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen.” Emerson argued that intuition should be praised over rationalism and empiricism, and that nature should be seen as a living symbol of the divine and a pathway to spiritual understanding.
In contrast, Thoreau—best known for the essay “Civil Disobedience” (1849) and his book Walden (1854), the autobiographical reflection on his experience (two years, two months, and two days) in a cabin he built in the woodlands near Walden Pond, on property owned by his friend Emerson—lived out the values of simplicity, individualism, and protest. He looked for God in nature and in the act of self-reliance. He believed that “There is more of God, and divine help, in my little finger, than in idle prayer and trust.” He wrote, “God himself culminates in the present moment, and will never be more divine in the lapse of all the ages.” Indeed, Thoreau’s view of God was deeply intertwined with his love and study of nature, leading him to a personal, experiential, and somewhat unconven- tional spirituality. He wasn’t a traditional Christian but rather believed in a divine presence immanent in the natural world, often referring to it as God. He saw God as an ever-present force, culminating in the present moment, and emphasized a God of love and potential rather than of judgment or wrath.
As for Fuller, she was raised in a Unitarian household, meaning she was exposed early to liberal theology. Yet she became disillusioned with the moralistic, patriarchal God of mainstream religion. She resisted the idea of a distant, judgmental deity and instead pursued a God of inner light and universal truth. In her writings—especially in her 1845 book Woman in the Nineteenth Century—Fuller yearned for a divine presence that could reconcile reason and emotion, masculine and feminine, freedom and duty. Her God was often more symbolic than personal, but still deeply spiritual. Influenced by Emerson and German idealists, Fuller often embraced a pantheistic view, where God was intrinsic in nature and the human soul. Her inner conflicts often reflected a desire to find moral certainty without dogma.
An aesthetic flourished around the Transcendentalists, which extended to include writers such as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Edgar Allan Poe, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, and, in his own category, Mark Twain. While these authors are quite different from each other, there is a feeling of exaltation, especially around a noninstitutional view of the divine, that permeates their oeuvre. Whitman’s religious views were complex and unconventional, drawing from various sources rather than adhering to a single established faith. Although he was exposed to Christianity and even had some early Quaker influences, he eventually developed his own unique spiritual outlook, often described as pantheistic and humanistic. He rejected traditional Christian doctrines like the divinity of Jesus and the authority of organized religion, yet he deeply respected the religious impulse and incorporated elements from various traditions into his poetry.
While Hawthorne did not adhere to any particular organized religion, he possessed a strong religious sensibility, and his works frequently explore themes of sin, guilt, and divine judgment. He was not a churchgoer, but his writings show a deep engagement with religious ideas and imagery, as in The Scarlet Letter (1850), which presents a critical view of the rigid, unforgiving, and often hypocritical nature of the Puritan religion as a governing institution in colonial America. The novel depicts Puritan society as drab, confining, and narrow-minded, stifling individuality and suppressing natural strengths. Hawthorne also highlights the severity of the Puritanical code of law, where religious beliefs are intertwined with legal punishments, leading to harsh and unjust treatment of those deemed sinful. He portrays some key Puritan figures, like Arthur Dimmesdale, as hypocritical and corrupt. While outwardly pious, Dimmesdale harbors a hidden sin, and through him, Hawthorne exposes the hypocrisy of those who judge others while concealing their own flaws. The restrictive nature of the Puritan religious institution even impacts the children, whose play is restricted and reflects their fear and intolerance of those who are different.
In contrast, Emily Dickinson’s relationship with God was complex and nuanced, characterized by both belief and doubt. She wrote: “They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.” While she never formally joined a church and expressed skepticism toward certain religious doctrines, her poetry demonstrates deep engagement with religious themes and a personal, albeit unconventional, approach to faith.
Another key religious thinker in the mid-1850s was Henry Ward Beecher, the brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852). (Abraham Lincoln is famously—though perhaps apocryphally—reported to have greeted Harriet Beecher Stowe by saying: “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.”) Henry Beecher’s views of God evolved from the strict, fire-and-brimstone theology of his father, Lyman Beecher, into a more loving and merciful interpretation. He emphasized God’s love and forgiveness, believing that it was more effective in drawing people to faith than fear of damnation. He rejected the Calvinist idea of total depravity and questioned the existence of hell, focusing instead on social improvements and humanity’s capacity for enjoyment.
For his part, Twain seems to have maintained a bitter friendship with God. Or maybe they were frenemies. He said, with usual sarcasm: “Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” He was obsessed with the problem of evil throughout his life. Twain was raised in a Presbyterian household in Missouri and was familiar with the Bible, which he referred to extensively—often satirically—in his later writings. Though he flirted with belief in God in his youth, as he grew older and experienced personal tragedies (including the deaths of his wife and children), Twain’s tone grew more skeptical, angry, and ironic. He criticized organized religion and what he saw as the hypocrisy, cruelty, and absurdity of Christian doctrine. And he questioned the benevolence of God, the justice of eternal damnation, and the morality of religious institutions.