Often, if his name isn’t completely
forgotten, it is ridiculed. Neither should be the case.
Of course, you might easily know someone
with his name. A few years ago there was
a vice-presidential candidate with the name, but since he lost, it is likely
few remember. But had you lived in the
American northeast during the 1840s, the name William Miller might have
inspired either your devotion or your disdain.
William Miller was born in
Massachusetts in 1782 into a farming family whose ancestors had settled in New
England in the mid-seventeenth century. While still an adolescent, Miller turned away
from his mother’s Baptist faith. Although
circumstances denied him a college education, Miller was a voracious reader and
this trait led him to books by Voltaire, Hume, Paine, and Ethan Allen, books
advocating a philosophy popular on many American campuses in the early nineteenth
century, Deism. Deism says God remains uninvolved in the world—there are no
miracles and certainly God does not act in history. Jesus might have been a
good moral teacher but was not the Son of God.
Miller used his oratorical skills and
wit to denounce Christianity and advocate what he believed to be a more
rational understanding of the world. In
addition to maintaining his farm in East Poultney, Vermont, where he had moved
after his 1803 marriage, Miller became involved in local politics, eventually
being elected as constable, deputy sheriff, and justice of the peace. During the War of 1812, Miller, whose father
had fought in the Revolutionary War, became a captain in the Vermont militia.
Witnessing the violence of battle in
which some of his own men were killed caused him to think about death and the
afterlife. Confronted with this evidence
of his mortality, intensified by the deaths of two siblings, Miller recognized
his spiritual need and, in 1816, he committed himself to Christ. Believing he
would likely be more faithful if he lived near his devout mother, he moved his
family back to Low Hampton, New York.
Miller now turned his appetite for
learning to the Bible. In time, he became a passionate student of
prophecy. His study led him to conclude
Christ was coming soon, very soon. At
first, he shared this convictions with only a very few friends. Finally, they persuaded him to go public.
Miller was licensed as a Baptist preacher and began to publish and preach his
conclusions. In particular, he preached
his conviction Christ would return around 1843 (in the early days he would not
be more specific).
With the help of Boston’s Joshua
Himes, pastor turned publicist, Miller attracted thousands of followers who
fully expected Christ’s return. Through newspaper articles, pamphlets, books,
and public appearances Miller’s views were spread through New England and
beyond. Because Miller’s lectures were
frequently accompanied by revivals, pastors who did not necessarily accept his
conclusions invited him to speak, hoping their congregations would experience
awakening.
Not every evangelist welcomed
Miller’s notions. Evangelist Peter
Cartwright complained about “self-deceived modern Millerites” who “would even
set the very day God was to burn the world” disturbing his audiences with their
predictions of judgment. Charles Finney
also believed Miller was in error and, on one occasion, confronted Miller after
hearing his lecture.
As the 1830s came to a close, some of
Miller’s closest followers began urging him to announce a date for Christ’s
return. Finally, he said Christ would
likely return in March 1843.
When that didn’t happen, Miller initially
hesitated set another date. But Samuel
Snow, one of his closest followers, announced Christ would return 22 October
1844. Finally, on October 6th,
Miller publicly agreed. Once again,
his followers were convinced he was right.
Some of the stories told about “Millerites” are part of the folklore of
American church history.
While some of his followers may have
sold their businesses or failed to plant crops that year, there is no evidence
they gathered on hillsides the night of the twenty-first wearing homemade
“Ascension Robes.” What is known is that
his followers suffered what they came to call “the great disappointment.”
Scholarly estimates of how many
“Millerites” there were vary from 30,000 to 100,000; however, Hudson and
Corrigan suggest Miller had about 50,000 committed followers waiting for Christ
that October day with some one million more who were “skeptically
expectant.” In any case, there were a
lot of disappointed people on October 23, 1844.
Some of Miller’s followers stood by him, some returned to their former
denominations, some joined other distinctively American groups, some helped
form the new Adventist denominations, some abandoned Christianity.
Miller finally acknowledged he had
been mistaken, although Gary Land says he occasionally blamed his
miscalculations on “manmade” mistakes in Biblical chronology. Whatever the explanation, Miller never again
made specific predictions; though, until his death in 1849, he continued to
believe Christ’s coming was very near.
Miller’s escapades undoubtedly
brought a degree of ridicule and scorn on Biblical Christianity in America. Nevertheless,
Dr. J. Edwin Orr’s claim that the Miller episode abetted the spiritual malaise marking
American Christianity in the early1850s is open to debate. American Christianity has always experienced
fluctuations between periods of rapid growth (revivals) and periods of
stability (or, perhaps, stagnation); in fact, the years 1844-47 were, according
to Richard J. Cowardine, one of five periods of “marked decline” between 1793
to1865. So, the spiritual plateauing of
the 1850s might have occurred even if Miller had never ventured from his farm.
At the same time, revivals, in
general, and millennialism, in particular, were criticized by mental health specialists (yes, they were around in the
mid-nineteenth century). In the years
immediately following “the Great Disappointment,” physicians sometimes
diagnosed fearful, anxious patients as suffering from “Millerism.”
But it is unfair to write off William
Miller as a religious crank, an eccentric who had, as the British might say,
“lost the plot.”
To begin with, Miller was not the
only religious leader to yearn for a different future. Jonathan Edwards opined that the spiritual
fervor born in the Great Awakening, coupled with missionary efforts to convert
the Jews and “the heathen,” might culminate in the appearance of Christ’s
Kingdom about the year 2000. Charles
Finney, a critic of Miller, once suggested the millennium might be very
close. But, as post-millennialists,
neither would have marked a specific date on the calendar. Miller, having embraced the newly popular
pre-millennialism, was more susceptible to the calendar-marking temptation.
Of course, he would not be the last to
succumb. In my files, I have a little
booklet entitled “88 Reasons Why Christ Will Come in 1988” and more recently we
saw Harold Camping’s disciples promoting 21 May 2011 as “Judgment Day.” Though
few “who have longed for his appearing” have been as specific as Miller (or
Camping) in their predictions, many have come very close to setting the date.
Above all, the yearning for Christ’s
Return is not to be faulted. That
yearning has been part of the Christian make-up since the beginning. The strength of the desire might vary from
Christian to Christian but I think it safe to say there were Christians in
every age who echoed Paul’s prayer, “Come, Lord Jesus.” Even post-millennialists looked forward to
the day when “Christ’s great Kingdom shall come at last” because it would
eventually usher in the King’s appearance.
Then, too, it is only fair to
remember that Miller’s goal in declaring the imminent return of Christ was the
salvation of souls. He wanted to see his
family, his neighbors, and the multitudes outside his community turn to Christ
and be assured of salvation whether they faced death or lived to greet the
coming Lord. For Miller, his study was
no academic exercise in pursuit of the arcane; it was of eternal significance,
not only for himself but also for everyone who heard him.
Perhaps the denomination carrying the
greatest amount of Miller’s ecclesiastical DNA, the Seventh Day Adventist
Church, owes its commitment to worldwide missions to a man who never intended
to found a denomination—perhaps because he felt he did not have the time.
Despite Miller’s admirable desire to
see converts, his story remains a cautionary tale.
His story reminds us of the potential
hazards of doing Bible study apart from the checks and balances of the larger
Christian community. Open dialogue with
more seasoned Bible students might have saved Miller from error. In saying Miller used “nimble arithmetic” to
reach his conclusions, Winthrop Hudson (perhaps unintentionally) implies Miller
was guilty of cooking the books; in this case the books of Daniel and The Revelation. In wholeheartedly endorsing the interpretive
key, popular with some teachers in England, which equates one day in Daniel’s
vision with one 360-day year of history, Miller had discovered a handy tool for
unpacking a puzzling section of Scripture.
The problem is, such interpretive keys and handy tools lull us into
believing we have unraveled passages that have stumped the best Christian minds
for centuries.
Miller went further than the English
prophecy students, taking their notions to what he believed to be their logical
conclusions.
Miller not only developed his
perspectives in isolation, once he published them he was deaf to the criticisms
and concerns of foes and friends.
Unfortunately, as the 1840s approached, Miller, who did not listen when
he should have, did listen when he should not have. He listened to those urging him to set a
date.
Speaking in an 1836 lecture, Miller commented
on his computation Miller, offering the seemingly modest, “If this calculation
is correct” but quickly adding “—and I think no one can doubt it….” But Miller
failed to appreciate how there might be those who did not doubt his math but
did doubt the implications he drew from his calculations. At times, this
self-confidence prompted him to believe any who disagreed with him were simply
uninformed. So, instead of sitting down
with Finney to discuss the evangelist’s objections, Miller gave him a copy of
his book, assuming that reading it would win him to the cause.
At other times, Miller seemed to
believe those who did not accept his predictions were not so much uninformed as
spiritually suspect. This attitude was
exacerbated by the tendency of Miller and his closest associates to see the
revivals following his lectures as divine endorsement of his message.
Like many before and after him, some
famous and some not so famous, Miller struggled with saying, “I was
wrong.” Had he said so after the failed
1843 prediction, his reputation would have been very different. That he allowed himself to be persuaded to
support the October 1844 prediction assured he would forever be linked to “the
Great Disappointment” and its impact on the American churches.
Years ago I heard of a pastor who
ended every sermon with, “But, then again, I could be wrong.” While it may not be good preaching practice
(and I don’t insist the story is true), the thought should never be foreign to
a preacher. When Miller
finally admitted his error, it was too late to save his reputation.
Miller was “self-educated,” as was a
young lawyer named Lincoln who opened his law office the year of the Great
Disappointment. But being self-educated
does not explain Miller overstating his case and, consequently, leading
thousands to embrace a false hope
The 2007 film X Files: I Want to Believe brought special agents Fox Mulder and
Dana Scully back to movie theaters. The
phrase “I want to believe” joined “The truth is out there” in expressing the
vision of the show’s fans and UFO enthusiasts alike. But this desire to believe is not limited to
those looking to the skies for evidence we are not alone.
Infused with an “I-want-to-believe”
attitude, we may be resistant to evidence contrary to our dreams or be set on
seeing “signs” supporting our hope. Should
a nerdy sophomore interpret the cheerleader’s casual smile as an invitation to
ask her to a dance, he may be momentarily embarrassed. Should a religious leader so much want
something to be true that prudence is jettisoned, there can be far-reaching
consequences.
Miller, like many other prophecy
students, scanned the news for evidence the end was near. His letters and papers reveal he saw the 1838
conflict between Turkey and Egypt as a sign the Ottoman Empire would soon collapse. The fall of Turkey, Miller and his followers opined,
would prove the sixth trumpet blast mentioned in Revelation 9:13 had occurred. Though Miller, himself, did not mention it in
lectures, some of his followers did. But
Turkey was not defeated and, supported by the European powers; the Ottoman
Empire did not fall. Even though Miller
had not publically endorsed the interpretation of the event, some of the
ridicule the press heaped on the movement was directed toward him. Shortly after the Egypt/Turkey debacle,
Miller announced his Biblical calculations were sufficient evidence of Christ’s
imminent return; he did not need further corroboration. He was ready, then, to make his most famous
and confident prognostication.
When Miller began his work, America
was still a young nation, a nation in which a self-educated farmer had as much
right to speak about religious issues as a bishop with multiple degrees. America’s unprecedented religious freedom led
to rapid growth for groups like the Methodists and the Baptists who were open
to “evangelical democracy,” to use David Rowe”s phrase. This rapid growth, associated as it was with
the winds of revival, encouraged some American evangelicals to believe the
nation could become “the city set on a hill” the Puritans dreamed of. But as the nineteenth-century moved into its
fourth decade, many evangelicals recognized, as the Puritans had recognized in
their day, that not everyone was committed to building a godly nation.
By the 1830s evangelicals…faced dilemmas created by their
own achievements. Most troubling was the
fact that successful recruitment among the general population had not
transformed the United States into the Kingdom of Christ. Revival had done wonders, the spread of major
denominations had created the largest bodies of nonestablished Christians in
the world, and voluntary societies were reaching into almost every nook and
cranny of the land. But the nation,
stubbornly, would not be saved. (Mark Noll, America’s God: From Jonathan Edwards to Abraham Lincoln, p.
184. Emphasis added.)
Confronted with that reality,
post-millennialists confident in the power of the gospel kept preaching and
working to change society. The newly
popular pre-millennialists confident in the power of sin looked for a heavenly
invasion to set things right. That is too
simplistic a distinction between the two views of the Kingdom but there is
little doubt some pre-millennialists tended to be pessimistic about efforts to
improve society.
Did this help nurture an
I-want-to-believe spirit in some of Miller’s followers? Having seen the horrors of war and
experienced the seductive power of godless philosophies, did Miller believe
only the return of Christ could make a difference? Believing as he did that the years
immediately before Christ’s return would see no more genuine conversions, did
he come to question the efficacy of the gospel?
If these things were not true of Miller, were they true of some of his
followers?
Miller’s followers were rich and
poor, educated and uneducated. After the
Great Disappointment, some would go back to their own denominations, some would
abandon Christianity, and some would join the Shakers—suggesting, perhaps, an
ongoing desire to escape the world.
Still others would reinterpret what happened on 22 October 1844 and form
a new denomination.
Miller died at home in 1849,
surrounded by friends and family. He
deserves to be more than a humorous footnote to American church history. Mark Noll says his life “illustrates the
ability of ordinary people to shape the course of religious history.” (The Old Religion in a New World, p.
100.).
While Miller biographer David Rowe is
correct in saying Miller’s success cannot be explained solely in terms of
evangelical democracy, his success is difficult to explain without it. As
Miller presented his message, American evangelicalism was undergoing major
changes. Mid-century evangelicals were close
to attaining something eluding them since the days of Whitefield and the
Wesley’s: Respectability. Key to respectability,
as evangelicals perceived it, was a “professional ministry.” Such a ministry
would bar women from the pulpit and demand formal training for the men who
would preach. Under such a scheme,
Miller would have faced roadblocks he might have been unable to overcome.
Yet, it would be naïve to suggest what
happened to those hopeful Christians in early nineteenth-century America could
have only happened then, only happened there.
Evangelical democracy is difficult to repress. In fact, elsewhere in New England, as
Miller’s life drew to a close, a child had already born who would grow up to
become an “ordinary,” self-educated man, a man with a message burning within
him, man whose influence would be far greater than Miller’s but who, like
Miller, would never be ordained. D. L.
Moody is remembered with respect and admiration. Miller is remembered differently.
But, as we look back, we need to
recall Miller, unlike another contemporary who was also from the famed
“burned-over district,” did not abandon orthodox Christianity, did not trifle
with the Biblical make-up of the family, and did not introduce a book with
disputed origins as a rival to the Bible.
We need to recall Miller, though mistaken, was
sincere; some of today’s most enticing voices are not so sincere, though they
may be more charismatic than Miller ever was.
Though Miller used the most effective
media of his day, radio, television, and the Internet multiply our ability to
communicate ideas to a degree he would have never imagined. As we encounter those who have mastered these
mediums, we need to ask if, like Miller, they may be leading us astray, perhaps
unwittingly or perhaps deliberately. At
the same time, we need to ask if, like Miller, they are committed to the gospel
and advancing God’s Kingdom.
Miller’s mistakes should not be
forgotten but neither should his desire to see souls saved. Perhaps it is only
fair to see William Miller as both a warning and as an example.
