Occult America_ The Secret History of How Mysticism Shaped Our Nation - Mitch Horowitz [52]
Eventually, Frank and Sydney found jobs in farming and livestock. When Sydney fell ill with the same disease that had killed their mother, the boys wired back home to their dad—and were told they were on their own. Sydney survived, but the years that followed were no easier. As time passed, Frank Robinson discovered a crippling habit: binge drinking. In what must be a record, the young Robinson earned the distinction of being kicked out of the British Navy, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and eventually the U.S. Army and Navy for drunkenness and bad conduct.
But friends and employers detected the spark of something unusual in the young Robinson: He was strikingly handsome and articulate, and came across as surprisingly educated for someone who had never made it beyond grade school. In his early twenties, Robinson captured the attention of a Toronto millionaire, who offered to put him through Baptist seminary. Under the sponsorship of a group of local businessmen, Robinson entered McMaster University’s Bible Training School in Toronto. But the Bible student immediately clashed with teachers and ministers. During a meeting with his benefactors, Robinson insisted that Eastern and pre-Christian religions had their own stories of humanity’s fall from grace and even of a crucified savior. Why, he asked them, should any one religion hold a monopoly on truth?
Other religions had their bibles too. They had a different “crucified god.” Some of these “crucified gods” were so similar to the Christian’s “crucified god” that logic and reason must admit that the story of the later “god” was either stolen or copied from the older “god.” I did not want the Christian “god.” I wanted the God of the entire universe.
When the meeting ended, Frank B. Robinson was once again on his own.
A Search Bears Fruit
Always a quick study, Robinson became a registered druggist and found steady work for the first time behind a pharmacy counter in Klamath Falls, Oregon. He married the well-regarded daughter of a circuit-court judge, and his new wife guided him into sobriety and a stable home life. In order for Robinson to accept a better job, the couple moved to Los Angeles, where they had a son. By age forty-two, Robinson finally seemed to be calming down. But his search for God had left him with a lasting sense of emptiness.
Then, one Sunday morning, everything changed. Robinson attended a Methodist service on Wilshire Boulevard. In the massively ornate church, with its plush carpets and oaken pews, he counted only twenty-six worshippers. Something in mainstream religion was dying, he thought. He returned home and sat alone in his room. Dejected with the Baptist faith of his youth and uninspired by the religious offerings of the present, the no-longer-young man felt his search for meaning had been a waste. On that day, he pleaded to be shown something more—challenging God to reveal himself.
“Oh, God,” he cried, “if I have to go to hell, I’ll go with the consciousness that I went there earnestly trying to find you, God.” Rather than feeling hopeless, however, Robinson found that a strange sense of peace settled over him. He felt powerful yet relaxed—as though lifted to some higher place. He later said that he sensed the spirit of God pulsing within him, as though it filled his veins and arteries. Robinson came to reason that, through the right exercise of thought, this holy power could be tapped as a limitless resource. He determined to spread his vision of “a workable,