Not everyone, of course, agreed with William Miller or took him seriously. Some said he was out for money. A legislator introduced a bill to postpone the end of the world till 1860. A spoof offered reserved seats on an escape balloon at $200. An advertisement announced, "The Time Has Come"--the time, that is, to take "Winstar's Balsam of Wild Cherry." A cartoon portrayed the "Grand Ascension of the Miller Tabernacle" while the devil grabbed Himes and yelled, "Joshua V., you must stay with me."
Optimism prevailed in America when Miller began to preach, and, to many minds, talk about the approaching end of the world came as a new thought. Jacksonian democracy seemed to herald the ultimate perfection of the human race, and so did the multiplication of missionary societies, Bible societies, and Sunday Schools. Almost incredible inventions added evidence that the world stood on the threshold of a golden age.
Traveling by steamboat down the Hudson River on his way to an appointment in the spring of 1833, William Miller overheard a group of men marvelling over the developments of recent years. Gas lights! Cotton gins! Canned foods! Photography! McCormick's reaper! Steam trains! Even the throbbing, splashing, smoke-belching steamboat they were sailing on.
"Things can't go on like this," one of the men remarked in awe, "or in thirty years man will become more than human."
Miller moved in close. "Sirs," he observed, "these inventions remind me of Daniel 12:4. In the last days, 'many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased.' "Seeing they were interested, he gave them a survey of history in the light of the prophecies of Daniel 11 and 12. Then abruptly he caught himself. "I did not mean, gentlemen, to trespass so long on your patience."
But as he walked to the opposite end of the boat, the entire group followed and asked for more. There upon he taught them the whole book of Daniel--head of gold, little horn, 2300 days, virtually everything from the four kingdoms to the judgment and the second coming. "Have you written this up?" they asked; and when he produced printed copies of his sermons, they grabbed every one he had. [1]
Whether Miller's fellow travelers ultimately accepted his doctrine, most contemporary ministers and theologians did not. Led instead by the fantastic "postmillenialism" popularized by Daniel Whitby, they pointed to the inventions and missionary developments around them and said, "Look, the world is getting better and better. The second coming of Christ is even now taking place, spiritually, in the hearts of the people. We are at the commencement of a thousand years of peace!"
Surprising as it may seem, not a few of these ministers believed more or less in the 2300 days. Some of them said that the new age would actually begin in the 1840s. The Reverend George Bush, professor of Hebrew and Oriental literature at New York City University, was typical of many. Admitting that Miller's understanding of the 2300 days was essentially correct, he nonetheless insisted that "the great event before the world is not its physical conflagration, but its moral regeneration." [2]
Miller replied by quoting Scripture: "In the last days," he said "evil men ... shall wax worse and worse, deceiving, and being deceived" (2 Timothy 3:1, 13); but not every minister wanted to hear such Scripture. As time progressed, these began to oppose Miller vigorously in their pulpits. Other men opposed in other ways.
Phrenology was popular in the 1840s. It claimed that a person's character could be read from the shape of his head, and it was quite the thing in those days to go and have one's head examined. In March 1842, when Miller was preaching in Medford, Massachusetts, not far from Boston, a Christian who had adopted Adventist views persuaded Miller to visit a phrenologist friend of his, hoping, no doubt, to convert him. The phrenologist, who had no use for Adventism, had never met Miller and did not recognize him.
"Ah, here is a well-balanced, well-developed head," he remarked as he ran his practiced fingers over Miller's skull. "I'll tell you, sir, Mr. Miller would have a hard time making a convert out of this man!" Stepping forward and looking into Miller's face, he remarked, "You have far too much common sense to swallow Mr. Miller's hare-brained nonsense!"
The phrenologist continued, making a series of salty comparisons between the head he was examining and the head of Miller as he assumed it to be. "Oh, how I would like to examine Mr. Miller's head," he sighed to the men seated in the row of chairs along the wall. "I would surely give it a squeezing!" Then placing his hand over the "lobe of fanaticism," he chortled, "I'll bet you anything that old William Miller has a bump of fanaticism on his head as big that as my fist."
As the phrenologist doubled up his fist by way of illustration, the row of hangers-on laughed merrily with him, slapped their thighs, and felt one another's heads, making fists of their own in imitation of the doctor's. The phrenologist laughed loudest of all.
The examination completed, the phrenologist asked politely, "Sir, may I have your name, please, to write on your chart?" "Oh," replied Miller with compassion, "my name's of no consequence. Let it pass."
"But sir, I really would like to attach a name to so splendid a head as yours. Besides, I need it for my records."
"Very well," conceded the examinee reluctantly, "you may call it Miller, if you choose."
"Miller? Miller?" stuttered the phrenologist. "But what, may I ask, is your first name?"
"They call me William Miller."
"The gentleman who lectures on the prophecies?"
"The very one."
Whereupon the phrenologist settled down into his chair, trembling with astonishment and dismay. [3]
But if some of the people opposed Miller and some made fun of him, others, though disagreeing with him, stoutly defended his honesty. And there were a great many--farmers, housewives, factory workers, educated people--who, though they did not want to believe him, nonetheless felt uneasy.
Eye witness reports of mysterious phenomena cluttered the newspapers. Jupiter circled with a halo. A horse and its rider on the moon. A black cross on a bloody moon. Singing in the sky. People walking in the heavens. Three angels crying, "Woe, Woe, Woe."
Not all these strange phenomena were reported by the Millerites. With their eyes on Scripture, they scarcely noticed them! Unbelievers reported them and published them widely in the press.
In 1833, two years after Miller began to preach, the stars fell like snowflakes. Now, in the chill twilight of late February 1843, there appeared unannounced in the southwestern sky a flaming comet. Visible in daylight. A messenger from outer space. The eye of doom. Even skeptics trembled. [4]
Notes: