Chapter C: Thomas Starr King at Lake Tahoe

In 1863 Thomas Starr King, perhaps the most noted and broadly honored divine ever known on the Pacific Coast, visited Lake Tahoe, and on his return to San Francisco preached a sermon, entitled: "Living Water from Lake Tahoe." Its descriptions are so felicitous that I am gratified to be able to quote them from Dr. King's volume of Sermons _Christianity and Humanity_, with the kind permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin Company, Boston, Mass.

LIVING WATER FROM LAKE TAHOE

When one is climbing from the west, by the smooth and
excellent road, the last slope of the Sierra ridge, he
expects, from the summit of the pass, which is more than seven
thousand feet above the sea, higher than the famous pass of
the Splugen, or the little St. Bernard, to look off and down
upon an immense expanse. He expects, or, if he had not learned
beforehand, he would anticipate with eagerness, that he should
be able to see mountain summits beneath him, and beyond these,
valleys and ridges alternating till the hills subside into
the eastern plains. How different the facts that await the
eye from the western summit, and what a surprise! We find, on
gaining what seems to be the ridge, that the Sierra range
for more than a hundred miles has a double line of jagged
pinnacles, twelve or fifteen miles apart, with a trench or
trough between, along a portion of the way, that is nearly
fifteen hundred feet deep if we measure from the pass which
the stages traverse, which is nearly three thousand feet deep
if the plummet is dropped from the highest points of the snowy
spires.
Down into this trench we look, and opposite upon the eastern
wall and crests, as we ride out to the eastern edge of the
western summit. In a stretch of forty miles the chasm of it
bursts into view at once, half of which is a plain sprinkled
with groves of pine, and the other half an expanse of level
blue that mocks the azure into which its guardian towers
soar. This is Lake Tahoe, an Indian name which signifies "High
Water." We descend steadily by the winding mountain-road, more
than three miles to the plain, by which we drive to the shore
of the Lake; but it is truly Tahoe, "High Water." For we stand
more than a mile, I believe more than six thousand feet above
the sea, when we have gone down from the pass to its sparkling
beach. It has about the same altitude as the Lake of Mount
Cenis (6280 feet) in Switzerland, and there is only one sheet
of water in Europe that can claim a greater elevation (Lake
Po de Vanasque, 7271 feet). There are several, however, that
surpass it in the great mountain-chains of the Andes and of
Hindustan. The Andes support a lake at 12,000 feet above
the sea, and one of the slopes of the Himalaya, in Thibet,
encloses and upholds a cup of crystal water 15,600 feet above
the level of the Indian Ocean, covering an area, too, of 250
square miles. I had supposed, however, that within the
immense limits of the American Republic, or north of us on the
continent, there is no sheet of water that competes with Tahoe
in altitude and interest. But in Mariposa County of our State
there are two lakes, both small,--one 8300 feet, and the other
11,000 feet,--on the Sierra above the line of the sea.

To a wearied frame and tired mind what refreshment there is in
the neighborhood of this lake! The air is singularly searching
and strengthening. The noble pines, not obstructed by
underbrush, enrich the slightest breeze with aroma and music.
Grand peaks rise around, on which the eye can admire the
sternness of everlasting crags and the equal permanence
of delicate and feathery snow. Then there is the sense of
seclusion from the haunts and cares of men, of being upheld
on the immense billow of the Sierra, at an elevation near the
line of perpetual snow, yet finding the air genial, and the
loneliness clothed with the charm of feeling the sense of the
mystery of the mountain heights,
the part of a chain that link the two polar seas, and of the
mystery of the water poured into the granite bowl, whose rim
is chased with the splendor of perpetual frost, and whose
bounty, flowing into the Truckee stream, finds no outlet into
the ocean, but sinks again into the land.

Everything is charming in the surroundings of the mountain
Lake; but as soon as one walks to the beach of it, and surveys
its expanse, it is the color, or rather the colors, spread out
before the eye, which holds it with greatest fascination.
I was able to stay eight days in all, amidst that calm
and cheer, yet the hues of the water seemed to become more
surprising with each hour. The Lake, according to recent
measurement, is about twenty-one miles in length, by twelve or
thirteen in breadth. There is no island visible to break
its sweep, which seems to be much larger than the figures
indicate. And the whole of the vast surface, the boundaries of
which are taken in easily at once by the range of the eye, is
a mass of pure splendor. When the day is calm, there is a ring
of the Lake, extending more than a mile from shore, which is
brilliantly green. Within this ring the vast center of the
expanse is of a deep, yet soft and singularly tinted blue.
Hues cannot be more sharply contrasted than are these
permanent colors. They do not shade into each other; they lie
as clearly defined as the course of glowing gems in the wall
of the New Jerusalem. It is precisely as if we were looking
upon an immense floor of lapis lazuli set within a ring of
flaming emerald.

The cause of this contrast is the sudden change in the depth
of the water at a certain distance from shore. For a mile or
so the basin shelves gradually, and then suddenly plunges
off into unknown depths. The center of the Lake must be a
tremendous pit. A very short distance from where the water is
green and so transparent that the clean stones can be seen on
the bottom a hundred feet below, the blue water has been
found to be fourteen hundred feet deep; and in other portions
soundings cannot be obtained with a greater extent of line.

What a savage chasm the lake-bed must be! Empty the water from
it and it is pure and unrelieved desolation. And the sovereign
loveliness of the water that fills it is its color. The very
savageness of the rent and fissure is made the condition
of the purest charm. The Lake does not feed a permanent river.
We cannot trace any issue of it to the ocean. It is not, that
we know, a well-spring to supply any large district with
water for ordinary use. It seems to exist for beauty. And its
peculiar beauty has its root in the peculiar harshness and
wildness of the deeps it hides.

Brethren, this question of color in nature, broadly studied,
leads us quickly to contemplate and adore the love of God. If
God were the Almighty chiefly,--if he desired to impress us
most with his omnipotence and infinitude, and make us bow with
dread before him, how easily the world could have been made
more somber, how easily our senses could have been created to
receive impressions of the bleak vastness of space, how easily
the mountains might have been made to breathe terror from
their cliffs and walls, how easily the general effect of
extended landscapes might have been monotonous and gloomy! If
religion is, as it has so often been conceived to be,
hostile to the natural good and joy which the heart seeks
instinctively,--if sadness, if melancholy, be the soul of
its inspiration, and misery for myriads the burden of its
prophecy,--I do not believe that the vast deeps of space above
us would have been tinted with tender azure, hiding their
awfulness; I do not believe that storms would break away into
rainbows, and that the clouds of sunset would display the
whole gamut of sensuous splendor; I do not believe that the
ocean would wear such joy for the eye over its awful abysses;
I do not believe that the mountains would crown the complete,
the general loveliness of the globe.

The eloquent preacher then continues to draw other lessons from the Lake, but, unfortunately, our space is too limited to allow quotation in full. The following, however, are short excerpts which suggest the richness of the fuller expression:

The color of the Lake is a word from this natural Gospel. It
covers the chasms and wounds of the earth with splendor. It is
what the name of the lovely New Hampshire lake, Winnepesaukee
indicates, "The Smile of the Great Spirit."

And this color is connected with purity. The green ring
of the Lake is so brilliant, the blue enclosed by it is so
deep and tender, because there is no foulness in the water.
The edge of the waves along all the beach is clean. The
granite sand, too, often dotted with smooth-washed jaspers and
garnets and opaline quartz, is especially bright and spotless.
In fact, the Lake seems to be conscious, and to have an
instinct against contamination. Several streams pour their
burden from the mountains into it; but the impurities which
they bring down seem to be thrown back from the lip of the
larger bowl, and form bars of sediment just before they can
reach its sacred hem. Dip from its white-edged ripples, or
from its calm heart, or from the foam that breaks over its
blue when the wind rouses it to frolic, and you dip what is
fit for a baptismal font,--you dip purity itself.

* * * * *

The purity of nature is the expression of joy, and it is a
revelation to us that the Creator's holiness is not repellent
and severe. God tries to win you by his Spirit, which clothes
the world with beauty, to trust him, to give up your evil that
you may find deeper communion with him, and to recognize the
charm of goodness which alone is harmony with the cheer and
the purity of the outward world.

I must speak of another lesson, connected with religion,
that was suggested to me on the borders of Lake Tahoe. It is
bordered by groves of noble pines. Two of the days that I was
permitted to enjoy there were Sundays. On one of them I passed
several hours of the afternoon in listening, alone, to the
murmur of the pines, while the waves were gently beating the
shore with their restlessness. If the beauty and purity of the
Lake were in harmony with the deepest religion of the Bible,
certainly the voice of the pines was also in chord with it.

* * * * *

I read under the pines of Lake Tahoe, on that Sunday
afternoon, some pages from a recent English work that raises
the question of inspiration. Is the Bible the word of God,
or the words of men? It is neither. It is the word of God
breathed through the words of men, inextricably intertwined
with them as the tone of the wind with the quality of the
tree. We must go to the Bible as to a grove of evergreens, not
asking for cold, clear truth, but for sacred influence, for
revival to the devout sentiment, for the
breath of the Holy Ghost, not as it wanders in pure space, but
as it sweeps through cedars and pines.

* * * * *

In my Sunday musing by the shore of our Lake, I raised the
question,--Who were looking upon the waters of Tahoe when
Jesus walked by the beach of Gennesareth? Did men look upon
it then? And if so were they above the savage level, and could
they appreciate its beauty? And before the time of Christ,
before the date of Adam, however far back we may be obliged
to place our ancestor, for what purpose was this luxuriance
of color, this pomp of garniture? How few human eyes have yet
rested upon it in calmness, to drink in its loveliness! There
are spots near the point of the shore where the hotel stands,
to which not more than a few score intelligent visitors
have yet been introduced. Such a nook I was taken to by a
cultivated friend. We sailed ten miles on the water to the
mouth of a mountain stream that pours foaming into its
green expanse. We left the boat, followed this stream by its
downward leaps through uninvaded nature for more than a mile,
and found that it flows from a smaller lake, not more than
three miles in circuit, which lies directly at the base of
two tremendous peaks of the Sierra, white with immense and
perpetual snow-fields. The same ring of vivid green, the same
center of soft deep blue, was visible in this smaller mountain
bowl, and it is fed by a glorious cataract, supported by
those snow-fields, which pours down in thundering foam, at one
point, in a leap of a hundred feet to die in that brilliant
color, guarded by those cold, dumb crags.

Never since the creation has a particle of that water turned a
wheel, or fed a fountain for human thirst, or served any form
of mortal use. Perhaps the eyes of not a hundred intelligent
spirits on the earth have yet looked upon that scene. Has
there been any waste of its wild and lonely beauty? Has Tahoe
been wasted because so few appreciative souls have studied
and enjoyed it? If not a human glance had yet fallen upon it,
would its charms of color and surroundings be wasted charms?

* * * * *

Where we discern beauty and yet seclusion, loveliness and yet
no human use, we can follow up the created charm to
yet the mind of the Creator, and think of it as realizing a
conception or a dream by him. He delights in his works. To the
bounds of space their glory is present as one vision to his
eye. And it is our sovereign privilege that we are called to
the possibility of sympathy with his joy. The universe is
the home of God. He has lined its walls with beauty. He has
invited us into his palace. He offers to us the glory of
sympathy with his mind. By love of nature, by joy in the
communion with its beauty, by growing insight into the wonders
of color, form, and purpose, we enter into fellowship with the
Creative art. We go into harmony with God. By dullness of eye
and deadness of heart to natural beauty, we keep away from
sympathy with God, who is the fountain of loveliness as well
as the fountain of love. But the inmost harmony with the
Infinite we find only through love, and the reception of his
love. Then we are prepared to see the world aright, to find
the deepest joy in its pure beauty, and to wait for the hour
of translation to the glories of the interior and deeper
world.