Spirit Matches: A Cult Leader Cultivates His Targets

That saying can apply to both the business world and cults. Namely, if you’re trying to start a cult, you should target the right people. If you happen to know a few wealthy businessmen whose upbringings and beliefs prime them to take every word you say as literal gospel . . . well, you’re in business. “Matthias the Prophet,” born Robert Matthews, figured that out eventually, but there was a lot of tumult leading up to that epiphany. And plenty of tumult after it, of course. “The Prophet of the God of the Jews,” another alias he would assume, came into the world without that lofty title in Washington County, New York in 1788. His parents died in 1795, and Matthews and his nine siblings were split up and sent to the care of neighbors and extended family. Young Matthews ended up with the church elders. Since the community had a strict Presbyterian bent, he was immersed in religion as he grew. For a little while, once he reached adulthood, he led a normal life, with a wife, children, and a store. Then other concerns stole his attention. Religion swallowed him whole, and he took to street preaching. He also indulged in fits of rage, which didn’t really help his business—or his chances at any sort of stable employment. He bounced between Manhattan, where plenty of street corners held willing, or at least curious, ears—and Albany, where his wife and children waited.

They likely preferred him in Manhattan. His wife, he insisted, caused all his problems. Or at least, the evil spirits inside her had. And he did his best to drive them out — with a rawhide strap. His religious views shifted during this time. For all that he would go on to influence others with his views, they weren’t set in stone. That, though, may have been the cornerstone of his short success as a cult leader: he could roll with the punches and twist any moment to suit his needs. Matthews had decided that he wasn’t actually a Christian. His ancestors, he insisted, were Hebrew. This new angle didn’t always work. An evangelical church rebuffed his attempt to join its ranks. His views, it turned out, were too extreme for them. Another church got a taste of Matthews’ extreme style on June 20, 1830, when his religious fervor and bouts of rage came together in a twisted tango that ended with an arrest after he disrupted church services in Argyle, New York. This marked his first recorded brush with the law, but of course, not his last. Soon after this, Matthews met Elijah Pierson. In Pierson he found a soul perfectly molded to receive his prophecies. A son of Morristown, New Jersey, Pierson had grown up in a faith that believed God would directly interact with the world. He then spent a large chunk of his life expecting these interactions. Waiting for them. Listening. As an adult, Pierson lived in Manhattan, where Matthews had returned to the street corners to preach and proselytize. Pierson had found some financial success in the city owning and operating a store in lower Manhattan. He’d also found tragedy. He and his wife, Sarah, had joined the Retrenchment Society, a religious group that promoted asceticism, specifically as regarded material goods. The Retrenchment Society didn’t do half-measures, either—this self-denial frequently included such luxuries as food. And if the Piersons did allow themselves sustenance, it came in the form of bread and water. But no matter how dedicated, some people can’t help but try to strike out on their own. Pierson started his own church, as well as a mission through which he and his wife brought spiritual aid to sex workers.

He also held frequent conversations with Jesus Christ. While these conversations started out onesided, they eventually turned into a more equal exchange, which Pierson would faithfully record in a journal. On the very same day that Matthews was tossed out of a church and hauled off to jail, Elijah Pierson received a distinct message from Jesus: “Thou art Elijah the Tishbite. Gather unto me all the members of Israel at the foot of Mount Carmel.” Elijah Pierson’s true identity, it seemed, was the prophet Elijah from the Books of Kings in the Hebrew Bible. And the prophet Elijah, it should be noted, performed some miracles in his day—including resurrection. When Sarah died of consumption—a condition that may have been less brutal without all that fasting—Pierson thought the time had come for one of those handy miracles. At Sarah’s funeral, he sprang into action. For well over an hour, he repeated “The Lord shall raise him up,” a line from the Prayer of Faith in the book of James. “And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up.” But the only things raised that day were the eyebrows of two-hundred-plus mourners who attended the funeral only to be treated to Pierson’s sad, frantic display of grief-fueled hubris. It was through the Retrenchment Society that Pierson had met and befriended successful businessman Benjamin Folger, who hosted meetings at the home he shared with his wife, Ann. The Folgers had gone on to join Pierson’s church, and true friends that they were, didn’t abandon him in this trying time. Most of his congregation didn’t share such commitment and went in search of other churches. According to the New York Journal of Commerce, the friendship between Pierson and Folger had long been established, while Pierson’s friendship with Robert Matthews still had a shiny new excitement in 1832. Pierson, “whose piety and good sense [Folger] highly respected and esteemed,” listened eagerly to every word of Robert Matthews’ teachings. Matthews declared himself Matthias the Prophet. He drew his identity

from that of the apostle Matthias. Matthews’ logic took this revelation farther than most would dare. Matthias, he said, had received the spirit of Jesus Christ upon the latter’s resurrection, and therefore he, Matthews, was the second appearance of Jesus on Earth. But in the second half of this double feature, he wasn’t Jesus. He was God. Pierson bought into this fully. Of course, he had to share the good news with his best friend, and thus he introduced Matthews to Folger. Folger and a few others also bought what Matthews was selling. Of course, as we all know, persecution comes with the territory for an almighty being on earth. Matthews, upon bringing two men of means under his spell, made sure they knew it. Being so persecuted, he needed their help to survive. He targeted Folgers in particular. In case his twisted logic didn’t work, he tossed in both a threat and a promise: refuse to obey Matthews’ demand for whatever money he wanted, and the wrath of the almighty would fall upon Folger’s head. Acquiescence, though, would buy him entrance into the Kingdom of God, as well as eternal happiness. Folger folded like a cheap suit, and so Matthews was able to purchase some expensive ones. The Herald of the Times newspaper describes his wardrobe as “of the richest and most costly description.” Linen shirts with lace-trimmed wristbands; silk stockings and handkerchiefs; cloaks of velvet and silk; a crimson sash; highly polished Wellington boots; and merino morning dresses. His wife and an unmarried daughter remained at home in Albany, where they barely scraped by doing washing and ironing for locals. He also carried both an iron rod—a vital tool for ruling the world—and a sword he claimed, “came from Him who was first and last,” although the inscription on the blade, E Pluribus Unum, suggested that it actually came from a U.S. Army officer. A gold key he kept in his possession was, he said, meant to unlock the gates of heaven. Matthews looked to Pierson, too, for assistance. He had one thing of particular value: his pulpit. Matthews preached on it once, and it was his thereafter. His favorite subjects to rail against were devils and women, and now he ranted about those twin terrors to Pierson’s congregation. Even deities need shelter, so he moved into Pierson’s house. There, another came under his spell: Pierson’s housekeeper, an ex-slave named Isabella Van Wagenen. She becomes Matthews’ personal maid— for free. She, too, spent money on him, buying him furniture. Benjamin and Ann Folger owned a mansion in Sing Sing, New York, now called Ossining. They named the mansion Heart Place, but the name didn’t stick after the arrival of Matthews in August 1833. Thus, ensued what had to be a terribly confusing period for Folger, which would end in the implosion of his personal and financial life, to say nothing of his spiritual life. Matthews came with enough luggage to imply that he’d planned a long stay. After a week, though, he said sharing the mansion didn’t suit him, and told Pierson and Folger that they needed to lease him other accommodations. They agreed, but by the time they told Matthews, he’d come to the realization that living in a home leased by his friends would be improper. He should live in a house they’d bought for him. They agreed again, but the house hunt was short lived as Matthews had another realization: Folger had purchased Heart Place under the direction of the spirit of truth, which meant he had bought it for Matthews. This, he believed, was where his kingdom would really flourish, and so he renamed the home Mount Zion. He called his followers to his kingdom and assigned them jobs on the 29-acre estate. Alliances began to shift at this point. Ann Folger received word from the Holy Spirit that she and Matthews were “match spirits.” She and Matthews acted on this, and soon enough the community considered them married. As Matthews was the community’s “Father,” Ann became the Mother. Other members of the cult paired off with their match spirits as assigned by Matthews—except Isabella Van Wagenen. And as the women of the community spent more time in the mansion’s many bedrooms, celebrating their unions with their matches, Van Wagenen found herself shouldering the responsibilities they neglected. She wasn’t alone in her discontentedness. His wife’s change in position within the cult left Benjamin

Folger alone and furious. His match spirit awaited him, though, and he found her when Matthews sent him to fetch his daughter, Isabella. This revelation at first enraged Matthews, and he beat his daughter savagely, but he came around soon enough. The only person who didn’t come around was Isabella’s husband. He brought the authorities in to retrieve his wife. Folger found himself alone once again. Matthews’ kingdom found itself entangled in a legal mess.

Pierson, meanwhile, was not faring well. Nervous fits he’d suffered in the city had followed him to Mount Zion, only to increase in frequency and severity. This, despite having pledged his estate to Matthews. Matthews insisted that only prayer could cure this malady; it was no medical issue plaguing Pierson, after all. It was “fitty devils” that had invaded his body. Matthews announced that he “had the power of life and death, and Mr. Pierson would not die!” On July 28, 1834, two plates of blackberries proved him wrong. The blackberries were Pierson’s dinner, and he got terribly sick after eating them. Still, Matthews would not allow any medical intervention. Pierson died on August 6. Three doctors performed an autopsy and determined that he’d been poisoned. This, as well as a disagreement over whether Folger or Matthews should inherit Pierson’s estate, shattered the community. The Folgers fled to Manhattan, determined to break with Matthews. Matthews followed, determined not to let them. He settled into their city home. When they told him to leave, he threw his usual threats at them. If they deserted him, “sickness, and perhaps death” would descend upon them. Still, they gave him an eviction date. The next incident, which occurred the morning Matthews was preparing to leave, was likely the product of Folger’s subsequent rumormongering. He later claimed—and newspapers repeated the claim—that he and his family suffered a violent illness after eating a breakfast prepared by Van Wagenen. Matthews and Van Wagenen abstained from this breakfast. Folger insisted—and newspapers repeated—that Matthews must have paid Van Wagenen to poison the Folger family. Van Wagenen later filed a libel suit against Folger, and the court sided with her. Folger had to pay the ex-slave $125, or close to $4000 in modern valuation. The poisoning allegations are particularly shocking in light of who Van Wagenen became. Like Matthews, she later assumed a new name, although hers has a much stronger foothold in history -- Sojourner Truth, the famous abolitionist and women’s rights activist. Matthews, meanwhile, still managed to wheedle some money from Folger, a total of $630 in cash and gold coins. Thus, weighed down with ready capital, he finally left the Folger home. Folger wasn’t done with him, though—he immediately contacted the authorities about the man who had stolen $630 from him and also killed his friend. Matthews was arrested in Albany. His initial interview by police provides more of his unique gems. In response to a query about his residence and occupation, he stated: “I am a traveler, and my legal residence is Zion Hill, Westchester County; I am a Jewish teacher, and priest of the Most High, saying and doing all that I do, under oath, by virtue of my having subscribed to all the covenants that God hath made with man from the beginning up to this time.” He at least had the wherewithal to refrain from any lofty pronouncements about actually being God.

The resulting court appearances for murder and other charges also fascinated the public. The courtroom overflowed with onlookers, and Matthews ramped up his eccentric personal style. He wore, on one occasion, green cashmere trousers, a yellow cashmere vest crossed by a red sash, a claret frock coat topped with a purple cloak, both made of the finest fabrics. On all of his frock coats he had embroidered seven silver stars, six small and one large, on each breast. It’s noted that he wore no cravat, as his huge beard would have obscured it. The Hillsborough Recorder recounts that “his deportment was more that of a dandy in a drawingroom than a prisoner about to be tried.” He didn’t remain calm, though. On the first day of the murder trial, he exploded into a rant about grand juries, which earned him a contempt of court charge. At least Matthews provided some entertainment for the eager masses. Participants in the trial, on both sides, took pains to avoid any of the sexual shenanigans that had occurred at Mount Zion. After some questions as to his mental competence, the judge declared him fit for trial. Matthews’ brother-in-law testified that, in all things but religion, Matthews was perfectly sane. That was enough for the judge. The trial only took four days, as the defense poked large holes in the testimony of the autopsy doctors. The defense attorneys then asked outright for a dismissal, and the judge agreed. It wasn’t over yet though—Matthews had also been charged with assault for beating his daughter, Isabella. After competing testimony from Isabella, who’d forgiven her father, and her husband Charles, who most definitely hadn’t, the jury returned with a guilty verdict. Matthews spent a mere four months in jail; three months for assault, and one month for contempt. His religious career had one more brush with history left, though. Joshua the Jewish Minister, as he began calling himself, met with another fervent religious mind in 1835: Joseph Smith, best known for founding the Church of Latter-Day Saints. While at first blush the tentative friendship seemed promising, things went awry quickly. After a dinner together and a stint preaching to Smith’s followers, the two parted ways on less than amicable terms. Both made it known that the other was under Satan’s spell. Matthews’ days of swaying powerful men to believe in him, it seemed, had faded. In his heyday, though, he had a particular talent for picking his marks. Respectable men of means who would not only follow his twisted logic and mental gymnastics, but literally buy it with cash and favors, were hard to find. As the Albany Evening Journal put it: “the fact that three intelligent citizens of New York were thus deluded will form one of the darkest pages in the whole chapter of modern fanaticism.” The Herald of the Times newspaper had its own explanation: “superstition . . . often finds the weak side of human character.” It seems like Matthews, like so many cult leaders, felt the same way. And for a brief time, he exploited it—and he reveled in it.

Sources

“Matthias, the Prophet.” The Hillsborough Recorder. November 26, 1834. Hernandez, Miguel. “The Prophet Matthias and Elijah the Tishbite.” New York History Blog. Accessed January 23, 2021. Hutchins, Zachary. “G. Vale (Gilbert), 1788-1866.” Documenting the American South. Accessed January 23, 2021. “Matthews, Alias Matthias, the Impostor.” Herald of the Times. October 9, 1834. “The Prophet Matthias.” Murder by Gaslight.

Saturday Return by F. C . Moulton

Saturday morning they returned. I had glimpsed them from my front window but fortunately they had not seen me. Why this Saturday? Why this neighborhood? I heard them now, they were at my front door. I knew not to answer; not to call out; not to make a noise. I stood still and waited. Then quietly I checked the peep hole in the door. They were still there. I heard the doorbell chime followed by a knock. I was lucky; my TV was off; no radio; no music; no noise to betray that anyone was home. Did I risk warning the neighborhood? I must, it is my duty. I started at the top of my neighborhood call tree; my goal to get through my part of the list as quickly and quietly as I could. I kept my voice low as I made my first call and announced, "Be warned; they are here in force. Alert everyone. It is the return of the Jehovah's Witnesses."