The Religion of Healthy-Mindedness

If we were to ask the question: “What is human life's chief concern?” one of the answers we should receive would be: “It is happiness.” How to gain, how to keep, how to recover happiness, is in fact for most men at all times the secret motive of all they do, and of all they are willing to endure. The hedonistic school in ethics deduces the moral life wholly from the experiences of happiness and unhappiness which different kinds of conduct bring; and, even more in the religious life than in the moral life, happiness and unhappiness seem to be the poles round which the interest revolves. We need not go so far as to say with the author whom I lately quoted that any persistent enthusiasm is, as such, religion, nor need we call mere laughter a religious exercise; but we must admit that any persistent enjoyment may produce the sort of religion which consists in a grateful admiration of the gift of so happy an existence; and we must also acknowledge that the more complex ways of experiencing religion are new manners of producing happiness, wonderful inner paths to a supernatural kind of happiness, when the first gift of natural existence is unhappy, as it so often proves itself to be.

If we asked, “What is the main concern of human life?” one answer would be: “It is happiness.” For most people, at all times, the secret motive behind everything they do is happiness. They want to gain it, keep it, or recover it. The same motive lies behind everything they are willing to endure. The hedonistic school of ethics explains moral life entirely through the happiness and unhappiness that different kinds of conduct bring. And happiness and unhappiness seem to be the centers of interest even more in religious life than in moral life. We need not go as far as the author I recently quoted. He said that any lasting enthusiasm is itself religion. Nor need we call mere laughter a religious exercise. But we must admit that any lasting enjoyment may produce a kind of religion. Such a religion consists in grateful admiration for the gift of such a happy life. We must also acknowledge that more complex ways of experiencing religion are new ways of producing happiness. They offer wonderful inner paths to a supernatural kind of happiness when the original gift of natural existence is unhappy. And natural existence so often proves unhappy.

With such relations between religion and happiness, it is perhaps not surprising that men come to regard the happiness which a religious belief affords as a proof of its truth. If a creed makes a man feel happy, he almost inevitably adopts it. Such a belief ought to be true; therefore it is true—such, rightly or wrongly, is one of the “immediate inferences” of the religious logic used by ordinary men.

Given the connection between religion and happiness, it is perhaps not surprising that people see happiness as proof of religious truth. If a creed makes a person feel happy, he almost inevitably adopts it. Such a belief ought to be true, so it is true. Rightly or wrongly, that is one of the “immediate inferences” in the religious reasoning of ordinary people.

In the hour immediately before us, I shall invite you to consider the simpler kinds of religious happiness, leaving the more complex sorts to be treated on a later day.

In the next hour, I invite you to consider the simpler kinds of religious happiness. I will discuss the more complex kinds on a later day.

In many persons, happiness is congenital and irreclaimable. “Cosmic emotion” inevitably takes in them the form of enthusiasm and freedom. I speak not only of those who are animally happy. I mean those who, when unhappiness is offered or proposed to them, positively refuse to feel it, as if it were something mean and wrong. We find such persons in every age, passionately flinging themselves upon their sense of the goodness of life, in spite of the hardships of their own condition, and in spite of the sinister theologies into which they may be born. From the outset their religion is one of union with the divine. The heretics who went before the reformation are lavishly accused by the church writers of antinomian practices, just as the first Christians were accused of indulgence in orgies by the Romans. It is probable that there never has been a century in which the deliberate refusal to think ill of life has not been idealized by a sufficient number of persons to form sects, open or secret, who claimed all natural things to be permitted. Saint Augustine's maxim, Dilige et quod vis fac,—if you but love [God], you may do as you incline,—is morally one of the profoundest of observations, yet it is pregnant, for such persons, with passports beyond the bounds of conventional morality. According to their characters they have been refined or gross; but their belief has been at all times systematic enough to constitute a definite religious attitude. God was for them a giver of freedom, and the sting of evil was overcome. Saint Francis and his immediate disciples were, on the whole, of this company of spirits, of which there are of course infinite varieties. Rousseau in the earlier years of his writing, Diderot, B. de Saint Pierre, and many of the leaders of the eighteenth century anti-christian movement were of this optimistic type. They owed their influence to a certain authoritativeness in their feeling that Nature, if you will only trust her sufficiently, is absolutely good.

For many people, happiness is inborn and cannot be lost. Their “Cosmic emotion” inevitably takes the form of enthusiasm and freedom. I do not mean only those who are happy by nature, like animals. I mean people who actively refuse to feel unhappy when unhappiness is offered or suggested to them. They refuse as if unhappiness were something mean and wrong. We find such people in every age. They passionately embrace their sense that life is good, despite hardships in their own lives and the grim theologies they may have been born into. From the beginning, their religion is one of union with the divine. Church writers freely accused the heretics who came before the reformation of antinomian practices, or disregard for moral law. The Romans accused the first Christians of indulging in orgies in much the same way. Probably, in every century, enough people have idealized a deliberate refusal to think ill of life to form sects, open or secret. These sects claimed that all natural things were permitted. Saint Augustine's maxim, Dilige et quod vis fac, means that if you only love [God], you may do as you wish. Morally, it is one of the most profound observations. Yet for such people, it offers ample license to go beyond the bounds of conventional morality. Depending on their characters, they have been refined or crude. But their belief has always been systematic enough to form a distinct religious attitude. For them, God was a giver of freedom, and the sting of evil was overcome. Saint Francis and his immediate disciples were, on the whole, among these people. Of course, there are infinite varieties of such spirits. Rousseau in the earlier years of his writing, Diderot, B. de Saint Pierre, and many leaders of the eighteenth century anti-christian movement were of this optimistic type. They owed their influence to a certain authority in their feeling that Nature is absolutely good, if you will only trust her enough.

It is to be hoped that we all have some friend, perhaps more often feminine than masculine, and young than old, whose soul is of this sky-blue tint, whose affinities are rather with flowers and birds and all enchanting innocencies than with dark human passions, who can think no ill of man or God, and in whom religious gladness, being in possession from the outset, needs no deliverance from any antecedent burden.

We can hope that we all have a friend with a sky-blue soul. Such a friend is perhaps more often a woman than a man, and young rather than old. This friend feels closer to flowers, birds, and all charming forms of innocence than to dark human passions. Such a person can think no ill of humanity or God. Religious joy has been there from the beginning, with no earlier burden to be freed from.

In the Romish Church such characters find a more congenial soil to grow in than in Protestantism, whose fashions of feeling have been set by minds of a decidedly pessimistic order. But even in Protestantism they have been abundant enough; and in its recent “liberal” developments of Unitarianism and latitudinarianism generally, minds of this order have played and still are playing leading and constructive parts. Emerson himself is an admirable example. Theodore Parker is another,—here are a couple of characteristic passages from Parker's correspondence.³⁵

In the Roman Catholic Church, such people find a more welcoming environment than in Protestantism. Protestantism’s ways of feeling have been shaped by decidedly pessimistic minds. But even in Protestantism, such people have been common enough. In its recent “liberal” developments, including Unitarianism and latitudinarianism generally, they have played and still play leading and constructive roles. Emerson himself is an admirable example. Theodore Parker is another. Here are a couple of characteristic passages from Parker’s correspondence.³⁵

Another good expression of the “once-born” type of consciousness, developing straight and natural, with no element of morbid compunction or crisis, is contained in the answer of Dr. Edward Everett Hale, the eminent Unitarian preacher and writer, to one of Dr. Starbuck's circulars. I quote a part of it:—

Another good expression of the “once-born” type of consciousness appears in Dr. Edward Everett Hale’s response to one of Dr. Starbuck’s questionnaires. This type of consciousness develops naturally and directly, without unhealthy guilt or crisis. Dr. Hale was a prominent Unitarian preacher and writer. I quote part of his response:

One can but recognize in such writers as these the presence of a temperament organically weighted on the side of cheer and fatally forbidden to linger, as those of opposite temperament linger, over the darker aspects of the universe. In some individuals optimism may become quasi-pathological. The capacity for even a transient sadness or a momentary humility seems cut off from them as by a kind of congenital anæsthesia.³⁷

We can only recognize that such writers have a temperament naturally inclined toward cheerfulness. They are utterly unable to dwell on the darker aspects of the universe, as people of the opposite temperament do. In some people, optimism may become almost pathological. They seem incapable of even passing sadness or momentary humility, as if born without the ability to feel them.³⁷

The supreme contemporary example of such an inability to feel evil is of course Walt Whitman.

The greatest modern example of this inability to feel evil is, of course, Walt Whitman.

Walt Whitman owes his importance in literature to the systematic expulsion from his writings of all contractile elements. The only sentiments he allowed himself to express were of the expansive order; and he expressed these in the first person, not as your mere monstrously conceited individual might so express them, but vicariously for all men, so that a passionate and mystic ontological emotion suffuses his words, and ends by persuading the reader that men and women, life and death, and all things are divinely good.

Walt Whitman owes his importance in literature to his deliberate removal of all narrowing elements from his writing. He allowed himself to express only expansive feelings. He expressed them in the first person, but not as a wildly conceited individual might. He spoke on behalf of all people. As a result, a passionate, mystical sense of being fills his words. It ultimately persuades the reader that men and women, life and death, and all things are divinely good.

Thus it has come about that many persons to-day regard Walt Whitman as the restorer of the eternal natural religion. He has infected them with his own love of comrades, with his own gladness that he and they exist. Societies are actually formed for his cult; a periodical organ exists for its propagation, in which the lines of orthodoxy and heterodoxy are already beginning to be drawn;³⁹ hymns are written by others in his peculiar prosody; and he is even explicitly compared with the founder of the Christian religion, not altogether to the advantage of the latter.

As a result, many people today see Walt Whitman as the person who restored the eternal natural religion. He has passed on to them his own love of comrades and his joy that he and they exist. Societies have actually formed to honor him. A periodical exists to spread his teachings, and its pages are already beginning to distinguish between orthodox and unorthodox views.³⁹ Others write hymns in his distinctive verse style. He is even explicitly compared with the founder of the Christian religion, and the comparison does not always favor the latter.

Whitman is often spoken of as a “pagan.” The word nowadays means sometimes the mere natural animal man without a sense of sin; sometimes it means a Greek or Roman with his own peculiar religious consciousness. In neither of these senses does it fitly define this poet. He is more than your mere animal man who has not tasted of the tree of good and evil. He is aware enough of sin for a swagger to be present in his indifference towards it, a conscious pride in his freedom from flexions and contractions, which your genuine pagan in the first sense of the word would never show.

Whitman is often called a “pagan.” Today, the word sometimes means simply a natural, animal human being without a sense of sin. Sometimes it means a Greek or Roman with a distinctive religious consciousness. Neither sense properly describes this poet. He is more than a mere animal who has not tasted the fruit of the tree of good and evil. He is aware enough of sin to show some swagger in his indifference to it. He takes conscious pride in being free from the bends and constrictions it causes. A genuine pagan in the first sense of the word would never show such pride.

No natural pagan could have written these well-known lines. But on the other hand Whitman is less than a Greek or Roman; for their consciousness, even in Homeric times, was full to the brim of the sad mortality of this sunlit world, and such a consciousness Walt Whitman resolutely refuses to adopt. When, for example, Achilles, about to slay Lycaon, Priam's young son, hears him sue for mercy, he stops to say:—

No natural pagan could have written these familiar lines. But Whitman is also less than a Greek or Roman. Even in Homeric times, Greeks and Romans were deeply aware of the sad mortality of this sunlit world. Walt Whitman firmly refuses to share that awareness. For example, Achilles is about to kill Lycaon, Priam's young son, when Lycaon begs him for mercy. Achilles pauses to say:

Then Achilles savagely severs the poor boy's neck with his sword, heaves him by the foot into the Scamander, and calls to the fishes of the river to eat the white fat of Lycaon. Just as here the cruelty and the sympathy each ring true, and do not mix or interfere with one another, so did the Greeks and Romans keep all their sadnesses and gladnesses unmingled and entire. Instinctive good they did not reckon sin; nor had they any such desire to save the credit of the universe as to make them insist, as so many of us insist, that what immediately appears as evil must be “good in the making,” or something equally ingenious. Good was good, and bad just bad, for the earlier Greeks. They neither denied the ills of nature,—Walt Whitman's verse, “What is called good is perfect and what is called bad is just as perfect,” would have been mere silliness to them,—nor did they, in order to escape from those ills, invent “another and a better world” of the imagination, in which, along with the ills, the innocent goods of sense would also find no place. This integrity of the instinctive reactions, this freedom from all moral sophistry and strain, gives a pathetic dignity to ancient pagan feeling. And this quality Whitman's outpourings have not got. His optimism is too voluntary and defiant; his gospel has a touch of bravado and an affected twist,⁴² and this diminishes its effect on many readers who yet are well disposed towards optimism, and on the whole quite willing to admit that in important respects Whitman is of the genuine lineage of the prophets.

Then Achilles savagely cuts the poor boy’s neck with his sword and throws him by the foot into the Scamander. He calls to the river’s fish to eat Lycaon’s white fat. Here, the cruelty and the sympathy each ring true. They do not mix or interfere with each other. In the same way, the Greeks and Romans kept all their sadness and joy separate and whole. They did not consider instinctive pleasure a sin. Nor did they feel a need to defend the universe’s reputation. So they did not insist, as so many of us do, that what seems evil must be “good in the making,” or something equally ingenious. For the early Greeks, good was good, and bad was simply bad. They did not deny the evils of nature. Walt Whitman’s verse, “What is called good is perfect and what is called bad is just as perfect,” would have seemed simply silly to them. Nor did they imagine “another and a better world” to escape those evils. In that imagined world, innocent pleasures of the senses would have no place, along with the evils. The wholeness of these instinctive responses gives ancient pagan feeling a poignant dignity. So does its freedom from all strained and deceptive moral reasoning. Whitman’s outpourings lack this quality. His optimism is too deliberate and defiant. His gospel has a touch of bravado and a forced twist.⁴² This weakens its effect on many readers who are nevertheless sympathetic to optimism. On the whole, they are also quite willing to admit that, in important respects, Whitman belongs to the true lineage of the prophets.

If, then, we give the name of healthy-mindedness to the tendency which looks on all things and sees that they are good, we find that we must distinguish between a more involuntary and a more voluntary or systematic way of being healthy-minded. In its involuntary variety, healthy-mindedness is a way of feeling happy about things immediately. In its systematical variety, it is an abstract way of conceiving things as good. Every abstract way of conceiving things selects some one aspect of them as their essence for the time being, and disregards the other aspects. Systematic healthy-mindedness, conceiving good as the essential and universal aspect of being, deliberately excludes evil from its field of vision; and although, when thus nakedly stated, this might seem a difficult feat to perform for one who is intellectually sincere with himself and honest about facts, a little reflection shows that the situation is too complex to lie open to so simple a criticism.

If we call the tendency to see all things as good healthy-mindedness, we must distinguish between two forms of it. One is more involuntary, and the other is more voluntary or systematic. Involuntary healthy-mindedness is an immediate feeling of happiness about things. Systematic healthy-mindedness is an abstract way of thinking about things as good. Every abstract way of thinking takes one aspect of things as their essence for the time being and ignores the others. Systematic healthy-mindedness sees good as the essential and universal aspect of existence. It deliberately excludes evil from view. Stated so plainly, this may seem difficult for someone who is intellectually sincere and honest about the facts. But a little reflection shows that the situation is too complex for such a simple criticism.

In the first place, happiness, like every other emotional state, has blindness and insensibility to opposing facts given it as its instinctive weapon for self-protection against disturbance. When happiness is actually in possession, the thought of evil can no more acquire the feeling of reality than the thought of good can gain reality when melancholy rules. To the man actively happy, from whatever cause, evil simply cannot then and there be believed in. He must ignore it; and to the bystander he may then seem perversely to shut his eyes to it and hush it up.

First, happiness, like every other emotional state, protects itself instinctively against disturbance. Its weapon is blindness and insensitivity to facts that oppose it. When happiness takes hold, the thought of evil cannot feel real. In the same way, the thought of good cannot feel real when melancholy rules. A person who is actively happy, whatever the cause, simply cannot believe in evil at that moment. They must ignore evil. To an observer, they may seem to be deliberately closing their eyes to evil and refusing to talk about it.

But more than this: the hushing of it up may, in a perfectly candid and honest mind, grow into a deliberate religious policy, or parti pris. Much of what we call evil is due entirely to the way men take the phenomenon. It can so often be converted into a bracing and tonic good by a simple change of the sufferer's inner attitude from one of fear to one of fight; its sting so often departs and turns into a relish when, after vainly seeking to shun it, we agree to face about and bear it cheerfully, that a man is simply bound in honor, with reference to many of the facts that seem at first to disconcert his peace, to adopt this way of escape. Refuse to admit their badness; despise their power; ignore their presence; turn your attention the other way; and so far as you yourself are concerned at any rate, though the facts may still exist, their evil character exists no longer. Since you make them evil or good by your own thoughts about them, it is the ruling of your thoughts which proves to be your principal concern.

But there is more. Even in a completely open and honest mind, the habit of keeping it quiet may become a deliberate religious policy, a chosen stance. Much of what we call evil is due entirely to how people respond to it. Often, a sufferer can turn evil into something strengthening and invigorating simply by changing from fear to a willingness to fight. After we have tried in vain to avoid evil, we may agree to turn around and bear it cheerfully. Then, so often, its sting fades and becomes something we relish. For this reason, when faced with many things that at first seem to disturb his peace, a man is honor-bound to take this way out. Refuse to admit that these things are bad. Despise their power. Ignore their presence. Turn your attention elsewhere. As far as you yourself are concerned, at least, the things may still exist, but their evil character no longer does. Your thoughts make them evil or good, so your main concern is to govern your thoughts.

The deliberate adoption of an optimistic turn of mind thus makes its entrance into philosophy. And once in, it is hard to trace its lawful bounds. Not only does the human instinct for happiness, bent on self-protection by ignoring, keep working in its favor, but higher inner ideals have weighty words to say. The attitude of unhappiness is not only painful, it is mean and ugly. What can be more base and unworthy than the pining, puling, mumping mood, no matter by what outward ills it may have been engendered? What is more injurious to others? What less helpful as a way out of the difficulty? It but fastens and perpetuates the trouble which occasioned it, and increases the total evil of the situation. At all costs, then, we ought to reduce the sway of that mood; we ought to scout it in ourselves and others, and never show it tolerance. But it is impossible to carry on this discipline in the subjective sphere without zealously emphasizing the brighter and minimizing the darker aspects of the objective sphere of things at the same time. And thus our resolution not to indulge in misery, beginning at a comparatively small point within ourselves, may not stop until it has brought the entire frame of reality under a systematic conception optimistic enough to be congenial with its needs.

The deliberate choice to think optimistically thus enters philosophy. And once it enters, it is hard to say where its legitimate limits lie. The human instinct for happiness keeps working in its favor, protecting itself by ignoring unpleasant things. But higher inner ideals also have important things to say. An unhappy attitude is not only painful, it is mean and ugly. What could be more base and unworthy than a mood of longing, whining, and complaining, whatever outward troubles caused it? What is more harmful to others? What is less helpful as a way out of difficulty? Such a mood only fixes the trouble that caused it in place and prolongs it. It increases the total evil of the situation. At all costs, then, we should reduce the power of that mood. We should reject it in ourselves and others and never tolerate it. But we cannot practice this inner discipline without also strongly emphasizing the brighter aspects of the world around us and minimizing its darker ones. So our decision not to indulge in misery may begin at a relatively small point within ourselves. But it may not stop until it has brought all of reality under a systematic view optimistic enough to suit its needs.

In all this I say nothing of any mystical insight or persuasion that the total frame of things absolutely must be good. Such mystical persuasion plays an enormous part in the history of the religious consciousness, and we must look at it later with some care. But we need not go so far at present. More ordinary non-mystical conditions of rapture suffice for my immediate contention. All invasive moral states and passionate enthusiasms make one feelingless to evil in some direction. The common penalties cease to deter the patriot, the usual prudences are flung by the lover to the winds. When the passion is extreme, suffering may actually be gloried in, provided it be for the ideal cause, death may lose its sting, the grave its victory. In these states, the ordinary contrast of good and ill seems to be swallowed up in a higher denomination, an omnipotent excitement which engulfs the evil, and which the human being welcomes as the crowning experience of his life. This, he says, is truly to live, and I exult in the heroic opportunity and adventure.

In all this, I have said nothing about mystical insight or the conviction that the whole order of things must be good. Such mystical conviction plays an enormous part in the history of religious consciousness. We must examine it carefully later. But we need not go that far now. More ordinary, non-mystical experiences of rapture are enough to support my immediate point. All consuming moral feelings and passionate enthusiasms make a person insensitive to evil in some respect. The usual penalties no longer deter the patriot, and the lover throws ordinary caution to the winds. When passion is extreme, a person may actually glory in suffering, provided it is for an ideal cause. Death may lose its sting, and the grave its victory. In these states, the ordinary contrast between good and evil seems to be absorbed into something higher. An overwhelming excitement engulfs the evil, and the person welcomes this excitement as the crowning experience of life. This, the person says, is truly living. I rejoice in the heroic opportunity and adventure.

The systematic cultivation of healthy-mindedness as a religious attitude is therefore consonant with important currents in human nature, and is anything but absurd. In fact, we all do cultivate it more or less, even when our professed theology should in consistency forbid it. We divert our attention from disease and death as much as we can; and the slaughter-houses and indecencies without end on which our life is founded are huddled out of sight and never mentioned, so that the world we recognize officially in literature and in society is a poetic fiction far handsomer and cleaner and better than the world that really is.⁴³

Therefore, deliberately cultivating a positive outlook as a religious attitude fits important tendencies in human nature. It is anything but absurd. In fact, we all cultivate this outlook to some extent. We do so even when the theology we profess should, if applied consistently, forbid it. We turn our attention away from disease and death as much as we can. The slaughterhouses and endless indecencies on which our lives depend are hidden from view and never mentioned. As a result, the world we officially recognize in literature and society is a poetic fiction. It is far more beautiful, cleaner, and better than the world that really exists.⁴³

The advance of liberalism, so-called, in Christianity, during the past fifty years, may fairly be called a victory of healthy-mindedness within the church over the morbidness with which the old hell-fire theology was more harmoniously related. We have now whole congregations whose preachers, far from magnifying our consciousness of sin, seem devoted rather to making little of it. They ignore, or even deny, eternal punishment, and insist on the dignity rather than on the depravity of man. They look at the continual preoccupation of the old-fashioned Christian with the salvation of his soul as something sickly and reprehensible rather than admirable; and a sanguine and “muscular” attitude, which to our forefathers would have seemed purely heathen, has become in their eyes an ideal element of Christian character. I am not asking whether or not they are right, I am only pointing out the change.

The rise of so-called liberalism in Christianity over the past fifty years may fairly be called a victory for healthy-mindedness within the church. It has won out over the morbid outlook that fit more naturally with the old hell-fire theology. We now have entire congregations whose preachers, far from emphasizing our awareness of sin, seem devoted instead to downplaying it. They ignore or even deny eternal punishment, and emphasize human dignity rather than human depravity. They see the old-fashioned Christian’s constant concern with saving his soul as unhealthy and shameful rather than admirable. An optimistic and “muscular” attitude has become, in their eyes, an ideal part of Christian character. To our forefathers, such an attitude would have seemed purely pagan. I am not asking whether these preachers are right or wrong. I am only pointing out the change.

The persons to whom I refer have still retained for the most part their nominal connection with Christianity, in spite of their discarding of its more pessimistic theological elements. But in that “theory of evolution” which, gathering momentum for a century, has within the past twenty-five years swept so rapidly over Europe and America, we see the ground laid for a new sort of religion of Nature, which has entirely displaced Christianity from the thought of a large part of our generation. The idea of a universal evolution lends itself to a doctrine of general meliorism and progress which fits the religious needs of the healthy-minded so well that it seems almost as if it might have been created for their use. Accordingly we find “evolutionism” interpreted thus optimistically and embraced as a substitute for the religion they were born in, by a multitude of our contemporaries who have either been trained scientifically, or been fond of reading popular science, and who had already begun to be inwardly dissatisfied with what seemed to them the harshness and irrationality of the orthodox Christian scheme. As examples are better than descriptions, I will quote a document received in answer to Professor Starbuck's circular of questions. The writer's state of mind may by courtesy be called a religion, for it is his reaction on the whole nature of things, it is systematic and reflective, and it loyally binds him to certain inner ideals. I think you will recognize in him, coarse-meated and incapable of wounded spirit as he is, a sufficiently familiar contemporary type.

The people I mean have mostly kept their nominal connection with Christianity. They have done so despite rejecting its more pessimistic theological elements. But the “theory of evolution” has laid the groundwork for a new kind of religion of Nature. This theory gathered momentum for a century and has swept rapidly across Europe and America over the past twenty-five years. For a large part of our generation, this new religion has completely displaced Christianity in their thinking. The idea of universal evolution lends itself to a belief in general improvement and progress. This belief fits the religious needs of the healthy-minded so well that it seems almost made for them. Accordingly, many of our contemporaries have embraced this optimistic interpretation of “evolutionism” as a substitute for their childhood religion. They have either had scientific training or enjoyed reading popular science. They had also already begun to feel dissatisfied with what seemed to them the harshness and irrationality of orthodox Christianity. Examples are better than descriptions, so I will quote a document sent in response to Professor Starbuck's questionnaire. We may, as a courtesy, call the writer's state of mind a religion. It is his response to the whole nature of things. It is systematic and thoughtful, and it binds him loyally to certain inner ideals. He is a coarse, insensitive man, incapable of a wounded spirit. I think you will recognize him as a familiar enough type today.

If we are in search of a broken and a contrite heart, clearly we need not look to this brother. His contentment with the finite incases him like a lobster-shell and shields him from all morbid repining at his distance from the Infinite. We have in him an excellent example of the optimism which may be encouraged by popular science.

If we are looking for a broken and repentant heart, clearly we need not look to this brother. His contentment with the finite encloses him like a lobster shell. It shields him from all unhealthy sorrow over his distance from the Infinite. He is an excellent example of the optimism that popular science may encourage.

To my mind a current far more important and interesting religiously than that which sets in from natural science towards healthy-mindedness is that which has recently poured over America and seems to be gathering force every day,—I am ignorant what foothold it may yet have acquired in Great Britain,—and to which, for the sake of having a brief designation, I will give the title of the “Mind-cure movement.” There are various sects of this “New Thought,” to use another of the names by which it calls itself; but their agreements are so profound that their differences may be neglected for my present purpose, and I will treat the movement, without apology, as if it were a simple thing.

In my view, a movement far more important and interesting to religion than the trend from natural science toward healthy-mindedness has recently swept across America. It seems to be growing stronger every day. I do not know what foothold it may have gained in Great Britain. For the sake of a short name, I will call it the “Mind-cure movement.” There are various sects of this “New Thought,” another name the movement uses for itself. But they agree so deeply that their differences do not matter for my present purpose. So I will treat the movement, without apology, as if it were a single, simple thing.

It is a deliberately optimistic scheme of life, with both a speculative and a practical side. In its gradual development during the last quarter of a century, it has taken up into itself a number of contributory elements, and it must now be reckoned with as a genuine religious power. It has reached the stage, for example, when the demand for its literature is great enough for insincere stuff, mechanically produced for the market, to be to a certain extent supplied by publishers,—a phenomenon never observed, I imagine, until a religion has got well past its earliest insecure beginnings.

It is a deliberately optimistic approach to life, with both theoretical and practical sides. As it developed over the last quarter century, it absorbed a number of contributing elements. It must now be recognized as a genuine religious force. For example, demand for its literature has grown enough that publishers now supply some insincere material, mechanically produced for the market. I imagine this never happens until a religion has moved well beyond its early, insecure beginnings.

One of the doctrinal sources of Mind-cure is the four Gospels; another is Emersonianism or New England transcendentalism; another is Berkeleyan idealism; another is spiritism, with its messages of “law” and “progress” and “development”; another the optimistic popular science evolutionism of which I have recently spoken; and, finally, Hinduism has contributed a strain. But the most characteristic feature of the mind-cure movement is an inspiration much more direct. The leaders in this faith have had an intuitive belief in the all-saving power of healthy-minded attitudes as such, in the conquering efficacy of courage, hope, and trust, and a correlative contempt for doubt, fear, worry, and all nervously precautionary states of mind.⁴⁴ Their belief has in a general way been corroborated by the practical experience of their disciples; and this experience forms to-day a mass imposing in amount.

One source of Mind-cure’s teachings is the four Gospels. Others include Emersonianism or New England transcendentalism, Berkeleyan idealism, and spiritism, with its messages of “law” and “progress” and “development”. Another is the optimistic popular science of evolution that I have recently discussed. Finally, Hinduism has also contributed an element. But the most characteristic feature of the mind-cure movement is a much more direct inspiration. The leaders of this faith have intuitively believed that healthy-minded attitudes themselves have an all-saving power. They believe that courage, hope, and trust can overcome obstacles. At the same time, they look down on doubt, fear, worry, and all nervously cautious states of mind.⁴⁴ The practical experience of their disciples has generally supported their belief. Today, this experience forms an impressively large body of evidence.

The blind have been made to see, the halt to walk; lifelong invalids have had their health restored. The moral fruits have been no less remarkable. The deliberate adoption of a healthy-minded attitude has proved possible to many who never supposed they had it in them; regeneration of character has gone on on an extensive scale; and cheerfulness has been restored to countless homes. The indirect influence of this has been great. The mind-cure principles are beginning so to pervade the air that one catches their spirit at second-hand. One hears of the “Gospel of Relaxation,” of the “Don't Worry Movement,” of people who repeat to themselves, “Youth, health, vigor!” when dressing in the morning, as their motto for the day. Complaints of the weather are getting to be forbidden in many households; and more and more people are recognizing it to be bad form to speak of disagreeable sensations, or to make much of the ordinary inconveniences and ailments of life. These general tonic effects on public opinion would be good even if the more striking results were non-existent. But the latter abound so that we can afford to overlook the innumerable failures and self-deceptions that are mixed in with them (for in everything human failure is a matter of course), and we can also overlook the verbiage of a good deal of the mind-cure literature, some of which is so moonstruck with optimism and so vaguely expressed that an academically trained intellect finds it almost impossible to read it at all.

Blind people have been made to see, and people unable to walk have been made to walk. People who were ill all their lives have had their health restored. The moral results have been just as remarkable. Many who never thought themselves capable of it have managed to adopt a healthy-minded attitude deliberately. Character has been renewed on a large scale, and cheerfulness has returned to countless homes. The indirect influence has also been great. Mind-cure principles are beginning to spread so widely that people pick up their spirit secondhand. One hears of the “Gospel of Relaxation,” the “Don't Worry Movement,” and people who repeat “Youth, health, vigor!” while dressing in the morning, as their motto for the day. Many households are beginning to forbid complaints about the weather. More and more people also consider it bad manners to speak of unpleasant sensations or make much of life's ordinary inconveniences and ailments. These generally strengthening effects on public opinion would be good even if the more striking results did not exist. But the striking results are so plentiful that we can afford to overlook the countless failures and self-deceptions mixed in with them. After all, failure is to be expected in everything people do. We can also overlook the wordiness of much mind-cure literature. Some of it is so wildly optimistic and vaguely expressed that an academically trained mind finds it almost impossible to read.

The plain fact remains that the spread of the movement has been due to practical fruits, and the extremely practical turn of character of the American people has never been better shown than by the fact that this, their only decidedly original contribution to the systematic philosophy of life, should be so intimately knit up with concrete therapeutics. To the importance of mind-cure the medical and clerical professions in the United States are beginning, though with much recalcitrancy and protesting, to open their eyes. It is evidently bound to develop still farther, both speculatively and practically, and its latest writers are far and away the ablest of the group.⁴⁵ It matters nothing that, just as there are hosts of persons who cannot pray, so there are greater hosts who cannot by any possibility be influenced by the mind-curers' ideas. For our immediate purpose, the important point is that so large a number should exist who can be so influenced. They form a psychic type to be studied with respect.⁴⁶

The simple fact remains that the movement has spread because of its practical results. Nothing has shown the American people’s practical character more clearly than this. Their only distinctly original contribution to a systematic philosophy of life is so closely tied to actual medical treatment. Medical professionals and clergy in the United States are beginning to recognize the importance of mind-cure, though with much resistance and protest. Mind-cure is clearly bound to develop further, both in theory and in practice. Its most recent writers are by far the most capable of the group.⁴⁵ Just as many people cannot pray, even more cannot possibly be influenced by the ideas of mind-curers. But that does not matter. For our immediate purpose, the important point is that so many people can be influenced by those ideas. They form a psychological type that deserves respectful study.⁴⁶

To come now to a little closer quarters with their creed. The fundamental pillar on which it rests is nothing more than the general basis of all religious experience, the fact that man has a dual nature, and is connected with two spheres of thought, a shallower and a profounder sphere, in either of which he may learn to live more habitually. The shallower and lower sphere is that of the fleshly sensations, instincts, and desires, of egotism, doubt, and the lower personal interests. But whereas Christian theology has always considered frowardness to be the essential vice of this part of human nature, the mind-curers say that the mark of the beast in it is fear; and this is what gives such an entirely new religious turn to their persuasion.

Let us now take a closer look at their beliefs. The foundation of their beliefs is simply the general basis of all religious experience. Human beings have a dual nature and are connected to two spheres of thought, one shallower and one deeper. They may learn to live more habitually in either sphere. The shallower, lower sphere is that of bodily sensations, instincts, and desires, as well as egotism, doubt, and lower personal interests. Christian theology has always considered willfulness the essential vice of this part of human nature. But the mind-curers say that its mark of the beast is fear. This gives their beliefs an entirely new religious character.

The “misery-habit,” the “martyr-habit,” engendered by the prevalent “fearthought,” get pungent criticism from the mind-cure writers:—

The “misery-habit” and the “martyr-habit,” caused by widespread “fearthought,” are sharply criticized by mind-cure writers:

Although the disciples of the mind-cure often use Christian terminology, one sees from such quotations how widely their notion of the fall of man diverges from that of ordinary Christians.⁵⁰

Although followers of mind-cure often use Christian terms, these quotations show how different their idea of the fall of man is from that of ordinary Christians.⁵⁰

Their notion of man's higher nature is hardly less divergent, being decidedly pantheistic. The spiritual in man appears in the mind-cure philosophy as partly conscious, but chiefly subconscious; and through the subconscious part of it we are already one with the Divine without any miracle of grace, or abrupt creation of a new inner man. As this view is variously expressed by different writers, we find in it traces of Christian mysticism, of transcendental idealism, of vedantism, and of the modern psychology of the subliminal self. A quotation or two will put us at the central point of view:—

Their idea of humanity’s higher nature is hardly less different, since it is clearly pantheistic. In the mind-cure philosophy, the spiritual part of a person is partly conscious, but mostly subconscious. Through the subconscious part, we are already one with the Divine. This requires no miracle of grace or sudden creation of a new inner person. Different writers express this view in different ways. In their accounts, we find traces of Christian mysticism, transcendental idealism, Vedantism, and the modern psychology of the subliminal self. A quotation or two will show us the central point of view:

Let me now pass from these abstracter statements to some more concrete accounts of experience with the mind-cure religion. I have many answers from correspondents—the only difficulty is to choose. The first two whom I shall quote are my personal friends. One of them, a woman, writing as follows, expresses well the feeling of continuity with the Infinite Power, by which all mind-cure disciples are inspired.

Let me now turn from these abstract statements to more concrete accounts of experience with the mind-cure religion. I have many responses from correspondents. The only difficulty is choosing among them. The first two people I will quote are personal friends of mine. One of them, a woman, writes as follows. She expresses well the feeling of being connected to the Infinite Power that inspires all followers of mind-cure.

My second correspondent, also a woman, sends me the following statement:—

My second correspondent, also a woman, sent me the following statement:

Here is another case, more concrete, also that of a woman. I read you these cases without comment,—they express so many varieties of the state of mind we are studying.

Here is another, more concrete case, also involving a woman. I read these cases to you without comment. They show some of the many varieties of the state of mind we are studying.

But I fear that I risk tiring you by so many examples, and I must lead you back to philosophic generalities again. You see already by such records of experience how impossible it is not to class mind-cure as primarily a religious movement. Its doctrine of the oneness of our life with God's life is in fact quite indistinguishable from an interpretation of Christ's message which in these very Gifford lectures has been defended by some of your very ablest Scottish religious philosophers.⁵²

But I fear that so many examples may tire you, and I must return to general philosophical ideas. These accounts of experience already show that mind-cure must be seen primarily as a religious movement. Its teaching that our life is one with God's life is indistinguishable from an interpretation of Christ's message. Some of your most distinguished Scottish religious philosophers have defended that interpretation in these very Gifford lectures.⁵²

But philosophers usually profess to give a quasi-logical explanation of the existence of evil, whereas of the general fact of evil in the world, the existence of the selfish, suffering, timorous finite consciousness, the mind-curers, so far as I am acquainted with them, profess to give no speculative explanation. Evil is empirically there for them as it is for everybody, but the practical point of view predominates, and it would ill agree with the spirit of their system to spend time in worrying over it as a “mystery” or “problem,” or in “laying to heart” the lesson of its experience, after the manner of the Evangelicals. Don't reason about it, as Dante says, but give a glance and pass beyond! It is Avidhya, ignorance! something merely to be outgrown and left behind, transcended and forgotten. Christian Science so-called, the sect of Mrs. Eddy, is the most radical branch of mind-cure in its dealings with evil. For it evil is simply a lie, and any one who mentions it is a liar. The optimistic ideal of duty forbids us to pay it the compliment even of explicit attention. Of course, as our next lectures will show us, this is a bad speculative omission, but it is intimately linked with the practical merits of the system we are examining. Why regret a philosophy of evil, a mind-curer would ask us, if I can put you in possession of a life of good?

But philosophers usually claim to give a more or less logical explanation for the existence of evil. Mind-curers, as far as I know, claim to offer no theoretical explanation for the general fact of evil in the world. Nor do they explain the existence of limited consciousness that is selfish, suffering, and fearful. For them, evil is a fact of experience, just as it is for everyone else. But they focus on practical matters. It would go against the spirit of their system to spend time worrying about evil as a “mystery” or “problem.” Nor would they “lay to heart” the lesson of experiencing evil, as the Evangelicals do. Don't reason about it, as Dante says, but glance at it and move on! It is Avidhya, ignorance! It is simply something to outgrow and leave behind, to transcend and forget. Christian Science, as it is called, the sect of Mrs. Eddy, is the most radical branch of mind-cure in its treatment of evil. For Christian Science, evil is simply a lie, and anyone who mentions it is a liar. Its optimistic ideal of duty forbids us even to pay evil the compliment of direct attention. Of course, as our next lectures will show, this failure to explain evil is a serious flaw in theory. But the omission is closely linked to the practical merits of the system we are examining. A mind-curer would ask us, why regret the lack of a philosophy of evil if I can give you a life of good?

After all, it is the life that tells; and mind-cure has developed a living system of mental hygiene which may well claim to have thrown all previous literature of the Diätetik der Seele into the shade. This system is wholly and exclusively compacted of optimism: “Pessimism leads to weakness. Optimism leads to power.” “Thoughts are things,” as one of the most vigorous mind-cure writers prints in bold type at the bottom of each of his pages; and if your thoughts are of health, youth, vigor, and success, before you know it these things will also be your outward portion. No one can fail of the regenerative influence of optimistic thinking, pertinaciously pursued. Every man owns indefeasibly this inlet to the divine. Fear, on the contrary, and all the contracted and egoistic modes of thought, are inlets to destruction. Most mind-curers here bring in a doctrine that thoughts are “forces,” and that, by virtue of a law that like attracts like, one man's thoughts draw to themselves as allies all the thoughts of the same character that exist the world over. Thus one gets, by one's thinking, reinforcements from elsewhere for the realization of one's desires; and the great point in the conduct of life is to get the heavenly forces on one's side by opening one's own mind to their influx.

After all, it is how people live that counts. Mind-cure has developed a practical system of mental hygiene that may well overshadow all earlier writing on the care of the soul. This system is made up entirely of optimism: “Pessimism leads to weakness. Optimism leads to power.” “Thoughts are things,” as one of the most forceful mind-cure writers prints in bold type at the bottom of every page. If your thoughts are of health, youth, vigor, and success, these things will become part of your outward life before you know it. No one can fail to be renewed by persistent optimistic thinking. Every person has an inalienable right to this path to the divine. Fear, by contrast, and all narrow and selfish ways of thinking open the way to destruction. At this point, most mind-cure practitioners introduce the belief that thoughts are “forces.” They believe that, by a law of like attracting like, a person's thoughts draw support from all similar thoughts throughout the world. In this way, your thoughts gain outside help in making your desires a reality. The great point in living is to get the heavenly forces on your side by opening your mind to their influence.

On the whole, one is struck by a psychological similarity between the mind-cure movement and the Lutheran and Wesleyan movements. To the believer in moralism and works, with his anxious query, “What shall I do to be saved?” Luther and Wesley replied: “You are saved now, if you would but believe it.” And the mind-curers come with precisely similar words of emancipation. They speak, it is true, to persons for whom the conception of salvation has lost its ancient theological meaning, but who labor nevertheless with the same eternal human difficulty. Things are wrong with them; and “What shall I do to be clear, right, sound, whole, well?” is the form of their question. And the answer is: “You are well, sound, and clear already, if you did but know it.” “The whole matter may be summed up in one sentence,” says one of the authors whom I have already quoted, “God is well, and so are you. You must awaken to the knowledge of your real being.”

Overall, the mind-cure movement seems psychologically similar to the Lutheran and Wesleyan movements. Believers in morality and good works anxiously asked, “What must I do to be saved?” Luther and Wesley replied: “You are saved now, if only you would believe it.” The mind-curers offer the same message of liberation. They speak to people for whom salvation has lost its old theological meaning. But these people still struggle with the same enduring human difficulty. Things are wrong with them, and their question takes this form: “What must I do to be clear, right, sound, whole, well?” The answer is: “You are already well, sound, and clear, if only you knew it.” One of the authors I have already quoted says, “The whole matter can be summed up in one sentence: God is well, and so are you. You must awaken to the knowledge of your real being.”

The adequacy of their message to the mental needs of a large fraction of mankind is what gave force to those earlier gospels. Exactly the same adequacy holds in the case of the mind-cure message, foolish as it may sound upon its surface; and seeing its rapid growth in influence, and its therapeutic triumphs, one is tempted to ask whether it may not be destined (probably by very reason of the crudity and extravagance of many of its manifestations⁵³) to play a part almost as great in the evolution of the popular religion of the future as did those earlier movements in their day.

Those earlier gospels gained their force because their message met the mental needs of a large part of humanity. The mind-cure message meets those needs just as well, foolish as it may sound on the surface. Its influence is growing rapidly, and it has had therapeutic triumphs. Seeing these, one is tempted to ask whether it may be destined to play an almost equally great role in the evolution of popular religion in the future. It may do so, probably because many of its expressions are crude and extravagant⁵³, just as those earlier movements played a great role in their day.

But I here fear that I may begin to “jar upon the nerves” of some of the members of this academic audience. Such contemporary vagaries, you may think, should hardly take so large a place in dignified Gifford lectures. I can only beseech you to have patience. The whole outcome of these lectures will, I imagine, be the emphasizing to your mind of the enormous diversities which the spiritual lives of different men exhibit. Their wants, their susceptibilities, and their capacities all vary and must be classed under different heads. The result is that we have really different types of religious experience; and, seeking in these lectures closer acquaintance with the healthy-minded type, we must take it where we find it in most radical form. The psychology of individual types of character has hardly begun even to be sketched as yet—our lectures may possibly serve as a crumb-like contribution to the structure. The first thing to bear in mind (especially if we ourselves belong to the clerico-academic-scientific type, the officially and conventionally “correct” type, “the deadly respectable” type, for which to ignore others is a besetting temptation) is that nothing can be more stupid than to bar out phenomena from our notice, merely because we are incapable of taking part in anything like them ourselves.

But I fear that I may now begin to “get on the nerves” of some members of this academic audience. You may think that such contemporary fads hardly deserve so much attention in the dignified Gifford lectures. I can only ask you to be patient. I imagine that these lectures will ultimately impress on you the enormous diversity in people’s spiritual lives. Their needs, sensitivities, and capacities all vary and must be placed in different categories. As a result, there are genuinely different types of religious experience. Since these lectures seek a closer understanding of the healthy-minded type, we must study it in its most radical form, wherever we find it. The psychology of individual character types has hardly even begun to be outlined. Our lectures may perhaps contribute a tiny crumb to that structure. The first thing to remember is that nothing could be more foolish than to ignore phenomena merely because we cannot experience anything like them ourselves. This is especially important if we belong to the clerical, academic, or scientific type. That is the officially and conventionally “correct” type, the “deadly respectable” type, which is particularly tempted to ignore others.

Now the history of Lutheran salvation by faith, of methodistic conversions, and of what I call the mind-cure movement seems to prove the existence of numerous persons in whom—at any rate at a certain stage in their development—a change of character for the better, so far from being facilitated by the rules laid down by official moralists, will take place all the more successfully if those rules be exactly reversed. Official moralists advise us never to relax our strenuousness. “Be vigilant, day and night,” they adjure us; “hold your passive tendencies in check; shrink from no effort; keep your will like a bow always bent.” But the persons I speak of find that all this conscious effort leads to nothing but failure and vexation in their hands, and only makes them two-fold more the children of hell they were before. The tense and voluntary attitude becomes in them an impossible fever and torment. Their machinery refuses to run at all when the bearings are made so hot and the belts so tight.

The history of Lutheran salvation by faith, Methodist conversions, and what I call the mind-cure movement seems to prove something. It suggests that many people can improve their character by doing the exact opposite of what official moralists prescribe. At least, this is true at a certain stage in their development. Official moralists advise us never to relax our efforts. “Be watchful, day and night,” they urge us. “Keep your passive tendencies in check. Avoid no effort. Keep your will like a bow always drawn.” But the people I am speaking of find that all this conscious effort leads only to failure and frustration. It only makes them twice as much the children of hell as they were before. For them, this tense, deliberate effort becomes an unbearable fever and torment. Their machinery refuses to run at all when the bearings get so hot and the belts are so tight.

Under these circumstances the way to success, as vouched for by innumerable authentic personal narrations, is by an anti-moralistic method, by the “surrender” of which I spoke in my second lecture. Passivity, not activity; relaxation, not intentness, should be now the rule. Give up the feeling of responsibility, let go your hold, resign the care of your destiny to higher powers, be genuinely indifferent as to what becomes of it all, and you will find not only that you gain a perfect inward relief, but often also, in addition, the particular goods you sincerely thought you were renouncing. This is the salvation through self-despair, the dying to be truly born, of Lutheran theology, the passage into nothing of which Jacob Behmen writes. To get to it, a critical point must usually be passed, a corner turned within one. Something must give way, a native hardness must break down and liquefy; and this event (as we shall abundantly see hereafter) is frequently sudden and automatic, and leaves on the Subject an impression that he has been wrought on by an external power.

Under these circumstances, the way to succeed is through an anti-moralistic method. Countless authentic personal accounts bear this out. It is the method of “surrender” that I spoke of in my second lecture. Now the rule should be passivity, not activity, and relaxation, not concentration. Give up your sense of responsibility and let go. Leave the care of your destiny to higher powers, and be genuinely indifferent to how it all turns out. You will find not only complete inner relief, but often the very things you sincerely thought you were giving up. This is salvation through despair of oneself, the dying to be truly born, of Lutheran theology. It is the passage into nothing that Jacob Behmen writes about. To reach it, a person must usually pass a critical point, a turning point within. Something must give way. A natural hardness must break down and melt. As we shall see abundantly later, this event is often sudden and automatic. It leaves the person feeling that an external power has acted upon them.

Whatever its ultimate significance may prove to be, this is certainly one fundamental form of human experience. Some say that the capacity or incapacity for it is what divides the religious from the merely moralistic character. With those who undergo it in its fullness, no criticism avails to cast doubt on its reality. They know; for they have actually felt the higher powers, in giving up the tension of their personal will.

Whatever its ultimate meaning may be, this is certainly a fundamental form of human experience. Some say that the ability or inability to have this experience separates religious people from those who are merely moralistic. For those who experience it fully, no criticism can make them doubt its reality. They know because they have actually felt the higher powers when they let go of the tension of their personal will.

A story which revivalist preachers often tell is that of a man who found himself at night slipping down the side of a precipice. At last he caught a branch which stopped his fall, and remained clinging to it in misery for hours. But finally his fingers had to loose their hold, and with a despairing farewell to life, he let himself drop. He fell just six inches. If he had given up the struggle earlier, his agony would have been spared. As the mother earth received him, so, the preachers tell us, will the everlasting arms receive us if we confide absolutely in them, and give up the hereditary habit of relying on our personal strength, with its precautions that cannot shelter and safeguards that never save.

Revivalist preachers often tell a story about a man who found himself slipping down the side of a cliff at night. At last, he caught a branch that stopped his fall. He clung to it in misery for hours. But finally his fingers could hold on no longer. Saying a despairing farewell to life, he let himself drop. He fell just six inches. If he had given up the struggle earlier, he would have been spared his agony. Just as mother earth received him, the preachers tell us, the everlasting arms will receive us. They will receive us if we trust them completely and give up our inherited habit of relying on our own strength. That habit brings precautions that cannot shelter us and safeguards that never save us.

The mind-curers have given the widest scope to this sort of experience. They have demonstrated that a form of regeneration by relaxing, by letting go, psychologically indistinguishable from the Lutheran justification by faith and the Wesleyan acceptance of free grace, is within the reach of persons who have no conviction of sin and care nothing for the Lutheran theology. It is but giving your little private convulsive self a rest, and finding that a greater Self is there. The results, slow or sudden, or great or small, of the combined optimism and expectancy, the regenerative phenomena which ensue on the abandonment of effort, remain firm facts of human nature, no matter whether we adopt a theistic, a pantheistic-idealistic, or a medical-materialistic view of their ultimate causal explanation.⁵⁴

The mind-curers have explored this kind of experience more widely than anyone. They have shown that people can find renewal by relaxing and letting go. This renewal is psychologically indistinguishable from Lutheran justification by faith and Wesleyan acceptance of free grace. It is within reach even for people who have no sense of sin and care nothing for Lutheran theology. It simply means giving your small, private, struggling self a rest and discovering that a greater Self is there. The results of optimism and expectation, and the renewal that follows when effort is abandoned, remain firm facts of human nature. This is true whether the results are slow or sudden, great or small. And it is true whether we ultimately explain their causes in theistic, pantheistic-idealistic, or medical-materialistic terms.⁵⁴

When we take up the phenomena of revivalistic conversion, we shall learn something more about all this. Meanwhile I will say a brief word about the mind-curer's methods.

When we examine conversions during religious revivals, we will learn more about all this. Meanwhile, I will briefly discuss the mind-curer's methods.

They are of course largely suggestive. The suggestive influence of environment plays an enormous part in all spiritual education. But the word “suggestion,” having acquired official status, is unfortunately already beginning to play in many quarters the part of a wet blanket upon investigation, being used to fend off all inquiry into the varying susceptibilities of individual cases. “Suggestion” is only another name for the power of ideas, so far as they prove efficacious over belief and conduct. Ideas efficacious over some people prove inefficacious over others. Ideas efficacious at some times and in some human surroundings are not so at other times and elsewhere. The ideas of Christian churches are not efficacious in the therapeutic direction to-day, whatever they may have been in earlier centuries; and when the whole question is as to why the salt has lost its savor here or gained it there, the mere blank waving of the word “suggestion” as if it were a banner gives no light. Dr. Goddard, whose candid psychological essay on Faith Cures ascribes them to nothing but ordinary suggestion, concludes by saying that “Religion [and by this he seems to mean our popular Christianity] has in it all there is in mental therapeutics, and has it in its best form. Living up to [our religious] ideas will do anything for us that can be done.” And this in spite of the actual fact that the popular Christianity does absolutely nothing, or did nothing until mind-cure came to the rescue.⁵⁵

They are, of course, largely suggestive. The suggestive influence of our surroundings plays an enormous part in all spiritual education. But the word “suggestion” has gained official status. Unfortunately, it is already beginning to discourage investigation in many quarters. People use it to fend off all inquiry into why individuals respond differently. “Suggestion” is only another name for the power of ideas, insofar as they prove effective in shaping belief and conduct. Ideas that work on some people do not work on others. Ideas that work at some times and in some human surroundings do not work at other times and elsewhere. The ideas of Christian churches are not effective in healing today, whatever they may have been in earlier centuries. The whole question is why the salt has lost its flavor here or gained it there. Merely waving the word “suggestion” like a banner sheds no light on that question. Dr. Goddard, in his candid psychological essay on Faith Cures, attributes them to nothing but ordinary suggestion. He concludes by saying that “Religion [and by this he seems to mean our popular Christianity] has in it all there is in mental therapeutics, and has it in its best form. Living up to [our religious] ideas will do anything for us that can be done.” He says this despite the fact that popular Christianity does absolutely nothing, or did nothing until mind-cure came to the rescue.⁵⁵

An idea, to be suggestive, must come to the individual with the force of a revelation. The mind-cure with its gospel of healthy-mindedness has come as a revelation to many whose hearts the church Christianity had left hardened. It has let loose their springs of higher life. In what can the originality of any religious movement consist, save in finding a channel, until then sealed up, through which those springs may be set free in some group of human beings?

For an idea to have a powerful effect, it must come to a person as a revelation. Mind-cure, with its message of healthy-mindedness, has been a revelation to many whose hearts church Christianity had left hardened. It has released the sources of their higher life. What makes a religious movement original, if not its discovery of a previously blocked channel through which those sources may be released for some group of people?

The force of personal faith, enthusiasm, and example, and above all the force of novelty, are always the prime suggestive agency in this kind of success. If mind-cure should ever become official, respectable, and intrenched, these elements of suggestive efficacy will be lost. In its acuter stages every religion must be a homeless Arab of the desert. The church knows this well enough, with its everlasting inner struggle of the acute religion of the few against the chronic religion of the many, indurated into an obstructiveness worse than that which irreligion opposes to the movings of the Spirit. “We may pray,” says Jonathan Edwards, “concerning all those saints that are not lively Christians, that they may either be enlivened, or taken away; if that be true that is often said by some at this day, that these cold dead saints do more hurt than natural men, and lead more souls to hell, and that it would be well for mankind if they were all dead.”⁵⁶

Personal faith, enthusiasm, and example are always the main forces of suggestion behind this kind of success. Above all, novelty is the strongest force. If mind-cure ever becomes official, respectable, and firmly established, it will lose these sources of suggestive power. In its most intense stages, every religion must be a homeless Arab of the desert. The church knows this well. It faces an endless inner struggle between the intense religion of the few and the entrenched religion of the many. The religion of the many has hardened into an obstacle to the Spirit’s movements. It is an even worse obstacle than the resistance offered by a lack of religion. “We may pray,” says Jonathan Edwards, “for all those saints who are not lively Christians, that they may either be brought to life or taken away. We may do so if what some people often say today is true. They say these cold, dead saints do more harm than unconverted people and lead more souls to hell. They also say it would be good for mankind if they were all dead.”⁵⁶

The next condition of success is the apparent existence, in large numbers, of minds who unite healthy-mindedness with readiness for regeneration by letting go. Protestantism has been too pessimistic as regards the natural man, Catholicism has been too legalistic and moralistic, for either the one or the other to appeal in any generous way to the type of character formed of this peculiar mingling of elements. However few of us here present may belong to such a type, it is now evident that it forms a specific moral combination, well represented in the world.

The next condition for success is that many people apparently combine a healthy outlook with a readiness for spiritual renewal through letting go. Protestantism has been too pessimistic about human nature, while Catholicism has been too focused on rules and morality. As a result, neither has much appeal to people with this particular combination of traits. However few of us here today may be such people, this is clearly a distinct moral type that is well represented in the world.

Finally, mind-cure has made what in our protestant countries is an unprecedentedly great use of the subconscious life. To their reasoned advice and dogmatic assertion, its founders have added systematic exercise in passive relaxation, concentration, and meditation, and have even invoked something like hypnotic practice. I quote some passages at random:—

Finally, mind-cure has made unprecedented use of the subconscious life in our Protestant countries. Alongside reasoned advice and firm assertions, its founders have introduced systematic exercises in passive relaxation, concentration, and meditation. They have even used something like hypnosis. I quote a few passages at random:

Wherein, I should like to know, does this intrinsically differ from the practice of “recollection” which plays so great a part in Catholic discipline? Otherwise called the practice of the presence of God (and so known among ourselves, as for instance in Jeremy Taylor), it is thus defined by the eminent teacher Alvarez de Paz in his work on Contemplation.

I would like to know how this really differs from the practice of “recollection”, which plays such a large part in Catholic discipline. It is also called the practice of the presence of God. It is known by that name among us too, for example in Jeremy Taylor. The eminent teacher Alvarez de Paz defines the practice this way in his work on Contemplation.

All the external associations of the Catholic discipline are of course unlike anything in mind-cure thought, but the purely spiritual part of the exercise is identical in both communions, and in both communions those who urge it write with authority, for they have evidently experienced in their own persons that whereof they tell. Compare again some mind-cure utterances:—

All the external aspects of Catholic discipline are, of course, unlike anything in mind-cure thought. But the purely spiritual part of the practice is identical in both traditions. In both, those who recommend the practice write with authority. They have evidently experienced firsthand what they describe. Compare these further statements from mind-cure writers:

When we reach the subject of mysticism, you will undergo so deep an immersion into these exalted states of consciousness as to be wet all over, if I may so express myself; and the cold shiver of doubt with which this little sprinkling may affect you will have long since passed away—doubt, I mean, as to whether all such writing be not mere abstract talk and rhetoric set down pour encourager les autres. You will then be convinced, I trust, that these states of consciousness of “union” form a perfectly definite class of experiences, of which the soul may occasionally partake, and which certain persons may live by in a deeper sense than they live by anything else with which they have acquaintance. This brings me to a general philosophical reflection with which I should like to pass from the subject of healthy-mindedness, and close a topic which I fear is already only too long drawn out. It concerns the relation of all this systematized healthy-mindedness and mind-cure religion to scientific method and the scientific life.

When we reach the subject of mysticism, you will be immersed so deeply in these exalted states of consciousness that you will be wet all over, if I may put it that way. The cold shiver of doubt that this little sprinkling may cause you will have long since passed. I mean doubt about whether all such writing is merely abstract talk and rhetoric meant to encourage others. Then, I trust, you will be convinced that these states of consciousness of “union” form a perfectly definite class of experiences. The soul may occasionally experience them, and certain people may live by them in a deeper sense than they live by anything else they know. This brings me to a general philosophical reflection. With it, I would like to leave the subject of healthy-mindedness and close a topic that I fear has already gone on too long. The reflection concerns the relation of all this systematized healthy-mindedness and mind-cure religion to scientific method and the scientific life.

In a later lecture I shall have to treat explicitly of the relation of religion to science on the one hand, and to primeval savage thought on the other. There are plenty of persons to-day—“scientists” or “positivists,” they are fond of calling themselves—who will tell you that religious thought is a mere survival, an atavistic reversion to a type of consciousness which humanity in its more enlightened examples has long since left behind and outgrown. If you ask them to explain themselves more fully, they will probably say that for primitive thought everything is conceived of under the form of personality. The savage thinks that things operate by personal forces, and for the sake of individual ends. For him, even external nature obeys individual needs and claims, just as if these were so many elementary powers. Now science, on the other hand, these positivists say, has proved that personality, so far from being an elementary force in nature, is but a passive resultant of the really elementary forces, physical, chemical, physiological, and psycho-physical, which are all impersonal and general in character. Nothing individual accomplishes anything in the universe save in so far as it obeys and exemplifies some universal law. Should you then inquire of them by what means science has thus supplanted primitive thought, and discredited its personal way of looking at things, they would undoubtedly say it has been by the strict use of the method of experimental verification. Follow out science's conceptions practically, they will say, the conceptions that ignore personality altogether, and you will always be corroborated. The world is so made that all your expectations will be experientially verified so long, and only so long, as you keep the terms from which you infer them impersonal and universal.

In a later lecture, I will discuss religion’s relationship to science on the one hand and to ancient, primitive thought on the other. Many people today like to call themselves “scientists” or “positivists.” They will tell you that religious thought is merely a survival from the past. They see it as a return to a type of consciousness that humanity’s more enlightened examples have long since left behind and outgrown. If you ask these people to explain further, they will probably say that primitive thought imagines everything in personal terms. The primitive person thinks that things operate through personal forces and for individual purposes. For such a person, even external nature obeys individual needs and demands, as if these were elementary forces. The positivists say that science, on the other hand, has proved something different. Personality is not an elementary force in nature. It is merely a passive result of the truly elementary forces, which are physical, chemical, physiological, and psycho-physical. All these forces are impersonal and general in character. Nothing individual accomplishes anything in the universe except by obeying and demonstrating some universal law. You might then ask these positivists how science has displaced primitive thought and discredited its personal view of things. They would undoubtedly say that science has done so by strictly using the method of experimental verification. Put the ideas of science into practice, they will say, and you will always find them confirmed. These are ideas that disregard personality altogether. The world is so made that experience will verify all your expectations as long as you base them on impersonal and universal terms, and only as long as you do so.

But here we have mind-cure, with her diametrically opposite philosophy, setting up an exactly identical claim. Live as if I were true, she says, and every day will practically prove you right. That the controlling energies of nature are personal, that your own personal thoughts are forces, that the powers of the universe will directly respond to your individual appeals and needs, are propositions which your whole bodily and mental experience will verify. And that experience does largely verify these primeval religious ideas is proved by the fact that the mind-cure movement spreads as it does, not by proclamation and assertion simply, but by palpable experiential results. Here, in the very heyday of science's authority, it carries on an aggressive warfare against the scientific philosophy, and succeeds by using science's own peculiar methods and weapons. Believing that a higher power will take care of us in certain ways better than we can take care of ourselves, if we only genuinely throw ourselves upon it and consent to use it, it finds the belief, not only not impugned, but corroborated by its observation.

But here we have mind-cure, with its completely opposite philosophy, making the very same claim. Live as if mind-cure were true, it says, and each day will show you in practice that you are right. Your whole bodily and mental experience will confirm these claims: the forces that govern nature are personal, your own thoughts are forces, and the powers of the universe will respond directly to your individual appeals and needs. Experience does largely confirm these ancient religious ideas. We can see this in the way the mind-cure movement spreads, not just through proclamations and assertions, but through tangible results people experience. Here, at the height of science's authority, mind-cure wages an aggressive war against scientific philosophy. It succeeds by using science's own distinctive methods and weapons. Mind-cure holds that a higher power will care for us in certain ways better than we can care for ourselves. It holds that this will happen if we genuinely place ourselves in the power's care and agree to use it. Mind-cure finds that observation not only fails to challenge this belief, but supports it.

How conversions are thus made, and converts confirmed, is evident enough from the narratives which I have quoted. I will quote yet another couple of shorter ones to give the matter a perfectly concrete turn. Here is one:—

The accounts I have quoted make it clear how people are converted and how converts are strengthened in their faith. I will quote two more short accounts to make the matter perfectly concrete. Here is one:

The next case not only illustrates experiment and verification, but also the element of passivity and surrender of which awhile ago I made such account.

The next case illustrates not only experiment and verification, but also the role of passivity and surrender that I emphasized earlier.

These are exceedingly trivial instances,⁶⁴ but in them, if we have anything at all, we have the method of experiment and verification. For the point I am driving at now, it makes no difference whether you consider the patients to be deluded victims of their imagination or not. That they seemed to themselves to have been cured by the experiments tried was enough to make them converts to the system. And although it is evident that one must be of a certain mental mould to get such results (for not every one can get thus cured to his own satisfaction any more than every one can be cured by the first regular practitioner whom he calls in), yet it would surely be pedantic and over-scrupulous for those who can get their savage and primitive philosophy of mental healing verified in such experimental ways as this, to give them up at word of command for more scientific therapeutics. What are we to think of all this? Has science made too wide a claim?

These are extremely minor examples,⁶⁴ but if they show us anything, they show the method of experiment and verification. For my present point, it makes no difference whether you consider the patients victims of their own imagination or not. They seemed to themselves to have been cured by the experiments, and that was enough to convert them to the system. Of course, one must clearly have a certain kind of mind to get such results. Not everyone can be cured this way to their own satisfaction. Nor can everyone be cured by the first regular doctor they consult. Yet some people can verify their savage and primitive philosophy of mental healing through experiments like these. Surely it would be pedantic and excessively scrupulous for them to abandon it on command in favor of more scientific treatments. What are we to think of all this? Has science claimed too much?

I believe that the claims of the sectarian scientist are, to say the least, premature. The experiences which we have been studying during this hour (and a great many other kinds of religious experiences are like them) plainly show the universe to be a more many-sided affair than any sect, even the scientific sect, allows for. What, in the end, are all our verifications but experiences that agree with more or less isolated systems of ideas (conceptual systems) that our minds have framed? But why in the name of common sense need we assume that only one such system of ideas can be true? The obvious outcome of our total experience is that the world can be handled according to many systems of ideas, and is so handled by different men, and will each time give some characteristic kind of profit, for which he cares, to the handler, while at the same time some other kind of profit has to be omitted or postponed. Science gives to all of us telegraphy, electric lighting, and diagnosis, and succeeds in preventing and curing a certain amount of disease. Religion in the shape of mind-cure gives to some of us serenity, moral poise, and happiness, and prevents certain forms of disease as well as science does, or even better in a certain class of persons. Evidently, then, the science and the religion are both of them genuine keys for unlocking the world's treasure-house to him who can use either of them practically. Just as evidently neither is exhaustive or exclusive of the other's simultaneous use. And why, after all, may not the world be so complex as to consist of many interpenetrating spheres of reality, which we can thus approach in alternation by using different conceptions and assuming different attitudes, just as mathematicians handle the same numerical and spatial facts by geometry, by analytical geometry, by algebra, by the calculus, or by quaternions, and each time come out right? On this view religion and science, each verified in its own way from hour to hour and from life to life, would be co-eternal. Primitive thought, with its belief in individualized personal forces, seems at any rate as far as ever from being driven by science from the field to-day. Numbers of educated people still find it the directest experimental channel by which to carry on their intercourse with reality.⁶⁵

I believe the claims of the sectarian scientist are, to say the least, premature. The experiences we have studied during this hour plainly show that the universe has more sides than any sect allows for. Even the scientific sect fails to account for them. Many other kinds of religious experience show the same thing. After all, what are all our verifications? They are experiences that agree with more or less isolated systems of ideas, or conceptual systems, that our minds have formed. But why, in the name of common sense, must we assume that only one such system can be true? Our experience as a whole clearly shows that the world can be approached through many systems of ideas. Different people do approach it in different ways. Each approach brings its user a characteristic kind of benefit that they value. At the same time, some other kind of benefit must be given up or postponed. Science gives all of us telegraphy, electric lighting, and diagnosis. It also succeeds in preventing and curing a certain amount of disease. Religion, in the form of mind-cure, gives some of us serenity, moral balance, and happiness. It also prevents certain forms of disease as well as science does. For certain people, it does so even better. Clearly, then, science and religion are both genuine keys to the world's treasure house for anyone who can use either one practically. Just as clearly, neither is complete, and neither rules out using the other at the same time. After all, why might the world not be complex enough to contain many overlapping spheres of reality? We could approach these spheres in turn by using different ideas and adopting different attitudes. Mathematicians, for example, work with the same facts about numbers and space using geometry, analytical geometry, algebra, calculus, or quaternions. Each time, they arrive at the right answer. On this view, religion and science would exist forever alongside each other, each verified in its own way from hour to hour and from life to life. Primitive thought believes in distinct personal forces. In any case, science seems no closer to driving this way of thinking from the field today than ever. Many educated people still find it the most direct way to engage with reality through experience.⁶⁵

The case of mind-cure lay so ready to my hand that I could not resist the temptation of using it to bring these last truths home to your attention, but I must content myself to-day with this very brief indication. In a later lecture the relations of religion both to science and to primitive thought will have to receive much more explicit attention.

The case of mind-cure was so readily available that I could not resist using it to bring these last truths to your attention. But today I must settle for this very brief mention. In a later lecture, I will need to give much more explicit attention to how religion relates to science and primitive thought.

(See note to p. 121.)

(See the note on page 121.)