^ NOV II 1967
BL 53 .C6 1916
Coe, George Albert, 1862-
1951. '
The psychology of religion
The University of Chicago Publications
IN Religious Education
EDITED BY
ERNEST D. BURTON SHAILER MATHEWS
THEODORE G. SCARES
/
V
HANDBOOKS OF ETHICS AND RELIGION
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS
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THE PSYCHOLOGY
OF RELIGION
GEORGE ALBERT COE
Professor in the Union Theological Seminary
New York City
THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Copyright igi6 By
The University op Chicago
All Rights Reserved
Published December iqi6
Second Impression January igi;
Composed and Printed By
The University of Chicago Press
Chicago, Illinois. U.S.A.
TO A VERY HUMAN PERSON
To know you
is to behold the splendor of life
and its mystery
To know you
is to discover that religious faith
if it is possible
is necessary
and
How can I know you
still be without religious faith ?
Therefore to you
I dedicate this study of the human
naturalness of religion
PREFACE
This work is intended primarily as a handbook for
beginners in the psychological analysis of religion. The
foremost concern, therefore, has been to make clear the
nature of the problems, the kinds of data, the methods of
research, and the achieved results.
The justification for attempting such a handbook
lies partly in the inherent difficulty of analyzing rehgious
experience, and partly in conditions that grow out of
the extreme youth of the psychology of religion. We
are still in the beginnings — plural — of this enterprise.
Of ten recent writers who have published volumes of a
general character devoted largely or wholly to the sub-
ject, no three pursue the same method, or hold the same
point of view as to what the religious consciousness is.
I refer to Ames, Durkheim, Hofiding, James, King,
Leuba, Pratt, Starbuck, Stratton, and Wundt. Such
disparity is not a reproach to a scientific inquiry in its
first stages, but rather a sign of its vitaHty. But students
who are approaching the subject for the first time are
likely to be confused by the seeming babel, even though
it be more apparent than real, or else — and this is a more
common and a greater evil — to suppose that the first
tongue that they happen to hear speaks the one exclu-
sive language of science. I have therefore attempted,
not only to sharpen the outlines of problems, but also
to provide, particularly in the alphabetical and topical
bibHographies, convenient apparatus for following up
ix
X TIIK PSYCHOLOGY OF RFXIGION
problems, and especially for setting them in a scientific
perspective.
My first intention was to make this work simply a
handbook. But inasmuch as even an introduction to
the researches of others is bound to represent some
standpoint of one's own, and inasmuch as candor is best
served by making standpoints explicit, I decided to
include a rather extended statement of certain inquiries
and conclusions that I have found more and more inter-
esting and, as I believe, fruitful. The upspringing of
functional analysis of mental life is likely to prove
immensely significant for the sciences of man, who
contemplates and judges his own functions. But func-
tionalism in psychology is still in its infancy — it is only
now discovering its own fingers and toes. It is working
with categories borrowed from biology, not clearly
realizing that it has taken for its parish the whole
world of values. To meet this situation I have felt it
necessary, not only to assume the standpoint of func-
tional analysis, but also to investigate it. The result
is a view of religion that does not separate it at all from
instinct, yet finds its peculiar function elsewhere.
I have not attempted a balanced treatment of the
whole subject of the psychology of religion. Rather, I
have brought into the foreground the problems that
seem to be most pressing at the present moment. Here,
without doubt, my own mind reveals its leanings. I
have no desire to conceal them. All attention, in fact,
is selective; all investigation is moved by a greater
interest in something than in something else.
It is not always necessary to make one's interests
explicit, but investigation of the more intimate aspects
PREFACE • XI
of experience that we call valuational proceeds best
upon a basis of frank self-revelation. The investigator
of the psychology of religion, whatever be the case with
others, cannot afford to neglect the psychology of his
own psychologizing.^
That the reader may duly weigh my tendencies,
they are made expHcit rather than carried along as
suppressed premises in supposedly impersonal think-
ing— as though there could be thinking without a
motived will-to-think.^ As a further aid to critical
reading of this work, I here and now set down a
list of my attitudes with respect to religion and to
the psychology of reHgion. The reader may then
^ One writer, Professor J. H. Leuba, has set a good precedent by
frankly letting his readers know something of his religious experience.
Naturally, he thinks that his own experience has brought him into
"the ideal condition for the student of religion" (A Psychological Study
of Religion [New York, 191 2], p. 275, and note)! On the danger of the
"psychologist's fallacy" in the psychology of rehgion, se^ W. F, Cooley,
"Can Science Speak the Decisive Word in Theology?" Journal of
Philosophy, X (1913), 296-301.
2 Such limitations are not peculiar to investigations in which, as
in the present instance, the valuational aspect of consciousness is in
the foreground. It is a general rule that scientific men are more certain
of their generalizations than of their data. The least certain parts of
psychology, for example, are revealed in current discussions of the
nature of the psychical, and of the nature and method of psychology.
In the same way the biologist finds himself hard pressed to say just what
the difference is between a vital phenomenon and any other. Every
investigator, whatever his specialty, as a matter of fact (i) selects his
data, and (2) treats them from the standpoint of a particular interest.
What a blessing it would be if a catalogue could be made of the prin-
ciples of selection actually employed, and of the particular interests
that determine analyses, in each science! But — this would plunge us
into the problem of values, and into philosophy! Rather than take
this plunge let us keep up the delusion that as scientific men we de-
personalize ourselves into "clear, cold logic-engines"!
xii THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
judge for himself the extent to which tjiey act as
prejudices.
1. The rehgious enterprise is to me the most
important undertaking in life. Much is at stake.
This importance of religion attaches to some extent
also to efforts to analyze religion. For such efforts, by
focusing attention on one point or another, may result
in either the heightening or the lowering of appreciation
for something valuable.
2. I do not appeal to any religious experience of my
own as settling for me any question of psychology.
Nor do I accept as authoritative the report of anyone
else that such questions have been settled by his experi-
ence. Every rehgious experience, without exception, is
to me a datum, to be examined by analytic processes
that do not appear or that are undeveloped in the
experience itself. Now, it is of the essence of religious
dogma to assert that somebody — pope, council, prophet,
inspired writer — has had a religious experience that does
settle certain psychological questions concerning itself —
such questions, for example, as the difference between
this experience and ordinary experiences, the way in
which certain ideas have got into the mind, and much
more. This fact, as well as general considerations of
history and of scientific method, make it impossible for
me to reconcile the psychology of religion with any
dogmatic authority.
3. On the other hand, the religious urgency that I
have already mentioned makes me more or less cautious
with regard to the content of rehgious tradition — ^par-
ticularly the Christian tradition in which I have been
reared. Here I find, not a dead body awaiting dissection,
PREFACE xiii
but a Kving being — ^one needing surgery, I am sure, but
alive, and to live. Freedom from intellectual authority
and the practice of psychologizing religious facts have
rather intensified than lessened my conviction (i) that
within the historical movement broadly called the Chris-
tian reHgion the human spirit has come to demand more
of life than it has demanded elsewhere, that is, that in
this religion we have the greatest of all stimuli; and
(2) that this stimulus both proceeds from and points to
reality. I entertain as my own, in short, the Christian
faith in divine fatherhood and human brotherhood, and
I work cordially within a Christian church to make this
religion prevail. Quite naturally, no doubt, I assume
that looking at religion from the inside helps rather than
hinders analysis, and I certainly find no motive in the
Christian rehgion for undervaluing other religions or
even non-religions; the principle of brotherhood makes
me expect to find something of myself in the other man's
point of view. But if any reader thinks that being thus
religious has warped my psychology, I request that he
will do two things: (i) not rest in any general surmise
or assumption, but find the specific facts that have been
neglected, misrepresented, or misanalyzed, and (2) ex-
amine his own way of getting at the inside of the same
facts, that is, confess his own interests as I am now
confessing mine. In this way he will not only correct
my one-sidedness, but also hasten the correction of his
own, and science will move the faster up its zigzag trail.
4. My rehgious experience has been as free from
mysticism as it has been from dogmatism. Indeed, the
chief incitement to seek mystical experiences came to
me wrapped up in dogma, and the disappointment of
XIV THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
my adolescence, when the promised and sought-for
mystical ''witness of the Spirit" did not come, caused
me to turn away from both the dogmatic and the mys-
) tical approach to rehgion. Not far from the middle of
my college days it was settled — though I could not
then realize how well settled — -that thenceforth I
should look for the center of gravity of religion in the
moral will. I do not rely upon intuitions, nor make the
subconscious my refuge in the day of critical adversity.
Life seems to me to be an ethical enterprise; my life
problem concerns the choice of my cause, the invest-
ment of my purposes; and this, surely, implies distrust
of anything that evaporates in the sunlight of my most
critical self-possession.
5. From the standpoint of the moral will, the rational
possibility of faith in a personal God and in life after
death seems to me to be immensely important. For I
conceive the ethical in social terms, and therefore for
me persons are the paramount reality. If I had any
merely individual self-consciousness, its continuance after
death, or before death, would not be clearly worth while.
Our life gets its meaning, its reality, by being social.
But when once it has this meaning, how can one consent
to perish or to let others perish without moral protest ?
If our current social thinking does not view the question
of survival after death as an acute social problem, it is
because we have already made an unsocial assent to the
idea of a death that ends all; it is because our sociaHty
is trunkated. So with regard to God. It is socially
desirable that *'an ideal sociiis^^ should exist. If this
desire is only slightly in evidence in much of our social
thinking, the reason, as before, is that we have steeled
PREFACE XV
ourselves not to desire too great a social good. I, for
one, am unwilling to subject myself to any such self-
discipline. I will not curb my heart as long as its desires
are truly social. My personal religion, in fact, consists,
first and foremost, in the emancipation of social desire.
6. Finally, I own up to a strong aversion to dog-
matism in science as well as in religion. In scientific
circles, just as in religion, pohtics, and business, there /
are orthodoxies and heresies, and both orthodoxy and
heresy may be dogmatic. I am inclined to think that
science takes itself too seriously at times. Possibly we
could become more scientific by cultivating a sense of
humor! How would it do to start a '' Scientific Gridiron
Club" for the purpose of "roasting" our foibles? Once
a year we could play the harlequin with our freshly
discarded convictions and with our freshly adopted ones
ahke. We could see ourselves following scientific fads
and nmning in scientific herds, being moved, like the
profane, by suggestion. We could coolly gaze upon the
heat and the haste with which we have endeavored to
preach and to legislate for Hfe. We could, in short,
behold science as an exhibition of hmnan nature. The
psychology of rehgion may be expected, of course, to
modifiy to some extent our religious practices and our
theological notions, but it is not likely to fill with great
success the role of prophet, or of pope, or even of business
manager!
George A. Coe
New York City
June, 1916
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PACK
Preface ix
CHAPTER
1. Religion as an Object of Psychological Study i
II. The Psychology of Mental Mechanisms and
THE Psychology of Persons 14
Appendix: On the Specific Nature of Mental
Functions 32
III. The Data, and How They Are Ascertained . 43
IV. Preliminary Analysis of Religious Conscious-
ness 59
V. Racial Beginnings in Religion .... 76
VI. The Genesis of the Idea of God ... 96
VII. Religion and the Religions .... 107
VIII. Religion as Group Conduct . . . . 119
IX. Religion as Individual Conduct . . . 136
X. Conversion 152
XI. Mental Traits of Religious Leaders . . 175
XII. Religion and the Subconscious .... 193
XIII. The Religious Revaluation of Values . . 215
XIV. Religion as Discovery '. 229
XV. Religion as Social Immediacy . . . . 246
XVI. Mysticism 263
XVII. The Future Life as a Psychological Problem 286
XVIII. Prayer 302
XIX. The Religious Nature of Man . . . . 321
Alphabetical Bibliography 327
Topical Bibliography 346
Index 357
xvii
CHAPTER I
RELIGION AS AN OBJECT OF PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY
The closing years of the nineteenth century and the
opening years of the twentieth mark the beginning of a
definite determination to use the resources of scientific
psychology in the investigation of rehgion. The roots
of modern science reach far into the past, of course; yet
a distinctly new departure was made when systematic,
empirical methods were employed in order to analyze
religious conversion and thus place it within the general
perspective of the natural sciences.^ Associated with the
interest in conversion there quickly arose inquiry into
the wider problem of mysticism.* Coincidently with such
^ The earliest articles bearing on this topic are as follows: G. Stanley
HaU, "The Moral and Religious Training of Children and Adolescents,"
Pedagogical Seminary, I (1891), 196 ff.; A. H. Daniels, "The New Life,"
American Journal of Psychology, VI (1893), 61 ff.; J. H. Leuba, "A
Study in the Psychology of Religious Phenomena," ibid., VII (1896),
3095,; W. H. Bumham, "The Study of Adolescence," Pedagogical
Semirtary, I (1891), 2ff; E.G. Lancaster, " Psychology and Pedagogy of
Adolescence," Pedagogical Seminary, V (1895), iff; E. D. Starbuck,
"A Study of Conversion," American Journal of Psychology, VIII (1897),
268 ff.; "Some Aspects of Religious Growth," ihid., DC (1898), 70 ff.
These articles were succeeded by the following volumes devoted largely
or wholly to conversion and kindred phenomena: E. D. Starbuck,
The Psychology of Religion (London, 1899); G. A. Coe, The Spiritual
Life (New York, 1900); W. James, The Varieties of Religious Experience
(London, 1902).
^Typical of this interest are: J. H. Leuba, "Tendances fonda-
mentales des mystiques chretiens," Revue philosophique, LIV (1902),
1-36 and 441-87; " On the Psychology of a Group of Christian Mystics,"
Mind, XIV (1905), 15-27; M. Delacroix, Etudes d'histaire et de psychol-
ogie du mysticisme (Paris, 1908). James's Varieties of Religious Experi-
ence (1902) and J. B. Pratt's Psychology of Religious Belief (New York,
1907) are to a considerable degree arguments for the truth of mysticism.
3 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
studies of individual life came investigations of the
earliest forms of religion.' Investigation of origins both
included and stimulated attempts at a critical deter-
mination of the nature of religion and its relation to
human evolution.' f'inally, the systematization of re-
sults in general surveys of the whole field has begun. ^
The whole constitutes a fresh chapter that belongs on
the one hand to psychology and on the other to the
science of religion.
Attempts to psychologize this or that phase of religion
are not new, of course. What is new is the use of critical,
empirical methods, and the specific results of applying
them. One could write a long history of what may be
called, in no opprobrious sense, the quasi-psychology of
religion, that is, attempts to conceive religion, or parts
of it, in terms of mental structure or of mental process,
but without a method sufficiently critical to correct
erroneous statements of fact or of law. Inner religion,
when it becomes reflective, commonly attempts to psy-
chologize. Thus the New Testament writers, Paul in
particular, have views concerning the structure of the
mind (soul, spirit, the flesh, etc.) and the inner working
* For example: Irving King, The Development of Religion (New
York, iQio); E. Durkheim, Les Formes iUmentaires de la me religieuse
(Paris, 19 1 2); W. Wundt, Elemenie der Volker psychologic (Leipzig,
1913)-
' G. M. Stratton, Psychology of the Religious Life (London, 191 1);
J. H. Leuba, A Psychological Study of Religion (New York, 191 2).
5 E. S. Ames, Psychology of Religious Experience (Boston, 19 10).
J. B. Pratt, in his article "The Psychology of Religion," Harvard Theo-
logical Review, I (1908), 435-54, gives an outline of the movement up
to the date of his writing.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY 3
of spiritual influences, divine and demonic!' Tertullian
{ca. 155-222) defends Christianity against its detractors
by declaring that *'The soul is naturally Christian,"*
and that the persecutors themselves bear unintentional
witness to the things that they would stamp out.^ He
goes so far in his treatise on the soul as to attempt
a psychology of the Christian soul. Augustine, Pascal,
and unnumbered others found God, as they thought,
by studying the soul of man.
To dissect out the quasi-psychological elements in
theology would require a survey of very nearly the
whole history of Christian doctrine. The natural man,
creationism and traducianism, dichotomy and tri-
chotomy, inspiration, regeneration, free will, the person
of Christ — these are some of the angles from which
theologians have made the mind of man, as they have
believed, an object of study. Schleiermacher (1768-
1834), with his insistence that religion is neither belief
nor action, but feeling, gave a psychologic direction to all
progressive theology. We must look for the essence of
religion, he argues, in the interior of the soul itself.
''Otherwise," he says, ''ye will understand nothing of
religion, and it will happen to you as to one who, bring-
ing his tinder too late, hunts for the fire which the flint
has drawn from the steel, and finds only a cold and
meaningless particle of base metal, with which he cannot
' See M. S. Fletcher, The Psychology of the New Testament (New
York: Hodder & Stoughton Co.). The title of this work seems
hardly fortunate. In these days the term psychology should connote
scientific method, which, of course, the New Testament writers
lacked.
' Apology xvii.
3 Testimony of the Soul vi.
4 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
kindle anything.'" Again, arguing that the reality of
religion cannot be found in sacred literature, but only
in the soul's exj^eriences, he exclaims, *'If you only
knew how to read between the lines!'**
Philosophical as well as religious interests have
inspired attempts at a psychological account of religion.
Lucretius, quoting Petronius, declares that the basis of
religion is fear: "It is fear that first made the gods."
Hume opens his Natural History of Religion (1755) with
a distinction between questions that concern the ration-
ality of religion and those that concern its *' origin in
human nature." Many philosophers, indeed, have had
theories of the relation of religion to human nature.
Hegel, for example, regarded religion as a particular
stage in the process whereby God comes to self-
consciousness in man. Ludwig Feuerbach, reversing
this position, held that the gods are merely projections
of man's wishes, so that in religion man comes to
consciousness merely of what he himself is.
Finally, the history of religion, which has made
great strides during the last two generations, has com-
monly called psychological conceptions to its aid. What,
indeed, can a history of religion be — as distinguished
from a history of doctrines or of institutions — but an
account of certain mental reactions as related to the
situations in which they arise and grow?
Nevertheless, neither theology, philosophy, nor the
history of reUgion has succeeded in producing a psy-
chology of religion in the present sense of the term
** psychology." They have turned attention to one or
another phase of the enormous complex called "religion,"
^ Reden (ed. of 1806), p. $2. 'Ibid., p. 56.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY 5
and thereby they have stimulated inquiry. The history
of rehgion has, in addition, accumulated large masses
of data for the psychologist's use. Isolated views have
been reached that may claim a permanent place in
psychology. But a scientific psychology of religion is
something more than an incident of philosophy, theology,
and the history of religion. It impHes, in particular,
critical systematic methods for ascertaining data and
for placing them within the general perspective of mental
Hfe.
The present movement for a psychology of religion
is due to several new and favorable conditions. In the
first place, psychology itself has just become an inde-
pendent science, with many men devoting themselves
exclusively to it. The first psychological laboratory,
that of Wundt, was established as late as 1875. Since
this date we have witnessed the upspringing of such
fairly well-organized branches of the science as animal
psychology, genetic and educational psychology, and
abnormal psychology. Beginnings have been made,
also, in social and anthropological psychology. In the
second place, recent anthropological research, conducted
with unprecedented thoroughness, has uncovered a vast
quantity of material that bears upon the evolution of
religion. Thirdly, there has occurred, chiefly in these
years, a general assimilation of the historical-evolutionary
principle as appHed to the higher elements of culture.
Notable, from the standpoint of our present interest, is
the firm estabHshment of the historical study of the
Bible, commonly called the higher criticism. Fourthly,
and finally, an ancient obstacle to the scientific study
of rehgion, the assumption of dogmatic authority, is in
6 TirE rSVC}IOLOGY OF RELIGION
process of rapid dissolution in Protestant circles. Not
only that; within these circles a demand has arisen, in
the name of religion itself, that the nature and the
mechanism of the spiritual life be laid bare. This
demand grows alike from desire for the firmest control
of religious processes — as in religious education — and
from a conviction that for us religion must be, among
other things, an original grasp upon life rather than
adhesion to tradition. We wish to make our religious
consciousness clear as to its own meaning.*
The attempt to construe religion psychologically is
most nearly related to general psychology, though its
bearing upon theology, philosophy, and religious work
is obviously direct. Indeed, the psychology of religion
is properly nothing but an expanded chapter of general
psychology. As we proceed, evidence will accumulate
that we are dealing with something not separate in its
elements from the most commonplace facts of mental
life. The reasons for a separate treatment are reasons
of convenience and of accommodation to existing con-
ditions. For example: (a) The problems are so funda-
^ Among practical workers in religion there is a serious misconcep-
tion, however, of the whole method and significance of the psychology
of religion. Clergymen, in sermons and in books, are giving the name
psychology to strange mixtures of dogma and hearsay science. One
writer offers us "a Christian psychology of the Christian life," which
"admits sources of material as valid which general psychological science
rigidly excludes," Another deduces practically a whole system of
Christian doctrine — the traditional system — from a supposedly psycho-
logical analysis of Christian experience. Not a few fancy that they
can draw directly from psychology new proofs of the existence of
God, or of inspiration. It is significant that most ^^Titers of these
types appear to be more at home in the obscurities of the subcon-
scious than among the more clearly established facts and laws of
the mind.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY 7
mental and the facts so complicated that an extensive
treatment of them is inevitable, (b) Religious sensi-
tivity, or prejudice, among students, and in religious
circles generally, tends to deter psychologists from all
discussion of religion. It is probably better to handle
these difficulties in a group than to spread them out
through general psychology, (c) Religion, though it is
a commonplace fact, has nevertheless become, so to say,
self-conscious. There is a partial parallel here with
conditions in art and in education; in each of these three
cases large masses of experience have organized them-
selves around a particular interest, or a particular insti-
tution, and as a consequence economy of attention is
secured by a separate psychological treatment.
But can psychology penetrate to the heart of religion ?
Must it not forever be as much of an outsider as a man
born deaf who should witness a symphony concert with
his eyes only ? How can one understand religion with-
out feeling it, and how can feelings be put into words ?
And are not the supreme and most original religious
experiences sui generis, extra-natural, incapable of
analysis by means of ordinary methods or concepts?
Let us answer these questions seriatim.
I. One possessed of sight but not hearing could
find out many important things about symphony con-
certs, partly by direct observation, partly by reading
what others write. In the same way the psychology of
religion might be pursued with some success by one
who does not *' enjoy religion.'' Both symphonies and
religious phenomena can be considered from the stand-
point of processes taking place in time and space, and
having parts related in definite ways to one another
ty
8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
and to other things. That is, there is a mechanism of
religion as well as of music.
2. Nevertheless, it is true that to understand either
music or religion one must have appreciation, feeling,
some actual entering into an experience as distinguished
from merely looking on. It is true also that feelings
cannot be put into words in the sense of being trans-
ferred thereby from one person to another. But neither
can anything be, in this sense, put into words. The
word ''gold" is not yellow; the word ''wealth" makes
no one rich. There is nothing, however, to prevent per-
sons who have similar feelings from devising a termi-
nology' that shall awaken specific memories connected
with these feelings. We have, as a matter of fact, a
great vocabulary of appreciation in aesthetics, ethics, and
religion. To understand this vocabulary one must
undoubtedly have some corresponding experience of
appreciation; to incorporate such a vocabulary into the
sciences a common human experience is prerequisite. A
psychology of aesthetics is possible because aesthetic
experience, at least in its rudiments, is common to men.
A psychology of the moral life is possible because moral
experience is universal. A psycholog>' of religion in the
same intimate sense is possible also, provided that reli-
gious appreciations of at least a rudimentary sort are
likewise common. Whether this is the fact must be
decided ultimately by the progress of our study, but
the diffusion of religion in both space and time justi-
fies a preliminary affirmative hypothesis on this point.
Even if, however, religion be not thus a common experi-
ence, a psychology of religion in the sense referred to
under i above would still be practicable.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY 9
3. Are not some religious experiences in their very
nature outside the scope of psychology? So all Catho-
lics and many Protestants hold. What Catholic writers
call ''mystical theology" devises careful tests for dis-
tinguishing the operation of divine or demonic beings
within us from the natural ongoings of the mind.^
Benedict XIV, pope from 1740 to 1758, laid down rules,^
which are followed today in the canonization of saints,
whereby the church can become officially certain as to
what is pathological and what divine in the extraordinary
visitations experienced by saints and miracle-workers.
A presupposition of all these tests, however, is a
theory of the supernatural — a theory authoritatively
imposed. The conclusion reached in any given case
is not a statement of probabilities based upon observa-
tion, but rather a mixture of observation and a priori
assumption.
Protestants who hold to a psychical supernatural
commonly mix with the assumption of authority two
other things — a theory of intuition as a source of knowl-
edge in matters of fact — that is, in matters susceptible
of regulated observation — and a habit of assuming that
what is extraordinarily valuable or satisf3dng has laws
of its own, different from those of nature at large.
Scientific method is of course antithetical to all of these
positions. What is more significant for our present
purpose is that no observed separation between religious
^J. Goxrts, Die christliche Mystik (Regensburg, 1836-42), devotes
three of his five volumes to possession and "demonic mysticism."
How "mystical theology" undertakes to maintain itself in the presence
of scientific psychology can be seen in A. B. Sharpe, Mysticism: Its
True Nature and Value (London: Sands & Co.).
^ De servorum Dei heatificatione et canonisatione.
lO THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
and other mental processes has been pointed out;' the
alleged separateness depends in every case upon an
antecedent supernaturalistic assumption. Further,
psychology has already succeeded in analyzing many of
the supposedly exceptional religious experiences; they
are not a scientific terra incognita at all.
What sorts of question, then, does psychology ask
with regard to religion ? An examination of publications
in this field will show that two main types of problem
are recognized.
First, religious experience is ordinarily a highly
involved psychical complex which needs to be viewed
in its elements. Conversion, which is the central topic
of Starbuck's pioneer work, is such a complex. Mys-
ticism, to which Leuba and Delacroix have given so
much attention, offers a larger problem of the same kind.
Stratton, noting that a remarkable crisscross of motives
and beliefs appears everywhere in the sacred books of
the world, has taken as his task the explanation of this
seemingly self- contradictory complexity. Search for
the elements of a complex appears again in studies of
the genesis and growth of religion in the individual and
in the race, as in those of King, Pratt, Durkheim, and
Wundt.
Secondly, religion has a peculiar relation to the
valuational phase of experience. In pre-eminent degree
religion, even more than philosophy, is a wrestling with
destiny. It will wring a consciously adequate life out
of the hard conditions of existence. With this value
aspect of religious experience in mind we unearth new
* This will appear more and more clearly as our analysis of religious
experiences proceeds.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY ii
facts, and we face a new aspect of all the facts. What
is it, Professor James asks, that the devotee fixes his
heart upon, and what are the results of his spiritual
exercises — results in the current everyday terms of
value? Hoffding judges that the fundamental axiom
of religion is ''the conservation of values."^ King and
Ames are chiefly interested in discovering the functions
that religion represents in the life of man as a whole,
and how these functions originate and grow. Concerning
any religious phenomenon — say a sacrifice, a dance, or
solitary mystic contemplation — we must ask, not merely
what sort of god or what theory of the universe is here
involved, and not merely what sensations, emotions,
and so on make up the complex, but also what the
devotee is after, whether he gets what he is after, and
how this particular good is related to other goods in
the total self-realizing life of man. This phase of reli-
gious life is objectively present not less truly than the
parts into which we resolve mental complexes.
The distinction between these two types of investi-
gation involves problems that will occupy much space
in succeeding chapters. At this point, however, it will
be well to understand clearly that resolving a mental
complex into its elements does not answer all the legiti-
mate questions concerning the nature of an experience.
Let us imagine ourselves called upon, for example, to
give a complete psychological account of a mother
fondling her baby. We see right away that we have
before us a complex, the mothering process, which must
be analyzed into its part processes. Here are touch
and sight sensations, ideational activities, emotions, and
^ H. Hoffding, Philosophy of Religion (London, 1906), p. 10.
li
12 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
instincts, all connected with corresponding neural pro-
cesses in nerve endings, transmission tracts, and brain
centers. Thus we resolve the complex. Each part of
the machinery is discriminated from other parts, and we
behold all working together. This is the mothering
complex. But something remains still; it is mother-love,
of which thus far we have said not a word. In our
analysis of the mothering complex the baby is simply a
stimulus of touch and sight, an excitant of nerve endings,
a part of a mechanism. But within mother love, that is,
within the actuality of the experience, what is a baby ?
What is the baby, that is to say, to the mother, and
what is the mother to herself, now that a child of her
very own has come ?
Heaven's first darling, twin-bom v/ith the morning light, you
have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you
have stranded on my heart.
As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who
belong to all have become mine.
For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What
magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms
of mine ?^
We must, indeed, analyze mind process just as we do
the movements of the planets, treating the mind as a
mechanism; and neither human affection nor religion
has any claim to exemption from this taking to pieces.
But these personal realizations demand that they be
understood also. There is something in poetry that is
not metrics, something in music that is not vibrations,
something in our social and ethical experience that is
not a complex of states of consciousness. Never shall
* Tagore, "The Beginning," from The Crescent Moon.
RELIGION AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY 13
we understand this something by merely reanalyzing
the mechanism. As well might we explain a line of
poetry by merely marking the quantity of its syllables.
; We must go forward to a psychology of values, functions,
self-realizations.
A certain distrust of psychology that now and then
appears among religionists is not altogether groundless.
For there is "something more" to conversion and other
religious experiences than the sum of the part processes
that have mostly occupied the attention of psychologists.
Ordinarily, however, religious critics of the psychology
of religion fall into a scientific pitfall. They assume
that the "something more" is just another part process
co-ordinate with those already recognized by psychology,
whereas the missing thing is not another wheel in a
machine, or another event in a series, but the individual
wholeness of self-realization. Wiser than these objectors
are those who say, "Whatever the process or mechanism
of conversion or of prayer, the man changes for the
better, he has more real life than he had before."^
^ I purposely refrain from giving a formal definition of religion at
the outset of this study, partly because definitions convey so little
information as to facts; partly because the history of definitions of
religion makes it almost certain that any fresh attempt at definition
would unnecessarily complicate these introductory chapters; partly
because, in this subject at least, a definition, if it is to have vitality,
must be an achievement — it cannot be "given" by one to another.
The observant reader will notice, however, that my whole discussion of
method and point of view in the psychology of religion (chaps, i and ii)
gradually unfolds a definite conception of the nature of religious
experience.
CHAPTER II
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS AND
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PERSONS
The methods and the points of view of each science
have to be worked out within the science itself; they
may not be prescribed in advance. Whoever thinks of
scientific method as a ready-made sieve that needs only
to be shaken vigorously in order to separate the factors
in any and every kind of experience that may be poured
into it misconstrues the whole history of scientific
research. To be thoroughly empirical implies that we
look ever for that which cannot be expressed in the old
categories.^ The history of each science reveals not only
an increasing body of recorded facts, but also growth in
the fundamental conceptions that define the science and
its methods. It is not to the disparagement but to the
credit of psychology to say that in its short history it
has brought forth, alongside of innumerable researches
in limited areas, a set of remarkable problems concerning
itself. What is ''the psychical'^ which psychology will
investigate? What are the objective marks of the
presence or absence of the psychical ? Can it be meas-
* Psychology is the greatest sufferer, but not the only one, from the
tendency to erect a point of view or a method into a dogma. Consider
the following not uncommon assumptions: (i) that one who masters
the methods in a particular branch of scientific investigation becomes
thereby a scientific man; (2) that the irreducible ultimates in physics
must suffice for the analysis of living beings; (3) that the really funda-
mental factors in mind are those which biology takes account of; and
in general (4) that the different is not really different!
14
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 1 5
ured? How is it related to the physical? What part
does the psychical play in vital processes ?
All these questions are in debate today. Some of
them have the utmost interest for the psychology of
religion because they involve, in a fundamental way,
the contrast that was reached in the last chapter between
mental mechanism and personal self-realization. This
distinction emerges when we attempt to answer the
question, What is the psychical? The commonest
answer is that by the psychical (for which consciousness
is the more usual term) we mean such facts as sensations,
feelings, and impulses to action, and that these are known
primarily by introspection. Psychology accordingly has
commonly understood itself to be the science of ''states
of consciousness as such/' that is, without regard to
their relation to any metaphysical soul or ego. This
point of view has justified itself by the fruit it has borne,
which is nothing less than the winning of a place for
psychology among the empirical sciences. To the objec-
tion that there can be no "psychology without a soul,"
the effective reply has been successful psychologizing
without saying anything about the soul! It is not at
all surprising that students, and even professional
psychologists, come to think of mental life as com-
pounded of simple elements, after the analogy of chem-
istry, or as a mechanism of which sensations, feelings,
and the like are the ultimate units.
Is this, however, ''the" psychological point of view
or "a" psychological point of view? A convenient
pathway toward an answer is to examine an instance of
the assumed psychological elements or facts, say a
sensation. It must be so amenable to observation that
i6 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
you and I can talk about it as a particular object ascer-
tainably present. It is easy to discuss sensations of
touch, taste, and so on in general, just as we used to
talk about atoms; but what is required is that we point
out and identify a particular sensation as actually occur-
ring. Paradoxical as it seems at first, we may have to
conclude that sensations as well as atoms are not facts
of experience but constructs from experience. For, first,
when you offer me an objectively observed case, it turns
out to be your sensation. Now, your sensation is a fact
for me, not by virtue of my own direct observation, but
by virtue of a process of construction from other data.
Moreover, in what sense can you say that even you
observe this sensation ? Not to mention other difficulties
of introspection, see what happens when you attempt to
count your sensations for a few seconds. You discover
that either you are counting objects rather than sensa-
tions, or else putting arbitrary bounds to each sensation.
No atoms of mental life appear to you at all, but rather
a continuous flow which has various aspects, of which
the sensational is one. Your sensations are constructs
for you as they are also for me. We can now understand,
in part, why Professor James, at the conclusion of his
brilliant analysis of ''states of consciousness as such'*
declares that, after all, ''states of consciousness them-
selves are not verifiable facts. "^
When we reach this insight, three courses are open
to us : First, we may go on as before analyzing states of
consciousness as such, but we must then recognize that
the material in which we work (sensations, feelings, etc.)
is not mental life in its concreteness, but rather certain
^Psychology (Briefer Course), p. 467.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 17
abstracted aspects of this life. It is by this abstracting,
aided by analogies derived from the structure of the
brain and nervous system, that psychology has drawn
its pictures of complicated mental mechanisms — the
mechanism of sense-perception, of memory, of emotion,
and so on.
In spite of the abstractness of such psychology, and
in spite of the objection that will be noted in the next
paragraph, there is no likelihood that we shall ever dis-
pense with this method of approach to mental life.
These aspects of our experience are actual aspects, and
these mechanisms, though they are the psychologist's
mental constructs out of elements that are themselves
constructs, have uses both theoretical and practical that
correspond to the parallel constructs of physics and
chemistry. If, however, anyone speaking in the name
of psychology should suggest that mental mechanism is
all there is to mental life, he would be convincing only
to those whose analysis stops short of the primary
empirical data.
The status of ''states of consciousness" is in fact
openly challenged in the name of psychology itself. The
behaviorist movement, which represents the second of
the three possible courses, says substantially this: Let
us observe and experiment upon the movements of
our own bodies and of animal bodies, making the
least possible reference to accompanying consciousness.
By noting outer acts we shall arrive at the most secure
generalizations concerning the very life that tradi-
tional psychology has attempted to construe by treat-
ing it as a subjective phenomenon. Behaviorism in
its extreme form declares that the assumption of
1 8 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
consciousness has never helped in the solution of any
problem,^
Undoubtedly this movement arises out of a real need,
and its influence upon psychology is almost certain to
be wholesome. It is well that we are thus challenged
to exhibit the actual data with which psychology works,
and to see how much can be learned from bodily move-
ments and physiological changes as such. But, while
behaviorism is likely to be a permanent point of view,
particularly in the study of animals, it is not likely to
crowd consciousness out of psychology. How far — to
take a prominent problem of behaviorism — can analysis
of the learning process go without taking account of
satisfactions and annoyances ?^ And, in general, has
not some behavior meaning? From one point of view
conversation, for example, is just behavior, that is, a
set of co-ordinated movements of lips, tongue, vocal
cords, diaphragm and intercostal muscles, facial muscles,
eyes, hands, etc. Analysis of these movements will very
Ukely help us to understand what happens when two
men converse. But to ignore everything in conversation
except such movements is to leave out the function of
it, which is the interchange of meanings between persons.
For his purposes the behaviorist may avoid discussing
this function, but he should at least realize that thereby
he chooses one among several points of view. Behaviorism,
in short, represents simply a new division of labor within
the field of psychology.
^ J. B. Watson, "Psycholog>^ as the Behaviorist Views It," Psycho-
logical Review, XX (1913), 158-77.
' E. L. Thorndike, one of the leading behaviorists, though he
consistently endeavors to express our reactions as far as possible in
terms of muscular and neural activity, makes much of " satisfyingness "
as a factor in the formation of new connections.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 19
Both of these types of psychological interest, then —
the ^'states of consciousness" type and the behaviorist
type — necessitate a third type. The concrete experience
out of which we abstract ''states of consciousness" is
the experience of being a personal self. Each sensation,
feeling, or other ''element" of structural psychology is
simply a particular discriminable aspect of a self -realizing
life. Sensations and feelings are not known to have any
other kind of existence, and what other kind of existence
they could conceivably have has never been explained.^
Now, since self-realizations are not less actual than sen-
sations, but more so, and since much of our behavior
is communication of self-realized meanings, we must
have an empirical science of self-reahzations, or, in
short, of selves. This is psychology par excellence,
because its data are the most concrete and the most
distinctive.^
Several recent developments show how inevitable
it is that sooner or later we should advance from a
^ When we desire to represent the consciousness of lower animals,
we invariably image to ourselves some fragment of our own self-realizing
life. We are helped by our memories of dreams, and of the vague states
between waking and sleeping. Our own memory gaps also help us to
conceive lower degrees of organization than our own. Further, the
instinctive and other automatic factors in our own life make it clear
that adaptive response could be abundant even if there were little
consciousness in the animal making the response. We have no experi-
ence, however, that enables us to construe mere atoms of a consciousness
that is not in any degree an organized, self-realizing consciousness.
Behaviorism avoids the difficulty here involved by thinking of animals
as if they had no sensations, or pleasures and pains.
^ Since 1900 Professor Calkins has contended that since states
of consciousness are ''facts-for-selves," psycholog>' must be a science of
selves as well as of states. See her article, "Psycholog>^ as Science of
Selves," Philosophical Review, IX (1900), 490-501. How such psy-
chology differs from the old "psychology with a [metaphysical] soul"
will appear as we proceed.
20 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
psycholog>^ of states to a psychology of individual
persons or selves.
1. Various branches of the science are obliged to
take as their unit the self-realizing individual life.
Abnormal psychology, for example, would be practically
meaningless if it contemplated states of consciousness
as such instead of individuals who vary from an assumed
norm of self-realization. Similarly, child psychology is
required to get the child's point of view, that is, to view
experience from the standpoint of child selves. Folk
psychology is in a parallel situation. Social psychology,
too, turns attention to the self-realized relations of
individual to individual.
2. Many influences — philosophical, theological, psy-
chological— are focusing attention upon values as an
aspect of experience. A "value" is anything experienced
or thought of as satisfying, or the contrary. Here we are
in the sphere of interests, preference, individual attitude,
self-realization.
3. The attempt to relate psycholog>^ to biology has
caused us to think of mental process as a part of active
adjustment to the conditions of life. Here mental
process comes to be thought of as mental function, which
is mental action directed toward advantage, the further-
ance of life — in particular, life that realizes its own
improved state.
The standpoint of ''function" emerges, in fact, in
each of these fresh psychological growths. Here a
functional psychology, or a psychology that recognizes
the functional standpoint, is being created. Here belong
the problems of the second type that appeared in our
first chapter. Religious experiences have a mechanism,
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 21
to be sure, but they are occupied about ends or values —
what Tagore calls ''the realization of life."^ This is
increasingly the case as we move upward in the scale
of religions. At the summit of culture the character
of each religion consists in its working conception of
life's values, and the religious status of the individual
is judged by his scrutiny, choice, and pursuit of ends.
Accordingly, the psychology of reHgion may be expected
to be predominantly functional. Therefore the idea of
mental function needs to be carefully examined at the
outset. We shall see that it is far less simple than one
might suppose.^
What do we mean by "function"? As we use the
term here it applies to living beings only. It signifies
the part that any organ or process has in maintaining,
reproducing, or improving the life of an individual or of
the group to which an individual belongs. The function
of teeth, for example, is to tear, cut, crush, and grind
food, so that the digestive juices may reach all parts of it,
so that it may be assimilated and built into living cells, so
that the individual or group life may go on in strength.
^ Rabindranath Tagore, Sadhand: The Realization of Life (New
York, 19 13).
* The chief critical discussion of the relation of functional to struc-
tural psychology is J. R. Angell's "The Relations of Structiural and
Functional Psychology to Philosophy," one of the Decennial Publications
of the University of Chicago, 1903, printed also in Philosophical Review ^
XII (1903), 243-71. The article has abundant footnote references.
See also G. H. Mead, "The Definition of the Psychical," Decennial
Publications of the University of Chicago, 1903. The first work on general
psychology to be written systematically from the functional point of
view was, I believe, J. R. Angell's Psychology, the first edition of which
appeared in 1904. The clearest, most systematic discussion of the
functional standpoint in the psychology of religion is chap, ii of E. S.
Ames, The Psychology of Religious Experience (Boston, 1910).
2 2 THE rSVCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Function implies that an organ or process is for some-
thing— the point of view is teleological.
But a functional or teleological point of view may
mean any one of three discriminable things:
First, functions may be methodological devices. The
categories ''means" and *'end" do not in this case imply
that the object under investigation employs means for
the sake of attaining ends, but only that this is a con-
venient method whereby the investigator may organize
a multitude of facts into unity. Here function is approxi-
mately the relation of part to whole, the relation ex-
pressed by the word ''for" being kept in the background.
This is substantially the standpoint of biology. Biologi-
cal descriptions, it is true, attribute ends to living beings.
Thus, there is a ''struggle for" existence. Animals
"seek" food, and they "seek" their mates. Certain
organs reach out "for" food, others protect "against"
enemies. Concerning the human appendix vermiformis
we ask what it is, or ever was, "good for." Probably
this objective reference of "means and end" is unavoid-
able. Nevertheless, for very good reasons biology gen-
erally refuses to develop the notion, and even labors to
restrict the teleological reference as much as possible.^
Secondly, psychology, however, has to recognize ends
as objective facts. For mind as we know it best may he
described as preferring something as distinguished from
something else, seeking the preferred thing, and experi-
encing success or failure. Otherwise expressed, the pro-
cesses with which the psychologist has to do tend to define
their own functions or ends, as merely biological processes
* The present debate over vitalism illustrates the fact that the
biological point of view is a point oj view.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 23
do not. Functions are no longer merely devices of the
investigator's mind; they are objective data for in-
vestigation.
Thirdly, it is possible to suppose that all nature is
guided toward some single good or system of goods. In
this case one and the same mental process might be
functional in three senses: {a) its biological function
might be, say, prolongation of life, the ''value of life'*
being here merely a methodological device of the
biologist; (h) its psychological function also might be
prolongation of life, but here the ''value of life" is
objectively realized, and what constitutes "a valuable
life" is judged by the living being himself; {c) its cosmic
function likewise might be prolongation of life, but here
the individual life has super-individual significance,
possibly significance that it is unaware of. Emerson
says that Michelangelo, when he designed St. Peter's
at Rome, "builded better than he knew":
These temples grew as grows the grass;
Art might obey, but not surpass.
The passive Master lent his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him planned;
And the same power that reared the shrine
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.^
Teleology or function in this third sense is traditionally
an object for theological or philosophical rather than
scientific investigation.
Let us now come a little closer to the notion of a
functional psychology. We have seen that a function
is to be defined by reference to the advantage or value
toward which the process in question moves, and that
* The Problem.
24 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
mental process defines its own ends. It follows that
psychology does not discover for us the functions of
mind, but rather records the steps in mind's self-
discovery of its own functions. It follows, further, that
some of our surest knowledge of mental functions is
had by telling one another about our desires and our
satisfactions.
The bluntness of these statements will be justified if
it leads us to face the implications and the difficulties
of the functional standpoint. A first difficulty may be
stated as follows: How is the notion of function to be
applied to processes of too low an order to define their
own aims — the instincts, for example ? Here psychology
is tempted, not only to use biological conceptions, but
to rest in them. Human life is then thought of in terms
that can be applied indiscriminately to men and the
lower animals; life is said to consist fundamentally in
feeding and procreating.
But there is a complementary way to get at the
functions of the instincts. For the instinctive is not a
stage of life that is lived through and left behind; it is a
coefficient, not only of rudimentary mind, but also of
the highest self-consciousness. Here fresh values appear
that could not have been guessed before. Take as an
example the mothering instinct that has been alluded to.
Starting in the animal series as an unreflective impulse,
it becomes in the human race maternal affection, which
helps to give ethical character to the family, and finally
deepens and expands into one of the great factors in
our whole ethical life.^ Affection between the sexes
illustrates the same principle. Biology views it as simply
* Cf. W. McDougall, Social Psychology (Boston, 1909), pp. 66-81.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 25
a part of the reproductive process. But lovers value
each other as persons. The idealizations of affection are
not merely subtle glorifications of sexual acts or of
reproductive results. ''In thine eyes, my darling," said
a dying man to his wife, "have I beheld the Eternal."
More than this: affection between one and one becomes
an important factor in solidifying the monogamic family
and the whole ethical order of which it is a part. Here
instinct is taken up into a larger scheme of things than
appeared at earlier stages of life, and a different scheme.
An instinct that we have in common with the brutes
attains a function in which brutes have no share. Ac-
cordingly, mental evolution is no mere extension of
biological functions, but also the emergence of fresh
functions.'
Another difficulty meets us when we try to think
through the notion of mental function as adjustment.
Adjustment 6?/ what to what ? The temptation, as before,
is to oversimplify by taking ''adjustment" in the
biological sense of physical organisms securing survival
in a given physical environment. Mind then appears
as a favorable variation in the sense of a new means
whereby such an organism survives in such an environ-
ment. That mind does promote the survival of some
individuals is clear enough; but is this an adequate
description of mental function as adjustment? Let us
^ The claim of Dewey that a thing is fully explained as soon as its
genesis is described is true on condition that "genesis" is made suffi-
ciently broad to cover the whole evolution of function. But if "genesis"
refers merely to the earliest functions, and if genetic explanation con-
sists in classifying the later-developed functions under the earlier ones,
then we have the kind of oversimplification that reveals similarities but
conceals differences.
26 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
consider first the notion of environment from the stand-
point of the mind itself.
Does mental adjustment consist in accommodating
ourselves to an environment already given ? Limiting
attention for a moment to physical nature, we may say
unhesitatingly that the business of mind is far less
adjustment of ourselves to environment than adjust-
ment of environment to ourselves.^ Consider how mind
is already bound up in what we call the external world.
How rarely are we alone with non-human nature! We
fly from the city to the country in order to be with
nature, but our eyes meet fields and fences, roads and
houses. We seek the forest, but we follow a trail made
by man; and if perchance we visit an untrod wilderness,
still we reach it, and penetrate it, and care for ourselves
in it, by means of instruments that are the work of men's
hands and minds. Wilderness experiences, besides,
are rare. Nearly all our so-called physical environ-
ment is made up of such things as houses and high-
ways, shops and factories, tools, coins, books, polluted
rivers, smoke — in all of which man meets man, not
merely things. This is, indeed, the chief aspect of
our encounter with the physical. A house is what men
live in, a knife is what men cut with — incarnate pur-
poses. And such, for the most part, things remain.
Only by abstract afterthought do they become merely
physical.
* It is one of the paradoxes of our departmentalized science that at
the ver>' moment when biology came to look upon mind as a favorable
variation, the ability of mind to modify nature was denied by psychology.
Apparently we are nearly done with such kenotic psychology. See, e.g.,
C. H. Judd, "Evolution and Consciousness," Psychological Review, XVII
(1910), 77-97.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 27
Nor is even this the whole story. Nearly all our re-
actions to these things are molded upon customs or
pre-existing man ways. From washing one's face in the
morning to donning one's pajamas at night one does
chiefly the things that are socially prescribed. This
conformity of the individual to his group is a theme of
satirist and of social psychologist alike. So shortsighted
is the notion that the function of mind is simply adjust-
ment to the physical environment.
But the notion of social adjustment also has its own
kind of evasiveness. Social psychology shows that '' my-
self" and "other-self" are not first given, and then
adjusted, but that the two arise in consciousness as
reciprocal aspects of one and the same experience.^
Therefore, in the adjustment that takes place between
you and me, neither of us is a merely given environmental
fact; neither is simply accommodated to the other, but
both of us are in process of becoming persons, even in
the act of social adjustment. Accordingly, that to which
we adjust ourselves in our social functions has to be
defined as an ideal toward which we co-operatively move.
Stated thus generally, the principle may seem to be
obscure, but see how simple it is in concrete cases. When
I start a fire in my fireplace in order that my friend and
I may enjoy an evening together, I do not adjust myself
to the wood or to the fireplace — I adjust them to my
friend and myself; nor does either of us merely accom-
modate himself to the other. Conversation is far dif-
ferent from this. It is, in fact, a method whereby we two
* This, which is now a commonplace, was brought to general recog-
nition in this country largely by J. M. Baldwin's Social and Ethical
Interpretations (New York, 1897).
28 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RIXIGION
mutually modify ourselves so as to be adjusted to a
common ideal.
This partially answers our other question, What is
it that secures adjustment through mental functioning ?
Psychology is cautious here. It wishes especially to
avoid the unworkable notion of the soul as a thing-in-
itself, apart from particular experiences. By fixing
attention upon states of consciousness as such psychology
was able for a time to postpone consideration of what
it is that secures adjustment in the functions called
mental. But the problem is forced upon us by the
necessity of recognizing a difference between the concept
*' process" and the concept *' function." Mental func-
tion implies such things as need, want, desire, purpose,
ideal; and these lead away from states, thought of as
merely compounded, toward the notion of self-realizing
personality. The shyness of psychology toward any
such notion as personality is not without justification,
it is true. The only way to secure freedom from dog-
matic and speculative entanglements has been to ignore
certain troublesome problems. But surely we cannot
absorb *' process" into "function" and still retain process
as mere change per se. Nor are we helped by speaking,
as many are doing, of mental processes as functions of
''the organism." Such terminology merely conceals or
evades the problem. To substitute for "organism" the
term "psycho-physical organism" or "mind-body"'
locates the problem, to be sure, but it does not face
it. "Function" means that something in the end
is better off. What is better off, and what is it to he
better off?
* Ames, op. cit., p. 20.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 29
If, on the other hand, we attempt to construe function
from the standpoint of particular responses to particular
stimuli,^ we encounter some peculiar difficulties. In
the first place, is our datum "stimulus and response" or
"situation and response" ? In many cases, at least, the
objects that stimulate us get their specific stimulating
quality from the interest of the moment. A loaded table
is not the same thing to a starving man that it is to a
sated one, nor is sudden immersion in water the same
thing to an experienced swimmer that it is to one who
has not learned to swim. If we attempt to get below
such situations to mere stimuli, we think of each item
thereof as stimulus oj a particular sensation. Now,
inasmuch as sensations are not concretely existing things
but only aspects of a total experience, a stimulus of a
sensation is itself only an aspect of a total situation.
Our responses are made to situations rather than to
stimuli. Further, since responses are functions, they
have a predetermined tendency. There is no such
thing as response in general, or strictly random responses.
For example, learning by "trial and error," in animals
and in man, involves as one primary factor the learner's
"set" toward something.^ A mental reaction, then, at
whatever level we take mind, is a response toward
something as well as to something, and this "toward"
reveals the nature of the reactor.
What, then, are we who are the termini of adjustment
functions? By way of answer one is tempted to say,
^ Cf. Irving King, The Development oj Religion (New York, 19 10),
p. II.
*E. L. Thomdike, Psychology of Learning (New York, 19 13),
pp. 13, 22, 26.
30 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Why not ask the neighbors! We are mutually defining
our wants and forming our purposes, and this is what
defines us. A person is any reactor that approves or
disapproves its own reactions, or that realizes conse-
quences as successes or failures of its own. In the
functions best known to us persons are adjusting them-
selves to the ideals or standards of personal-social life
that they set before themselves, and to this end they
are using — not adjusting themselves to — whatever they
regard as subpersonal.
The supposed obscurity of the notion of personal
selves is not native to this concept — the obscurity has
been imported into it by attempting to construe the
more clear (our socially communicable desires and
purposes) in terms of the less clear (animal life that lacks
means of communication). Human functions are just
what they seem to he from a fully achieved human point
of view. '^ Functional psychology, accordingly, should be,
first and foremost, a psychology of personal self-
realizations. The functional psychology of religion must
be this above all things else.^
* To think of human functions as merely complex cases of subhuman
function, as King seems to do {op. cit.y p. 39), endangers the functional
point of view altogether. This may be seen in the tendency of this
passage of King's to construe mental life in terms of combinations
within a mechanically controlled system.
' Ames, who attempts to construe the functions of religion from a
quasi-biological point of view, exhibits two quite natural consequences:
(i) His notion of function, in spite of the general clarity of his exposition,
contains a fundamental obscurity. "Adjustment" is his basal category,
but just what is adjusted, and to what, does not distinctly appear.
"The organism," it is said, "adjusts itself to its environment," but the
adjustment "occurs through the psycho-physical organism" as though
this were mere instrument. Yet the adjustment in question is an adjust-
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 31
It remains to state in summary fashion what would
constitute such a psychology of persons, (i) Its dis-
tinctive material would be society in the strict sense of
this term, that is, persons communicating their desires
and purposes to one another, and thereby co-operating
with or opposing one another. (2) The focus of attention
would be mental functions, that is, action conscious (or
becoming conscious) of its own direction and approving
(or disapproving) it. (3) The method would be genetic,
that is, the material would be so analyzed and arranged
as to exhibit the coming to conscious purpose of both
the individual and the race. (4) Mental content, accord-
ingly, would be treated from the standpoint of the use
made of it in the interpretation of life's meaning, and
mental mechanism from the standpoint of the purposed
control of life. (5) The characteristic special problems
would concern the experience of values: as, {a) What
objects do men value ? {h) What is it in each class of
objects that makes them valuable? {c) How are the
different classes of value related to one another ? {d) In
what parts of our total experience is each class of value
realized? (e) In what order and by what method do
valuations evolve?
ment "in" the psycho-physical organism. See pp. 15, 18. These
phrases indicate the inadequacy of the merely biological point of
view, but they do not establish a clearly different one. (2) His
expositions of religious experience are most objective when he deals
with the lower forms of religion, in which instinctive action is
most prominent, and most subjective when he reaches the highest
religion, in which self-realizations take more distinctively personal
forms. By "subjective" here I mean particularly a disposition to
reinterpret the values of the developed personal will. Perhaps the
clearest example is Ames's treatment of the functions of the idea
of God.
32 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
APPENDIX
ON THE SPECIFIC NATURE OF MENTAL FUNCTIONS
From the preceding discussion it must be obvious that any
adequate functional analysis of religion depends upon the notion
of "function" that is employed. What, then, is the specific
nature of mental functions ? How distinguish them from others —
say, physiological functions? This question is so fundamental,
and it has been investigated so little, that I venture to reprint,
with slight modifications, an article on the subject that has
already been published in the Psychological Review (XXII [191 5],
87-98), under the title "A Proposed Classification of Mental
Functions":
Whenever anything is declared to be a function of mind, we
should be able to discover both the general sense in which the
term "function" is used, and also the setting of the particular
function in question within a functional whole. This is as much
as to say that classification of mental functions should have a
place in functional psychology that will correspond to the position
now occupied in structural psychology by lists of mental elements
and modes of combination. Up to the present time such a sys-
tematic background has been lacking. As a consequence, the
undefined fringe of meaning in discussions of functions leaves
stQl too much room for misunderstanding one another, or even
one's self. Further, the lack of classification implies that we are
not yet ready to begin describing functions in terms of functional
laws. Such is the unsatisfactory situation out of which the
following discussion attempts to take a single step.
The approaches thus far made toward a classification of
mental functions fall into the following classes:
1. Affirmations of the purposive character of mind, without
any list of specific functions.^
2. The oft-made assertion that the fundamental functions of
all life, mind included, are nutrition and reproduction. At a
^ E.g., J. E. Creighton, "The Standpomt and Method of Psy-
cholog>'," Philosophical Review, March, 1914; H, Miinsterberg, Psy-
chology, General and Applied, 1914, and R. M. Ogden, Introduction to
General Psychology, 1914.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 33
later point I shall ask what, as a matter of fact, mind does with
these two vital processes. At once, however, I would point out
that some of the so-called "irradiations" from primitive hunger
and love — for example, science — have characters of their own which
it requires some violence to call either nutritive or reproductive.
3. To each item in a structural classification of mind Angell
has added the question, What is its function ? There results what
might be called an engineer's drawing of mind as an adjusting
mechanism. It goes far toward supplying the functional classifi-
cation that I am seeking, and as a consequence I shall borrow
rather freely from it. That it needs supplementing, however,
should be clear from these two considerations: first, Angell's
list of functions is not based upon similarities and differences
among the functions themselves; he merely finds and describes a
function for each element of structure; secondly, his genetic
method keeps his eyes fixed upon the earhest mental reaction, the
terminus a quo, whereas our problem — the direction of mental
movement — requires us to consider also the most developed reaction
as a terminus ad quem. I find no fault with Angell for not answer-
ing questions that he does not raise, but functional psychology
must surely incorporate into itself a fuller description of the inter-
ests of developed mind. After we have named early utilities, and
even after we have made such generalizations as that mind
extends the control and organization of movements, something
in the nature of function still remains over. To illustrate: If
you should ask what are the functions of a dividing engine, I
might answer by showing how each wheel and lever contributes
to the accurate control of movement, and I might generalize by
saying that this instrument as a whole has the function of so
adjusting our motions as to enable us to make extremely minute
divisions of a surface. This would be a functional description, no
doubt, yet beyond it lies the destination of the whole, namely,
certain sciences in the interest of which the dividing engine exists
at all. Just so, the proposition that mind increases the extent
and the fineness of our adjustments needs to be supplemented by
inquiry into the terminal meaning of the whole.
4. A fourth approach to a functional classification proceeds
as follows: Mental functions are correlative with interests;
34 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
interests have their roots in instinctive satisfactions; therefore an
inventory of instincts would be ipso facto a list of the functions
of mind. Let us, then, look to our original nature, that is, to our
unlearned tendencies to react in specific ways, or to take satis-
faction in predetermined kinds of mental occupation. The pro-
gram is attractive, and we shall see that it yields results that
have an important bearing upon our problem, though not quite
the results that are commonly expected. For, first, the "original"
nature of man means the part of his nature that is disclosed
antecedently to all culture, that is, before the mind has performed
some of its most characteristic acts.^ Secondly, the broad mental
areas traditionally called instincts are disappearing from the
psychologic map, and in their stead there is appearing a vast,
indefinite number of narrow adjustment acts. For example,
Thomdike says that "reaching is not a single instinct, but includes
at least three somewhat different responses to three very different
situations."^ Thus, the farther back we go in our mental history
the greater the difficulty of functional classification, unless we
constantly look forward as well as backward. On the other hand,
the very minuteness and rigor of Thomdike 's analysis reveal cer-
tain general, forward-looking tendencies. Thus, there is a tend-
ency to be or to become conscious ;5 there is an original "love of
sensory life for its own sake";'» there is spontaneous preference
for experiences in which there is mental control ;s finally, there is
a native capacity for learning.*^ In short, there are "original
tendencies of the original tendencies .... original tendencies
not to this or that particular sensitivity, bond or power of response,
but of sensitivities, connections and responses, in general. "^ Here,
I take it, is where interests, in the proper sense of the term, come
in. If we are to define our mental functions by our interests, we
must consider, not merely tendencies to this or that sensitivity,
but also and particularly our tendencies to organize or do some-
^ E. L. Thomdike, The Original Nature of Man (19 13), pp. 198 f.;
also Education (19 12), chap. v.
' Original Nature, p. 50. s Ibid., pp. 141 f.
^ Ibid., p. 170 i. ^ Ibid., p. 171.
*Ibid., p. 141, T Ibid,, p. 170.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 35
thing with our sensitivities. Some results of Thomdike's analysis
of such tendencies I shall take over into my own classification.
5. Some of the conditions for a general classification of mental
functions are fulfilled in recent discussions of value.^ Here func-
tion is treated as function; it is not confused with elements of
structure, nor is a given function identified with its earliest, crudest
form. Sense of direction from something to something is here.
Urban's list of values, in particular, conveys a sense of the general
direction of the movement of mind. What is still needed is some-
thing like a combination of Angell, Thorndike, and Urban. The
reason why fists of values need supplementing is twofold: first,
they do not comprehend mind as a whole, for example, its biological
aspects; secondly, several types of value, as will presently appear,
are not simple functions, but functional complexes.
These converging lines in recent psychology may be summarily
described as follows: {a) All mental process whatsoever is pur-
posive, and it should be analyzed from this as well as from the
structural standpoint — that is, mental functions must be deter-
mined, {h) The human mind is functionally as well as structurally
continuous with the animal mind, so that a classification of func-
tions must include the biological point of view, {c) The termini of
mind, by which functions are defined, include conscious interests,
or self-defining ends, {d) Several specific functions of both the
biological type and the conscious-interest type have been defined
here and there in scattered places.
What remains to be done is to systematize these results; to
discover and, if possible, to fill remaining gaps, and to show the
relation of the resulting functional concepts to older, more current
psychological categories. The whole must, of course, be descrip-
tion, not evaluation. The work of functional psychology is not
to tell us what we ought to prefer, but to determine, as a matter
of observable fact, what mind does actually go toward and ''for."
Two main divisions, each with several subdivisions, are implied in
what has already been said.
A. Biological Junctions. — To occupy the biological stand-
point— which is simply a point of view used temporarily for
^ The chief classifications of value are summarized by J. S. Moore,
"The System of Values," Journal of Philosophy ^ VH (1910), 282-91.
36 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
certain purposes, and not necessarily more true or fundamental
than other pwints of view — is to think of living beings without
reference to any approvals or preferences, any "better and worse."
The biological functions of mind consist in quantitatively deter-
minable increases in range of response to environment. Thus:
1. Increase in the spatial range of objects responded to.
2. Increase in the temporal range of objects res|x>nded to.
3. Increase in the range of magnitudes to which response is
made.
4. Increase in the range of qualities responded to.
5. Increase in the range of environmental co-ordinations to
which co-ordinated responses are made.
This list will remain the same whether we approach the facts
from the behaviorist standpoint or from that of traditional psy-
chology. I call these functions mental for two reasons: because
they characterize mind in its most conscious as well as its less
conscious stages, and because these directions of movement,
though they are established before we reflect upon them, become,
after reflection, conscious purposes.
The relation of this analysis to the popular categories, nutri-
tion and reproduction, requires a word of explanation. To begin
with nutrition, what has mind, as a matter of fact, to do with it ?
(a) Mind connotes changes in the feeding reaction that fall under
one or more of the above-listed functions. But the law here is a
general one; it applies likewise to protection from weather, from
accidents, and from enemies, and it applies also to social organi-
zation, science, and art. As far as range of response is concerned,
then, we need no special nutrition category, (b) Mind connotes
success in a competitive struggle over a limited supply of food.
Increase of mind makes a difference here, but in what ? Can the
difference be expressed in terms of nutrition ? No; for nutritive
functions would go on at least as well if no competition occurred,
or if the mentally inferior animal had happened to get the food
instead of the mentally superior one. The difference made by
mind is that some new object or quality is responded to, where-
upon the more differentiated response may be perpetuated by
inheritance or by training. Here the function appears to be not
nutrition but the production of a more specialized individual.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 37
(c) It is at least as correct to say that mind moves away from as
toward nutrition. For, correlative with the growth of mind is
restriction of feeding to specialized kinds of food, and consequent
increase in the mechanical cost of getting it. The ocean brings
food to an oyster; a cat must hunt for its living. Everywhere the
discriminative appetite is the expensive one. {d) If we scrutinize
cases in which feeding appears to be the end of conscious effort, we
find, almost if not quite invariably, that the very act of consciously
seeking food gives to nutrition the place of means to some experi-
ence beyond itself. The labor movement illustrates this principle
on a large scale. Even if the central stimulus of this movement
could be identified as hunger (which is doubtful), the conscious
end of the struggle is home Hfe, leisure, culture, the education of
children, free participation in the determination of one's destiny.
{e) But it may be said that mind has stabilized the food supply
and produced a more even distribution of it. Civilization will
soon reach a point at which famines can no longer occur. What, it
may be asked, is the meaning of the present movement for agri-
cultural instruction, and indeed for vocational training in its
whole extent, if not just this, that men want enough to eat ?
Here, indeed, is excellent material for answering the question as to
what mind is about when it seeks food. The crucial question for
us is whether the direction of the mind's movement here can be
defined as from hunger to repletion. Of course, food is an object
of conscious desire. So is getting to Albany on time an object of
desire on the part of one who is traveling from New York to
Buffalo by way of the New York Central. The road to our social
ends certainly takes the food-supply route. But, as in the case
of the labor movement, social food-seeking that begins instinc-
tively awakens, sooner or later, a consciousness of the social values
broadly called cultural, and these it is that define the specifically
mental destination or function.
Turning now to the question whether reproduction should be
accounted a mental fimction, we find the course of evolution not
at all ambiguous. Reproduction is most prolific in the lowest
ranges of life. Mental development is clearly correlated with
decrease in the birth-rate. How many factors are involved in
this decrease I wiU not attempt to say, but certainly mind is one
38 THK rSYCHOLOOY OF RKLTGION
of them. Herbert Spencer realized this fact,' though he did not
bring out the full significance of it. John Fiske's two essays on
human infancy* carr>' us much farther. Mind individualizes the
various living beings that are involved, first the offspring and
then the parents. The obvious mental function is not reproduc-
tion of existing types, but the production of certain new, more
specialized types. Mind does not stimulate reproduction any
more than it stimulates hunger; it does not increase fertility any
more than it increases assimilation. But just as mind specializes
foods and increases the cost of feeding, so it individualizes living
beings and increases the cost of each individual. The whole may
be viewed as on the one hand an increase of inhibitions, and on
the other hand a focalizing of dispersed attention. In short, the
biological functions of mind can be altogether expressed as increase
in the range of objects and qualities responded to, and in range of
co-ordination of responses.
B. Preferential Junctions. — Our discussion of nutrition and
reproduction has already brought us face to face with conscious
preferences, that is, mind defining its own direction. We may
take for granted, I suppose, that satisfactions are, in general, a
sign of unimpeded mental action, and that we can tell one another
about our satisfactions. One may, indeed, be mistaken as to
what one likes, that is, as to what it is in a complex that makes
it likable, but such mistakes can be discovered and corrected,
chiefly by further communication. The functions of our second
main division, then, are always qualitative (implying a ** better
and worse"), and they are scientifically known through communi-
cation by means of language. Thus it is that many preferences
have already been successfully studied, such as color preferences,
the likes and dislikes of children with respect to pictures and with
respect to future occupations, merit in handwriting, merit in Eng-
lish composition, merit as a psychologist, the comic, persuasiveness,
even moral excellence.^ Such experimental studies have the effect,
' Principles of Biology, Part VI, especially chaps, xii and xiii.
^ Reprinted under the title, The Meaning of Infancy, in the
"Riverside Educational Monograph" series (Boston, 1909).
3 H. L, Hollingworth gives a list of "order of merit" researches in
"Experimental Studies in Judgment," Archives of Psychology (New
York, 1913), pp. 118 f.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 39
not merely of discovering preferences, but also of adding precision
to preferences already recorded in the world's literature. Would
that a HoUingworth might have been present throughout human
evolution to record the growth of human preferences. As the
case stands, we must combine experiment upon present preferences
with the less precise study of life as reflected in literature, art, and
institutions.
Where shall we look for a basis for the systematic subdivision
of preferential functions? Suppose we compare early types of
reaction with late ones, say Thorndike's picture of original nature
with value analyses, which represent developed interests. Let us
begin with the fact that there is satisfaction in merely being
conscious. To be conscious, then, we may count as the first
preferential function. Note, next, that satisfaction attaches to
mere movement of attention from one object to another, as in
'4ove of sensory life for its own sake." May we not say that a
second preferential function of mind is to multiply its objects?
A third appears in the preference for experiences that include
control of objects. A fourth is closely related thereto, namely,
the arrangement of objects in systems — it is a function of mind
to unify its objects. This is seen all up and down the scale from
the spontaneous perception of spatial figures in the starry sky
to the ordering of an argument.
These four preferential functions appear to be fundamental,
that is, not further analyzable. If we turn, in the next place, to
the usual value categories to see whether we may not find further
unanalyzable functions, we come upon the interesting, not to say
strange, fact that ethical, noetic, rehgious, and even economic
values presuppose a function that they do not name. Each of
these types of value depends upon the existence of a society of
intercommunicating individuals, yet it seems not to have occurred
to anyone to include a social category — simply and specifically
social — in discussions of either functions or values. Should not
the fifth preferential function in our list, then, be the function of
being social, of having something in common with another mind,
in short, of communicating ? The justification, not to say neces-
sity, for recognizing a simply social function of mind exists, not
alone in the social presupposition of several recognized values, but
40 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
also in a long scries of genetic studies which, from one angle
after another, have revealed the fundamentally social nature of
consciousness.'
There remains for consideration our aesthetic experience.
Doubtless it involves functions already named, particularly the
functions of unification and communication. But it seems to
contain also an attitude somewhat different from those already
named, the attitude of contemplation — the taking of satisfaction
in objects merely as there, without regard to anything further
that may happen to or with them. Hence I add contemplation
to the list.
The preferential functions, then, are these:
1. To be conscious.
2. To multiply objects of consciousness.
3. To control objects, one's self included.
4. To unify objects, one's self included.
5. To communicate, that is, have in common.
6. To contemplate.
Some omissions from this list require explanation. Play is
omitted because it involves a complex of i and 2, generally 3, also
sometimes all six, and because it is fully exhausted therein.
Truth is omitted because, as far as it is not an abstraction from
actual intellectual functioning, I hold it to be analyzable without
remainder into functions already named, especially 4 and 5.' No
ethical function appears because the three objectives that it in-
cludes— control, unification, socialization — already have appro-
priate recognition in the list.^ As to economic value, it seems to
be exhausted in the notion of control within a social medium.
* It is true that these are commonly studies of content rather than
of function, and that "I" and "thou" appear therein as "idea of I"
and "idea of thou." For the purposes of merely structural analysis
this is doubtless suflScient. That is, structural analysis as such has
no place at all for the experience of communication. On the other hand,
communication will loom large in any adequate general analysis of
mental functions.
» Cf. A. W. Moore, "Truth Value," Journal of Philosophy, V (1908),
429-36.
J Cf. J. H. Tufts, "Ethical Value," ibid., 517-22.
PSYCHOLOGY OF MENTAL MECHANISMS 41
Finally, religion is without a place in the list because it offers no
particular value of its own. Religion is not co-ordinate with other
interests, but is rather a movement of reinforcement, unification,
and revaluation of values as a whole, particularly in social terms.^
It will be asked, no doubt, whether the functions of mind can
be named without any direct reference to instinctive desires. In
addition to what has already been said concerning nutrition and
reproduction — that they are, so to say, constants that find a supply
at every level of mentality — it may now be added, as a general
truth, that mental activity exercised upon the objects of instinctive
desire does not satisfy the desire in its initial form, but modifies
the desire itself. For example, what has at first only a derived
interest as means to something else may acquire an interest of its
own, and become an end. This is surely the way that science has
come into being, and very likely art also. The evolution of
parental and of conjugal relations offers abundant examples of
the truth that the distinctive work of mind with our desires is to
differentiate and recreate them. Our list of mental functions,
accordingly, does not specify particular instincts, but only the
primary ways in which mind works among them.
A question may arise, also, as to whether higher desires or
ideal values ought not to appear in the list. Is not the most
distinctive achievement of mind in the realm of desires, it may
be said, the mastery of certain ones in the interest of others?
I agree that "the desires of the self-conscious" must be recognized
as having a character of their own,^ and that a list of mental
functions must do justice to them. "The valuation of persons as
persons constitutes a relatively independent type, one which pre-
supposes a differentiation of object and attitude. "^ The list as it
stands, however, will be found to do justice to this differentiation.
Here are self-control, self-unification, self-socialization, with the
implication that all this applies to any and every self, both
actualized selves and ideal selves.
* G. A. Coe, "Religious Value," ibid., 253-56.
^ A. O. Lovejoy, "The Desires of the Self-Conscious," ibid., IV
(1907), 29-39.
3 W. M. Urban, Valuation, Its Nature and Laws, (London, 1909),
p. 282; see also p. 269.
42 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Finally, inasmuch as no pleasurable sense quality of objects
is mentioned in the list, but only "objects, one's self included,"
doubt may arise as to whether the functions here named are not
merely formal and contentless. Functions would indeed be merely
formal if they were so defmed as to imply indifference to the
specific qualities of things. "Pure intellect" is certainly a mere
abstraction, never a function. In a list of "preferential functions,"
however, satisfactions are everywhere presupposed, not ignored.
Granted both agreeable and disagreeable objects as data, our
question is what mind does with such data. Psychology is, of
course, free from the old hedonistic fallacy that the only thing we
can do with satisfactions is to seek for them, and that the only
thing we can do with dissatisfactions is to avoid them. What we
try to do in the presence of such data is to control and organize
them, sifting out an item here, deliberately enlarging an item
there, all in the interest of being, so to say, at home with one's self and
•with one's fellows. In short, the preferential functions here named
represent persons as mutually attaining freedom in the world as it is.
Such persons are as concrete as anything can conceivably be.
CHAPTER III
THE DATA, AND HOW THEY ARE ASCERTAINED
What does one do when one is religious ? This is the
first question that the functional psychology of religion
has to ask. ''What one does" means first of all external
acts that another can observe, such as the rehgious dance
of a savage, the going to church of one of us, or the
founding of a hospital by a religious society. If we could
construct a complete catalogue of the religious acts of
men, women, and children at all stages of culture, it
would be most illuminating.
But it would be illuminating chiefly because we
should read into it appropriate meanings. Into one act
we should read hunger, or anxiety regarding the food
supply; into another, fear of demons; into still another,
hope of an ideal society. In order that these ''readings
in" may be true and not arbitrary, we need to note, in
addition to religious acts, any further expression of men's
meaning in these acts. We must imaginatively get inside
the experiences that we would understand. This is not
always easy. Suppose, for instance, that we observe
some savages moving about rhythmically to the accom-
paniment of drums; we caU this a dance, and at once
we are in danger of giving it a meaning too closely
analogous to that of our own dances. Again, if we
discover that this dance is like a buffalo hunt or a
battle, we may call it a dramatic representation, and
then falsely imagine that it has close relations to our
43
44 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
own dramatic interests. It is essential, then, that we
should know what men tell about their religion as well
as what they do. The telling is partly speech, partly
pictorial or symbolic art.
What a particular man or a particular group men-
tions as the meaning of an act must be compared, of
course, with what other men and groups say about the
same or similar acts. Earlier utterances are to be com-
pared with later ones, so that, if possible, meanings may
be seen to develop according to some law. We who
psychologize are not required to accept as the value or
meaning of religion what religion asserts of itself at
any one stage, high or low, but we analyze these different
self-realizations in order to see in what direction they
are going as a whole.
The present movement for a psychology of religion
attempted at the outset to get at its data in a most
direct way, namely, by going to living men and women
with questions concerning their experiences. Starbuck's
Psychology of Religion is based, for the most part, upon
returns from question circulars — also called question-
naires. An active discussion of the question-list method
has followed.^ Among its limitations may be noted:
I. Unintentional selection oj data. — (a) The distribu-
tion of the question lists can be known to cover the sources
of possible data evenly and adequately only now and
then, (h) Responses are usually made by some only of
those who receive the circulars. Since the non-responding
attitude may well be connected with some fact of re-
ligious life, those who respond cannot be assimied to rep-
' See Topical Bibliography under the head, "Methods in the
Psychology of Religion."
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 45
resent the whole, (c) When several questions are asked,
it is common for respondents to answer only a part.
(d) Rarely, if ever, may we assume that a respondent
gives all the important data concerning that which he
describes. He selects what seem to him the things most
important or appropriate, (e) The questions commonly
present a set of categories into which the answers are
expected to fall. Persons whose experiences happen to
be hit off by these categories have a special incentive
for responding, while persons who find no category that
seems to fit them have incentive for not responding.
Thus, the returns tend to become weighted in the direc-
tion of the investigator's own presuppositions.
2. Answers suggested by the questions. — A great part
of our intellectual process is not thinking in any strict
sense, but drifting with the idea that happens to be
presented. See how much yonder cloud resembles a
castle. Of course it does! So the answer to a question
concerning one's inner life is likely to be bent to the
question itself. The terminology of the question may
determine the terminology of the answer, regardless of
appropriateness. The respondent may naturally and
properly adapt himself to the mood of the questioner.
The form of the question may recall certain things and
put others out of mind. In short, the attention of the
respondent is likely to be passively controlled, so that
the question partly creates its own answer.^
3. Inaccurate observation, especially when intro-
spection is required. — The distortions that occur in
most persons' observations, and especially in our notions
^ An extensive investigation of this process among school children
is reported by A. Binet, La Suggestibilite (Paris, 1900).
46 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
about ourselves, are notorious. It is vain to expect
question circulars to elicit psychological items all ready
to be catalogued, summed up, and generalized.*
4. Inaccuracy of memory. — Memory tends to drop
out some items and to reconstruct others. The question-
circular method has no means of checking up such
errors.
5. Inaccurate or inadequate description. — Description
as well as observation requires training. In matters of
religion many persons seem incapable of freeing them-
selves from the stock phrases to which they have listened
in churches and Sunday schools. Other persons simply
lack vocabulary, and therefore use inappropriate terms.
Finally, a standard of accuracy and precision is generally
lacking.
6. Necessity of interpreting returns. — A few census-
like returns, such as date, age, place, and the like, can
safely be counted and offered as statistics of the persons
who make the returns. But even here caution is neces-
sary because of liability to memory errors, and because
the thing dated, such as ''conversion," may not be the
same in all the returns. Beyond this nearly everything
has to be interpreted by the investigator. For example,
traditional or biblical language can often mean several
different things. ''Doubts" may mean either an intel-
lectual attitude or an emotion of insecurity. "Sense of
sin" has correspondingly different uses. "Conversion,"
when it is not used in the New Testament sense of a
* Various clerg>'men have sent out question lists concerning such
subjects as "why men do not go to church." The obvious superficiality
of the ordinaty results is just what should be expected. Attempting
to make observations by prox>' may bring in interesting returns, how-
ever, because the questions themselves elicit fresh reactions.
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 47
voluntary turning about, means anything from shaking
hands with a revivahst, as a sign of religious desire, to
the profoundest reversal of emotions and of likes and
disHkes. And not only must terms be interpreted
by the investigator, but whole situations must be
reconstructed by him from given fragments. He
must allow for the respondent's probable ignorance of
certain factors; for bias produced by training; for the
influence of conditions probably present but not proved
to be so; for individual peculiarities gathered by the
investigator from the tone of the whole response. Such
interpretation may be skilfully done, and it may be as
worthy of confidence as similar interpretations made by
historians, but it requires the greatest caution and
balance, and in the end its results, like history, lack
exactness.'
On the other hand, it would be hasty to assume that
question circulars are scientifically useless. A large part
of the data in several scientific fields is, in fact, gathered
by question lists called report blanks. Further, there is
no absolute separation between questions asked of a
subject in a laboratory and questions asked of subjects
under other conditions. The main difference is in the
degree of our knowledge of the stimuli actually present.
In either case we accept more or less of the subject's
observation of himself. It should be remembered also
that the question circular need not, and should not, be
' Starbuck has used his returns with caution and in an objective
spirit. He has avoided the worst pitfalls into which question-Ust
researches have fallen. Yet his numerical tabulation of emotions,
motives, and the like shows nothing more than general drifts present
in unknown proportions.
48 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
isolated from other instruments of research. Now and
then details can be run down by personal interviews or
experiment.^
Question-circular returns are effective in establishing
at least three t^pes of generalization: (i) External
situations in which some broadly recognized psychical
event takes place. Such facts as age, date, and social
environment can often be ascertained with approximate
accuracy. Largely through this method one great gen-
eralization of this type has been established, namely, that
there is a causal connection between religious conver-
sion of the emotional type and the physiological change
during adolescence. (2) The existence of contrasting
types within a specified field. This certainly is a valu-
able psychological service. In the matter of prayer, for
example, and in general in the individual realization of
God in a high form of religion like the Christian, there
are striking differences of type. Self-assertion charac-
terizes one individual, self-abnegation another. Some
persons have a mystical-emotional realization of God,
while others find him through abundant, free activity.
Further, this method is important because it definitely
establishes the existence of contrary reactions in groups,
such as religious denominations, that may seem to be
homogeneous. (3) The existence of a tendency or drift
within a group may be ascertained, even though the
extent or depth of the drift may remain unknown.
Thus, a question that I once asked concerning the nature
of their call to the ministry elicited from a significant
number of ministers in a denomination that cultivates
emotional realizations the surprising fact that their call
^ See Coe, Spiritual Life, chap. iii.
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 49
contained little of this element, but much of prosaic,
common-sense procedure.^
Data for the psychology of religion are gathered, in
the second place, by scrutiny of literary or other records
of religious life.^ Here fall biographies and auto-
biographies; scattered passages in general literature;
sacred literatures, which include (often in mixture) his-
tory and biography, myth, hymn, prayer, ritual, and
theological or metaphysical thought structures;^ finally,
inscriptions, pictures, statues, temple architecture, and
the like. 4 Such sources for what men tell about their
religion have one advantage over the question list,
namely, that the investigator certainly does not influence
the original records. They have been produced in the
ordinary course of life or of religion, and often the
absence of psychologizing makes them psychologically
* To judge the feasibility of a given question-circular enterprise,
the following questions will be found useful: (i) How much of it con-
cerns matters in which non-expert testimony is likely to be adequate ?
(2) Does it formulate answers, or does it merely suggest situations, leav-
ing the respondent to formulate his response? (3) Does it offer alter-
native answers or classes into which the respondent is to fit himself?
If so, are the alternatives exhaustive and mutually exclusive ? (4) Is
the language such that the respondent will get the points intended by
the questioner? (5) What is the point of the whole list? If trust-
worthy responses were made in adequate number, how would our knowl-
edge be advanced ? Is this knowledge accessible in any more direct or
trustworthy fashion?
^ James's The Varieties of Religious Experience is based largely upon
autobiographic records. Another specimen is Royce's study of Bunyan
in Studies in Good and Evil. A more extensive research based on this
method is Delacroix's Etudes dliistoire et de psychologie du mysticisme.
3 Many writers have dipped into the records of the ethnic faiths,
but Stratton in his Psychology of the Religious Life bases thereon nearly
the whole of a psychological theory of religion.
< An example is Harrison's Themis (Cambridge, 19 12).
50 tup: rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
the more valual^le. Nevertheless, there are difficulties
that must not be ignored.
1. The biographical and autobiographical material
that is available is triply selected. First, the individuals
portrayed are selected by biographers and autobiogra-
phers upon principles that, even where they can be
ascertained, have little relation to the psychologist's
interest. Secondly, the material that is recorded in each
case is also selected from a larger mass, and again from
motives that produce no psychological classification.
Thirdly, the psychologist selects the writings that he
will analyze. James has been criticized, for example,
for selecting too large a proportion of extreme and even
morbid cases. In short, this material is valuable chiefly
because, like question-list returns, it establishes the
existence, in unknown proportions, of certain types of
religious experience.^
2. Sacred literatures offer the extraordinary advan-
tage of being religiously motived, so that they present
to us, as it were, religion itself at some stage of its
ongoing. Nevertheless, even here we find comparatively
little that is naively religious. Men make a written
record, for the most part, because they have become
reflective and therefore selectors. Much is motived by
desire to explain, reconcile, or systematize, as in myth and
theology. Some of the records are made in the interest of
a cause, an idea, or a party, and consequently the writer
maintains silence concerning shady aspects of his own
religion, but gives prominence to such aspects of his
* A. R, Burr, in Religious Confessions and Confessants, is so uncon-
scious of these diflSculties as to suppose that a "definitive" collection of
data on religious experience could be made from autobiographic con-
fessions.
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 51
opponent's religion. Ritual formulae, in turn, commonly
give words to be said rather than things to be done,
whereas these latter are essential to most rites. Prayers
and hymns, on the other hand, sometimes let us see far
into the religious mind, but even here the meaning is
likely to depend upon historical conditions that are not
specified. Indeed, sacred literatures as a whole arise
and grow as parts of a historical movement which they
only partly reflect. Different historical and literary
strata, for example, are often present in an Old Testa-
ment story. As a consequence of all this, we can rarely
make sure of our psychological data by merely reading a
piece of sacred literature. "Blessed are ye poor," says
Jesus according to Luke ; " Blessed are the poor in spirit,"
according to Matthew. What, then, was Jesus' actual
point of view? It is scarcely necessary to add that
many of these difficulties attach themselves to the study
of inscriptions and of religious art.
In the third place, data are found by anthropological
research, chiefly among the lowest peoples, but in part
also among the less sophisticated ways of culture-races.
The amount of material now in print that bears upon
the religion of savages may properly be called immense.
Much of it has the peculiar value for psychology that
it enables us to get near to the beginnings of religion. In
the matter of origins, definitely ascertained facts are
now taking the place of speculation or of inferences
drawn from our own highly developed processes. We
are on the way toward knowledge of the evolution of
religion that will be comparable to our knowledge of the
evolution of man's physical organism. That the road
is not a straight and broad one, however, may be
52 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
gathered, not only from the conflicts and rapid changes
of theory in this field, but also from the following
considerations:
1. Almost every fact of the savage's mentality has
to be interpreted. He can directly tell us about it far
less than can be directly told by question-list respondents
concerning their inner life. Further, the interpreter is
generally not the fact-gatherer. The psychologist is
obliged to make the best he can of data gathered by
other persons who may not have had in mind his own
questions, interests, or points of view.
2. Here, as in other evolutionary studies, a Janus-
faced difficulty is almost unavoidable. At our end of
the evolution stand highly complex processes and a set
of preferences, ideals, or valuations that we call higher
as distinguished from lower. At the other end of the
scale we seek for minimal complexity, and for lower,
instinctive preferences, both process and preferences
being such as to connect man with the animal series.
Evolution implies that we are to think these extremes
as somehow one; the complex must be seen to come out
of the simple, the high values out of the low. Conse-
quently we tend to overlook contrasts. We do it, on
the one hand, by oversimplifying our own culture, or by
forced classification of the higher with the lower; or, on
the other hand, by attributing too much to particular
phenomena of the savage mind. By combining the
two — oversimplification on the one hand and overloading
on the other — almost every item of savage rehgion has
been made to carry the religious universe on its back.
The gods are ghosts of dead men; the gods are nature-
powers that smite the attention; the gods are imagina-
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 53
tive projections of some social unity. The psychical root
of religion is fear; the root is the experience of sex; the
root is the economic interest of some group. Totemism,
magic, sacrifice, myth — each has loomed overwhelmingly.
The movement from myth to theology, from spell to
prayer, from the festivals of fertility-gods to Easter, from
mystery-initiations to baptism, from totemistic eating of
the god to the eucharist, from taboo to Sunday and
other sanctities, from the instinctive sense of tribal
solidarity to the ideal of a kingdom of God, from spooks
to hope of heaven — this movement, this mass of evolu-
tionary ties between us and our ancestors easily creates
an impression that our religion is a vestigial phenomenon,
a remainder from savage crudity, whereas religion has
evolved away from as well as out of savagery. The
nature of this evolution will be gone into at some length
in chap. xiii. Meanwhile, we may well remind ourselves
that analysis establishes differences as well as similarities,
and that the differences between two things are neither
wiped out nor explained by placing them in the same
evolutionary series. Finally, we have no right to assume
that origins are in the past alone. Evolution may be
original at every step, and may be going on with origi-
nality in our own experience. We ourselves may con-
ceivably live within the sources; they may even be
pouring themselves forth with greater freedom than in
the case of early man. For these reasons one may
hesitate to follow Wundt in his conviction that an
anthropological-genetic account of religion is the psy-
chology of religion.
In the fourth place, data may be ascertained
by experimental methods. An indirect experimental
54 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
contribution is made, of course, by laboratory studies of
part processes that enter into religious reactions, such
as suggestion, emotion, and belief-formation. Theo-
retically, integral religious experiences, with sincere and
complete letting go, might be evoked under laboratory
control. But the difficulties are obvious. The whole
laboratory spirit of aloofness from all interests except
analysis stands in the way. A case is on record of an
experiment in which the subjects read or listened to
religious sentiments under controlled conditions, and
then wrote introspective records of the results. The
upshot of the experiment concerns rather the psychology
of language and of edifying discourse in general than
analysis of religious experience.^ A very different pro-
cedure appears in another report — a study of the ele-
ments of certain services of common worship. By
employing the order-of -merit method, which has already
been referred to in the Appendix to chap, ii, it was
found possible to determine the relative values of these
elements for a group of fifty persons.' The order-of-
merit method consists fundamentally in this: The same
set of items is placed by each one of a large number of
persons in the order, "first," ''second," ''third," etc., on
the basis simply of more and less without regard to how
much. Thus, colors or pictures may be arranged in an
order of preference, or stories may be arranged on the
more specific basis of "more or less humorous." By
^ W. Stahlin, " Experimentelle Untersuchung iiber Sprachpsycho-
logie iind Religionspsychologie," Archivfiir Religions psychologic , I (1914),
117-94.
^ See a summarized report of a paper read by Mark A. May before
the New York Branch of the American Psychological Association in
Journal of Philosophy, XII (1915), 691.
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 55
combining these judgments, and by the use of certain
statistical methods of analysis, it is possible to construct
a scale of merit for the items concerned, and even to
establish some definite quantitative relations. There
appears to be no reason why this method may not be
used to determine value relations in religion for far larger
groups than the one here studied.
There is a place, also, for the field use, as distin-
guished from the laboratory use, of experimental meth-
ods. In the reHgious education of children, in the
conduct of worship, in the whole plan and organization
of a religious society, particular factors can often be
identified, sometimes changed at will. Many a rough-
and-ready experiment in religion has been made in the
interest of religion, and various modes of control have
thus evolved in religious communions. There is nothing
to prevent the deliberate, scientifically controlled refining
of such experiments.'
A final caution must be uttered against taking the
notion of method too narrowly. If one should ask, for
example, how Hoffding ascertained the data of the third
division of his Philosophy of Religion^ an answer could
hardly be given offhand. He makes little use of an-
thropology, or of sacred literatures, or of religious biog-
raphies, or of question-Hst returns; yet his analysis of
the reHgious experience is among the most noteworthy.
The reason is that, though he adduces few new data,
he sees far into common facts. Now, this far-sight
of his is not an accident; it is rather the ripe fruit of
^ A beginning has been made, for example, in the ascertainment of
the reactions of children to common worship. See H. Hartshome,
Worship in the Sunday School (New York, 1913).
56 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
long experience with psychological facts and problems.
We may say, then, that in addition to the digging out
of fresh material, research may take the direction of
fresh analysis of material that is commonplace.
APPENDIX
GERMAN VIEWS OF THE "AMERIKANISCHE RELIGIONSPSYCHOLOGIE'*
Two American productions in this field, Starbuck's Psychology
oj Religion and James's The Varieties oj Religious Experience, have
been translated into German, both under the influence of interests
that center in theology. Around these works an interesting dis-
cussion has arisen that concerns the task and the method of the
psychology of religion. Faber, Das Wesen der Religionspsychologie,
gives abundant references to books and articles on the subject,
besides contributing an extended essay of his own. Various Ger-
man theologians saw in the two works just referred to methods
that seemed to open up vast possibilities of increase in scientific
knowledge of religion. In addition, they found support for theo-
logical or transcendental presuppositions in this branch of psy-
chology, and some of them attempted to fuse psychology and what
may be called metaphysical theology. On the other hand, there
have come, partly from theologians also, sharp criticisms of the
methods of the two American writers just named, and strenuous
opposition to theologized psychology. In his Probleme, Part IV,
Wundt regards James's book as not psychology but an extract
from a pragmatic philosophy of religion.
In this German discussion the phrase "the American psy-
chology of religion" has sprung up. It is used, as far as I have
discovered, in a very narrow way, and I regard it as misleading.
It is used narrowly because it takes works published from 1899
to 1902 as sufficiently typical. It is misleading because, first, it
ignores the fact that the methodological faults in these earlier
works were promptly pointed out in this country and have not
been repeated, and, secondly, it ignores the great distance in
methods and results between the two authors already named and
Ames, King, Stratton, and Leuba I shall go into no critique of
THE DATA ASCERTAINED 57
the special methods of these writers, but instead I refer the reader
to review articles listed in the Alphabetical Author List under
their respective names.
One general word, however, should be said. American writings
on the psychology of religion have, as a whole, a common charac-
teristic with respect to method. In one form or another, with
few exceptions, they assume that psychological analysis applies to
function as well as to structure. They conceive their task as
analysis of a certain phase of the struggle to live. They ask how
this struggle gives rise to religion, and what religion contributes
to the struggle. Here is an attempt at a dynamic view. It tends
to make the psychology of religion talk about life in concrete terms
like those of ordinary conversation. If, as a consequence, Starbuck
uses religious terms where we should like to have him use those of
psychology, and if James offers the testimony of individuals as a
finality where we think further analysis is possible, these are not
essentials of method, but instances of failure to use it adequately.
The notion of function in the valuational sense is still a new one in
scientific psychology, and it is in process of development. I have
already expressed a conviction, not only that it is an inevitable
point of view (among others) , but also that it cannot reach its own
full development as a psychological concept without presupposing
the personal selves that are implied in conversation and in friend-
ship. This is not equivalent to admitting a transcendental
principle into empirical science. It is at most an extension of
empirical inquiry with respect to human desire and motive, and
to what men mean by their will- acts.
Wundt's magnificent contribution to the psychology of early
mythological and religious ideas comes to us associated with cer-
tain positive conceptions of method and point of view. The final
source of religion for him, as for most American writers, is man's
appreciation of what helps and hinders in the struggle to live.
The psychical spring of the whole mythological complex is no
Why ? or How ? but some immediate relation to man's weal and
woe. But, the circle of mythological notions having once been
formed by the common mind, we have therein, it appears, the
whole psychological explanation of religion. At least Wundt is
sure that the psychology of religion must be genetic, and that
58 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
genetic psychology is the psychology of early man. Thus, if I
correctly apprehend Wundt's jxDsition, man's first-developed func-
tions are somehow more explanatory than his later ones, and a
group mind can be a source of religion in a sense in which an
individual mind cannot. It is not clear to me why, upon Wundt's
own principles, this must be so. There seems to be no ground
whatever for the assumption that early steps in an evolution are
explanatory' in a sense in which later steps are not. Nor do I see
any evidence for, but a great deal of evidence against, the notion
that the struggle to live merely repeats itself upon the same plane.
In other words, while Wundt adopts a functional point of view
for the first crude impulses that express themselves in mythology,
and there arrests his use of functional method, there is need that
the method should be applied through the entire evolution of
religion, and to the experiences of individuals as well as to the
thought forms of early groups.
CHAPTER IV
PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS
CONSCIOUSNESS
What, then, should we understand by rehgion ?
The fate of definitions of rehgion does not invite to
the making of new ones. If by definition is meant the
formulation of an inclusive major premise from which
to deduce the particular qualities of a class, then,
in our case, there is no motive for defining. Psychology
does not demonstrate what must be, but only opens
our eyes to see what is. What we need at the outset
is not so much an inclusive idea as a fruitful point of
view. Any point of view is fruitful to the extent that
it stimulates us to see and to seek facts, evermore facts.'
Without more ado, let it be said that experience can
teach some definite lessons as to the relative value of
several points of view. Relatively unfruitful, first of
all, is the defining of religion by reference to a certain
content of belief, as: "Religion is belief in God," or
''belief in God, and the acts that follow therefrom."
The reasons for this unfruitfulness are briefly these:
(i) The fluid character of the content of religious belief.
Personal and impersonal gods, good and evil gods,
spirits of many sorts, heroes and demigods, bulls, snakes,
earth, sun, mana (simply a diffused power that does the
' This seeing and seeking includes, as a matter of course, the organiz-
ing of facts into systems. One who does not classify and relate misses
the facts themselves.
59
6o TIIE PSVCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION .
great things), "nature" — which of these marks off reli-
gion ? Somewhere each is beHeved in, somewhere each
is involved in men's religious acts. (2) The existence of a
religion (Buddhism) the theology' of which refuses to
assert the existence of gods or of spirits. It is not cor-
rect to say that Buddhism is a religion without god-
beliefs, for the mass of Buddhists have gods a-plenty.
But the thinkers of this faith, from Gautama onward,
are consciously free from such belief. (3) The incor-
rectness of the intellectualist psychology that has
assumed that religious ideas are self-sustaining logical
entities. These ideas are sustained by something that
makes them interesting or important — by impulses and
emotional attitudes. Religion is not a product of intel-
lectual leisure, but of the grind of existence — a grind
that ever seeks to transform itself into freedom and joy.
We shall have scant appreciation of beliefs themselves
until we ask what makes them germinate and grow.
Relatively unfruitful, likewise, are definitions of
religion that reduce it to feeling. They move down-
ward, it is true, from beliefs toward impulses. For this
reason Schleiermacher's famous formula, ''Religion is a
feeling of absolute dependence," has been immensely
vivifying to a theology whose traditions had been intel-
lectualistic. Nevertheless, a general conviction has been
reached that religion cannot be reduced to a single
phase of mental life — the entire mind is involved. Not
only so, but the religious feelings themselves demand to
be understood by reference to the situations in which they
arise and the part they play in the total adjustment process.
Seeing that religion concerns the whole man, some
theologians would define it substantially as follows:
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 6i
ReKgion is the total reaction of the mind to what it
conceives as superior powers upon which its good de-
pends. This formula deserves careful analysis. The
idea of ends, values, adjustment, is at last admitted to
the definition. Nevertheless, no desire, no function, no
good, is specified so as to be identifiable. Religious
reactions are to be discriminated from others by *'what
the mind conceives as superior powers." Now, this is
simply an improved way of saying that a certain con-
tent of belief is the differentia. If anyone doubts that
this is a fair interpretation, let him ask whether or not
''superior" is here used in a general or a specific sense.
Does it apply, for instance, to a superior army on which
the good of an inferior one depends? Clearly, a par-
ticular kind of superiority has been singled out but not
defined, and belief in beings of this kind is made the
criterion of religion. Therefore the difficulties of all
intellectualist types of definition are present here also.
And a still further difficulty is present. The concept of
religiously superior powers must have been achieved by
a process of some kind. Must not this process have
been a religious one ? Men think because they have a
motive for thinking, because some interest spurs them
on. It is because a religious interest is already present
that men achieve the notion of religiously ''superior
powers."' The point of view will be more fruitful, then,
if we include this interest.
^ Wundt, after arguing with power that affective states are the
moving spring of the myth, and that early man is interested above all
things in the means for carrying on the struggle to live {My thus und
Religion, 2. Aufl., I, 62), nevertheless maintains that religion, "in the
only true sense of the word," is born with the rise of the god-idea {Ele-
mente der Volker psychologic, p. 369).
^
62 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
There is no occasion for quarrels over formal defini-
tions. The most that a formal definition can do, in any
case, is not to convey knowledge, but to assist in the
organization of knowledge. Each of a dozen definitions
of religion might conceivably be justified on such ground.
Our present problem, accordingly, is not to say what all
men ought to mean when they use the term *' religion,"
but rather to indicate the direction of attention or the
organizing idea that is at present most useful in the
psychology of religion. The present work represents a
conviction that a dynamic or functional point of view
is the one that is actually yielding the most fruit.'
Accordingly, our immediate aim is to give a preliminary
description of religious consciousness in terms of value.
What this requires can be made clear by a word of com-
ment upon two recent, carefully constructed definitions,
both of which employ the concept of value, but find
the differentia of religion elsewhere. W. K. Wright
says that religion is "the endeavor to secure the con-
servation of socially recognized values through specific
actions that are believed to evoke some agency different
from the ordinary ego of the individual, or from other
^ Even Royce, whose interest is more philosophical than psycho-
logical, explains his conception of religion thus: "The idea that man
needs salvation depends, in fact, upon two simpler ideas whereof the
main idea is constituted. The first is the idea that there is some end
or aim of human life which is more important than all other aims, so
that, by comparison with this aim, all else is secondary and subsidiary,
and perhaps relatively unimportant, or even vain and empty. The
other idea is this: That man as he now is, or as he naturally is, is in
great danger of so missing this highest aim as to render his whole life a
senseless failure by virtue of thus coming short of his true goal." — The
Sources of Religious Insight (New York, 19 12), p. 12. For a recent
example of attempts to define religion by a single phase of it, see W. D.
Wallis, "Fear in ReUgion," Journal oj Religious Psychology, V, 257-304.
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 61,
merely human beings, and that imply a feeling of
dependence upon this agency."^ Here the values in-
volved in religious consciousness are limited to those
that are already socially recognized. What, then, shall
we call the experience in which a prophet, dissenting
from socially recognized values, makes appeal to what
he regards as a higher standard ? Reconstruction of lifers
ends is in this case central in a movement that no one
would hesitate to call religious. A second characteristic
of Wright's definition is that the differentia of religion
is found in the means whereby certain ends are sought,
not in the ends themselves. With this Leuba is in agree-
ment. "It is not the needs which are distinctive of
religion, but the method whereby they are gratified,''^
he says. The method that he has in mind reminds one
of certain theological definitions that have already had
our consideration. " Religion," says Leuba, "is that part
of human experience in which man feels himself in rela-
tion with powers of psychic nature, usually personal
powers, and makes use of them."^ Here the divine
beings of religion appear as mere means to ends, the
ends being completely determined, it appears, without
reference to the gods. Both in what it says and in what
it assumes this definition requires scrutiny. We are
within the horizon of functional psychology; let us see
just where.
^ "A Psychological Definition of Religion," American Journal of
Theology, XVI (1912), 385-409.
' A Psychological Study of Religion, p. 8.
^ Ibid., p. 52. To get the full significance of this statement of
Leuba's, the whole of Part I should be read. In an Appendix he
has arranged an array of definitions, intellectualistic, aflfectivistic, and
voluntaristic.
64 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
In the first place, to say that A is used as a means
to B assumes that a valuation has occurred; certain
things have been judged to be important. In the defini-
tion now before us, where and by whom has this valuation
been made? The category of means and end can be
used in either of two ways — the reference may be to a
valuation already made by others, or to a valuation now
offered by the author of the definition. In the one case
we have a descriptive definition, in the other a normative
one. That Leuba's definition is normative rather than
descriptive may be asserted, not only on the ground of
his general view that the psychology of religion is
normative for both religious belief and religious practice,
but also on the specific ground that, historically con-
sidered, religion has not, either uniformly or as a whole,
given to its gods the alleged position of mere means
subordinate to certain ends. Descriptively taken, ends
are just what, from the reactor's own point of view, is
felt and judged to be most important. Now, in the
religious consciousness of mankind in general, so far
are the gods from uniformly taking a secondary place
that they appear, not seldom, as supreme judges and
correctors of men's purposes, and even of the desires of
the heart. In the progressive religions, particularly, we
behold men adjusting their ends to what they conceive
to be the divine will or the divine nature. Nay, the god
himself becomes in various cases an end consciously
sought — the devotee desires to help his god, or the god
is enjoyed and loved in the same objective way in which
one member of a family relates himself to another.^ No
^ "The gods stood as much in need of their worshipers as the wor-
shipers in need of them." — J. G. Frazer, Magic Art arid Evolution of
Kings, I (London, 1911), 31.
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 65
doubt the mind of man constructs the idea of gods in
accordance with the general laws of ideation; no doubt
the will of the god is an idealization of man's human
social experience, but herein men feel that they face
ends, finalities, not mere means. If my own conviction
should be that, in reality, divine beings do not exist,
and that what men regard as their own ends are
not really controlling in human conduct, and that
the only good of all these god-ideas and all these self-
devotions is to promote ends fully definable without
reference to the divine — if this were my conviction, it
would be my valuation of religion, and not a descrip-
tive definition of religious consciousness or of religious
function.'
We already see that religious consciousness often
involves, sometimes supremely is, a consciousness of
ends or values. This fact suggests a possible point of
view for the study of religion as a whole. Possibly the
chief thing in religion, considered functionally, is the
progressive discovery and reorganization of values.
Possibly the central function of religion concerns ends
rather than means. Without doubt "chief" and "cen-
tral" as here used imply valuation, or an interest of a
particular kind. Let us change our phraseology, then,
and say that possibly it will be interesting to see how
and how far the phenomena commonly called ''religious"
^ Leuba's procedure has an extraordinary likeness to that of tradi-
tional theology. Both argue as if definitions were mental reproductions
of realia instead of being merely useful points of view for the organiza-
tion of facts. Both, therefore, define religious experience from the stand-
point of a present valuation of it, rather than from the standpoint
of the experience itself. Both, as a consequence, attempt to control
religion by means of a definition.
66 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
can be organized among themselves and related to other
phenomena from the voluntarily assumed standpoint of
value.
Leuba's definition presupposes that men have needs,
and apparently that these needs are a constant, while
the means used to supply them are variable. Viewed
from the evolving standpoints of the evolving human
mind, however, needs evolve, values are discovered, and
man comes thus gradually to himself and not merely to
fresh means for static ends. Examples of this evolution
of values that we have already drawn from the parental
and the sexual instinct may now be used as the starting-
point for a more general study of human desires. A
little reflection will justify five propositions which, taken
together, may serve to introduce the method of approach
in which the present work is interested.
First, human desire is not extinguished when its
immediate satisfaction is attained. This is plain enough
in the case of our higher values. Knowledge, once
attained, does not dampen but inflames the desire for
knowledge. The acquisition of money rarely fails to
restimulate and intensify the processes of acquisition.
Even in our directly instinctive desires a parallel over-
flow occurs. Our so-called ''bestial" excesses are hardly
bestial, for the way of a beast is to satisfy his appetite
and then stop, w^hereas the way of a man is to extend
his appetite. And appetite, as we have seen, does not
always move upon a single level statically fixed, but
rather grows refined, and sometimes becomes the servi-
tor of ideal ends. Note, for example, how a single term,
''love," is used for all grades of reaction, from merely
instinctive sex attraction to the most deliberate self-
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 67
devotion in which the original biological connotation has
completely disappeared.
Secondly, human desires undergo a process of organi-
zation toward the unity of the individual. The way of
human desiring is to take account of wants. Thereby we
objectify our desires, compare them, and arrange them
in scales more or less refined. Thereby we attain to
character in the sense not merely of being different each
from every other, but also of being functionally more
than any desire or any set of desires.
Thirdly, human desires come thus to include a desire
to have desires. The desires of the lower animals become
organized after a fashion. Rats and mice learn not to
touch the tempting morsel that the trap displays. A
frog that is making for shore stops — ''freezes" — if a
bass approaches. Here is a kind of regulation of desire.
Men as well as other species are molded in this stern
manner. But men mold themselves. They form desires,
not merely to have this or that object, but also to be
this or that kind of man.^ Here lies the deeper meaning
of education. It is socially organized desire that certain
desires rather than others should control human life.*
Fourthly, human desires undergo a process of
organization toward social as well as individual unity.
Education considered as socially organized desire is
only one instance. That the individual is not a mere
* For a clear exposition of this fact see A. O. Lovejoy, "The Desires
of the Self-Conscious," Journal of Philosophy, IV (1907), 29-39.
' Thorndike thus defines the aims of education: "To make men
want the right things and to make them better able so to control the
forces of nature and themselves that they can satisfy these wants. We
have to make use of nature, to co-operate with each other, and to
improve ourselves." — Education (New York, 1912), p. 11.
68 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
individual, but that individuality itself has a social refer-
ence, is now a commonplace of genetic psychology.
Fifthly, human desire, growing by what it feeds on,
refining itself, judging itself, organizing itself, becomes
also desire for the conservation of the human desire-
and-satisfaction type of experience. Education, for
example, has already come to involve enormous expendi-
ture for ends that are to be realized only gradually after
the death of those who pay the cost. National con-
sciousness in general endows the future with present
value. We shall not fully understand the passion of the
patriot until we see within the economic causation of
national conduct a desire that economic values shall be
assured to future generations, and, within loyalty to a
people's culture or institutions, the identification of
present interests with history yet to be made. The
larger thought, too, of a world-destiny, or even of cosmic
meaning, involves a present desire that desire-and-
satisfaction as we know it may never end. Thus we
desire to endow our values with the added value of
time-defiance.
What name have we for this whole desire-within-
desire, this whole revaluation of values that both makes
us individuals and organizes us into society? In each
phase of life a part of the process appears. We revalue
the seeing of the eye and the hearing of the ear, and
aesthetic values emerge, art is born. We reflect upon
what we want when man meets man, and moral values
emerge as a control even of the instincts out of which
they arise. So, also, out of relatively thoughtless think-
ing there springs a search for norms of thought and for a
self-evidencing or rational standpoint. Here, then, are
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 69
three points at which desire has organized itself by
reference to ideal values — aesthetic values, ethical values,
and noetic values. That this is a characteristic human
process probably no one will deny. But, if so, we should
expect to find at least beginnings of the revaluation of
life as a whole. We should look for historical foci at
which men's sense of the value of life becomes something
like a whole reaction.^ That is, the law of revaluation
should sooner or later reveal itself as a desired ideal, as a
willed reaction creating instruments for itself and having
a history.
It is no new thing to say that what men call religion
is, at its focal points, a reaction, solemn or joyous, in
which the individual or the group concentrates attention
upon something so important that it is, for the con-
sciousness of the moment, life itself. Early religion
reflects the felt crises of early life, as hunger and war,
and particularly these crises as organizing points for the
life of a group. National religion, again, represents the
nationally felt interests, such as a race conflict, a political
struggle, an economic anxiety, a social self-criticism.
And a parallel use of the term religion is common among
us. Wherever men intensely identify themselves with
something as their very life, there you will almost cer-
tainly find "religion" the descriptive term. At first
sight one might wonder why there should be such dogged
clinging to a term. Why does one encounter a ''religion''
of beauty, a ''religion" of science, a "religion" of duty,
a "religion" of social enthusiasm, each of which has
^ As Leuba says, what religion aims at is life in its greatest possible
fulness. This ideal fulness, however, is not exactly a sum of particular
satisfactions.
70 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
shaken off the forms of all historical religions ? Is not
this a sign that all values press for organization into
wholeness of life, and that this is just what reHgion has
been about from the beginning?^
Any reaction may then be considered as religious to
the extent that it seeks ''life" in the sense of completion,
unification, and conservation of values — any values
whatever. Religion does not introduce any new value;
it is an operation upon or within all our appreciations.
If we are to speak of religious value at all, we should
think of it as the value of values, that is, the value of
life organizing and completing itself, or seeking a destiny,
as against the discrete values of impulsive or unreflective
existence.^ The ''new life" that is so prominent at
different levels of religion gets its material from the life
that now is. Tribal initiations introduce the youth to a
"new life" that is new to him as an individual, but not
to the tribe. Similarly, Christian regeneration simply
enthrones such domestic qualities as love. Heaven is a
projection of joys known on earth, and hell merely
focuses earthly woes. Even communion with God is an
extension of love and friendship as they are experienced
among men.^
^ Economic values — "his money is his god" — and even direct sense
satisfactions — "whose god is their belly" — are not excluded from the
general proposition that values tend toward organization as "life."
Here again the already existing use of religious terminology is psycho-
logically significant.
2 It would be scarcely an exaggeration to say that any kind of
strong excitement is sure to appear somewhere as religion. There is a
grain of psychological truth in the assertion of some romanticists that
any utterly absorbing passion is per se sacred.
3 In the Zend-Avesta, Zarathustra asks Ahura Mazda, "O Maker
of the material v/orld, thou Holy One! which is the first place where
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 71
Two recent definitions of religion approximate this
point of view. Hoff ding's "axiom of religion," namely,
*'the conservation of value," has attained a celebrity
that is deserved, for it is, if I mistake not, the first in-
stance of a definition of religion constructed wholly from
the conception of values. Yet "conservation" is only
one phase of the desire-within-desire upon which we
have now fixed our attention. The overflow that is
rehgion is not merely more of the same, but also an
immanent criticism whereby what would otherwise be
merely a serial order of desires and satisfactions is
organized into the unity of personal and social lives, so
that they, and they only, in the end, have value.
Strictly functional, also, is the definition of Ames:
"Religion is the consciousness of the highest social
values."' Here values are the differentia of religion,
not (as with Wright and Leuba) merely the genus.
the earth feels most happy?" When this question is answered, Zara-
thustra asks, "Which is the second place where the earth feels most
happy ? " and so on to the fifth. Ahura Mazda answers that the places
where the earth feels most happy are: (i) the spot on which one of the
faithful steps when he offers sacrifice to the lord of the wide pastures;
(2) the place whereon one of the faithful erects a house with a priest
within, with cattle, a wife, children, and good herds within, and where
all the blessings of life thrive; (3) where one of the faithful cultivates
most corn, grass, and fruit; where he waters the ground that is dry, or
dries the ground that is too wet; (4) where there is the most increase of
flocks and herds; (5) where flocks and herds yield most dung. See
Sacred Books of the East, IV (Oxford, 1880), 22-24.
This is an early description of religious values. They are here
arranged in a hierarchical order — the god (cultus or religious value),
the family (social-ethical value), the occupation (economic value).
Further, ethical value is made to include the economic, and religious
value to include the ethical (note the position of the sacrifice and of
the priest).
* Psychology of Religious Experience, Preface.
72 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Further, values are not taken discretely, but they are
conceived as in process of organization. Exactly why
religion is here limited to social values, and specifically
to the highest of such values, however, is not quite clear.
Is not a man religious who is desperately seeking to
save his own soul, or when he enjoys purely private
ecstasy of communion? Or, to state the matter in
another way, is not such an experience functionally
continuous with experiences in which salvation is con-
ceived socially? Further, how does Ames differentiate
religious consciousness from social consciousness as such ?
If ''highest" be given a specific content (so that we
could say, for example, that a man is not religious until
he accepts this or that social standard), the definition is
obviously too narrow; but if "highest" refers, not to a
specific set of standards, but to a law of social valuation
in accordance with which men criticize and reconstruct
their standards, then Ames's point of view is to this
extent (but not further) identical with the one here
suggested. As a matter of fact, in the body of Ames's
book, ''highest social values" appear again and again
to deliquesce into the social as such.
To propose, as I have done, that we think of religion
as an immanent movement within our valuations, a
movement that does not terminate in any single set of
thought contents, or in any set of particular values,
may easily seem to make religion elusive if not vague.
But the difficulty is with the thing itself, not with the
proposed point of view. That reHgion is in fact the most
puzzlingly elusive phase of experience is fairly deducible
from the history of thought about religion. And we
can convince ourselves of the fact likewise by direct
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 73
inspection of current phenomena. How, for example,
would one describe the attitude expressed in the following
poem?
WAITING
Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea;
I rave no more 'gainst Time or Fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays.
For what avails this eager pace ?
I stand amid the eternal ways.
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone ?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
And gamer up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own, and draw
The brook that springs in yonder heights;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delights.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
— ^John Burroughs, in The Light of Day
(Boston, 1900).
That the attitude here is religious seems obvious; but
just what is the attitude, and what is the relation of it
to knowledge on the one hand and to the complex of one's
74 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
specific purposes and activities on the other ? Whatever
we call it, we have here within one's particular valua-
tions an immanent critique which is also a movement
toward completeness, unity, and permanence of the value
experience as a whole. ^
If the question be asked wherein, then, religious value
is distinct from ethical value, the answer is that it is
not distinct from ethical or any other value. When
ethical value attempts its own ideal completion in union
with all other values similarly ideal and complete, what
we have is religion in the sense in which the term is here
used. The sphere of religion, as of ethics, is individual-
social life. In this life religion refers to the same persons,
the same purposes, the same conditioning facts, as ethics.
In most ethical thinking, however, a difference is recog-
nized. For ethics commonly limits its attention to cer-
' The present European war furnishes excellent illustrations of the
intensification and unification of the valuational phase of consciousness.
One single interest tends strongly to overshadow and even swallow up
all others in each of the warring groups. Each individual mind becomes
organized, and all the individuals of a nation become thoroughly focused
at a single point. There is now only one thing that counts, and it must
be — this is the spirit. And behold, it is conscious of itself as religious!
From Germany, from France, from England, from Canada, comes news
of extraordinary ethical elevation and religious tone. The French flock
to their neglected churches. There are revival outbursts in the trenches,
and the soldiers either have visions or else are ready to believe that
others have had them. Ministers are confident that a new era for faith
is dawning.
Let us attempt an analysis of this movement of the mass mind.
In the first place, this is not a response to new evidence (in the logical
sense) for the old religion. The new convincingness of "things unseen"
lies altogether in the emotion-producing qualities of the new situation.
In the second place, the recognized religiousness of the emotions pro-
duced in each of the national situations obviously depends upon inten-
sification and unification of desire and action, and not upon the particular
ANALYSIS OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 75
tain values only, whereas religion is interested in all
values, in the whole meaning of life. Even within the
sphere of social values this distinction between a nar-
rower and a wider horizon is commonly made; for
ethics, as ordinarily understood, limits itself to the
visible life of men, while religion goes on to raise the
question of extending social relationships to the dead
and to divine beings. But we must not imagine that
naming a horse is the same as putting a bit into his
mouth. If, becoming restive under the phrase *'mere
ethics," one insists upon making ethical ideals a norm
for the v/hole of experience, what happens is the very
ejffort at completion, unification, and conservation of
values to which the name religion is here given.
qualities of the things desired. The German consciousness and the
English consciousness are reUgious in exactly the same sense. Each
is certain that God is on its side, and that the enemy is moved by base
motives. On each side there are such ethical phenomena as sense of
obHgation, postponement of self-regard, submission to discipline, self-
sacrifice, and the glow of a good conscience. Each side is sustained and
calmed in the horrible welter by trust in the God of might and of justice.
In the third place (I anticipate principles that will be discussed in later
chapters) , the idea of God is here in process of derivation from the form
and the interests of the social organization. A newspaper writer has
remarked with entire justice that monotheism is inappropriate and
inconvenient for nations that are fighting for nationahsm. It will be
found, I think, that only to the extent that people are able to criticize
the acts and purposes of their own nation from the standpoint of world-
welfare is there any vital monotheism at all. That is, just as the intensity
of faith reflects the intensity and unification of values, so the breadth of
faith reflects the breadth of social outlook and self-criticism. On the
other hand, it is not improbable that the idea of one only God, which is
already held in a somewhat wavering fashion, will assist in organizing a
world-society.
CHAPTER V
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION
Not only is it difficult to find out just what the lower
races do in the way of religion, and why they do it; it
is difficult for us who are not anthropologists to under-
stand the findings of anthropology. In the present
chapter we must make an effort to reverse many of our
customary notions of how men act, and think, and feel.
Thus:
I. If you ask me in what sense I am religious, you
throw me back upon myself as an individual. I say,
*' Whatever life may mean to others, to me it means so
and so." If, now, we imagine that such personal realiza-
tions are the first things in religion, and that the earliest
religious group or community is an aggregate of such in-
dividuals, we reverse the facts. The religious individual
is a late and high development out of the religious group.'
How a group as such can be religious we can see, however,
by recalling our own experiences as members of crowds —
a college class, a political meeting, or an audience at a
concert. Under such conditions it is perfectly natural
for us to feel and act and even think in ways that are
impossible to us in private.
» Not until the national-religious consciousness of Israel had been
battered down by other nations did the notion of a direct personal
relation to Jahwe take firm root. Ezekiel, chap. 28, transfers the
notion of guilt and innocence from nation or family lineage to the
individual.
76
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 77
2. The early group was not a merely impulsive mass,
like a mob.^ It had definite, complicated, and rigidly
enforced ways called customs. Custom is 'Hhe way
we do." It is orally transmitted from one generation
to another, largely in initiation ceremonies that induct
adolescent boys into the life of mature men. Custom
is enforced upon any possibly recalcitrant individual,
not only by social scorns and disabilities, but also by
terrible fears of unseen beings. Now, early religion is a
body of customs, a group possession, in which the
individual shares ''of course" rather than by personal
conviction. He raises no questions, he sees no need of
an inner life.
3. The interests of the group are narrow, and they
include only a minimum of what we mean among our-
selves by "intellectual interest." The things that
occupy early man are food-getting, marriage, birth,
sickness, death, initiation, war, protection from beasts
and from the weather. These are the interests that
underlie the beginnings of religious as well as other
customs. Causal inferences as such, wonder at nature,
and effort to think consistently are far less in evidence.
^ Strictly "primitive man" is a more or less speculative entity.
Even if we take as primitive the Congo pygmies and similar types
(W. Wundt, Elemente der Volker psychologic [Leipzig, 1913], pp. 12-22),
it does not follow that their ways will yield the greatest possible illumina-
tion as to the beginnings of religion. Not until the evolution has pro-
ceeded an appreciable distance are the data present for defining the
problem of origins. The study of beginnings is a study of something
that has begun. In the present chapter "early group" impUes a stage of
culture in which religion is, so to say, just articulate — it utters itself
in ways sufficiently stable and sufficiently institutional to enable us,
looking both backward and forward, to discern the direction of the
mental movement.
78 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Such intellectual life as exists is, indeed, closely con-
nected with religious rites and ceremonies, but it con-
sists for the most part of crude picture-thinking, which
is the direct, unreflective product of emotions primarily
connected with the interests already named.
4. Life is not departmentalized as with us. ReHgion,
morality, and law are as yet an undivided mass. Totem-
ism, for example, is at once a form of tribal organi-
zation with various laws, consequently a body of
prescriptions for individual conduct, and finally a kind
of religion.
5. The whole is to be thought of as instinct action
passing up through group consciousness (custom) toward
personal experience and reflection. Basal to all that
men do is instinct action; it does not express an ante-
cedent idea, but under the stimulus of accompanying
pleasures and pains it gives rise to discrimination and
so to ideas as patterns for future conduct. Action is
definitely adjusted before ideas become definite. Fur-
ther, the first programs of action are those in which the
instinctive impulses of an individual are restrained and
organized, not by his own reflection, but by the direct
pressure of the group upon him. No doubt the variant
individual, the relatively great man, has always influ-
enced others to a special degree, but in earliest society
he and they are alike caught up in the common move-
ment of the group.
We are now ready to note the phenomena of early
tribal life to which we may ascribe rehgious significance.
Let us begin with what is most external and obvious,
reserving for the next chapter a further word as to the
inner significance of the whole.
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 79
1. The tribe or clan has a formal ritual or certain
ceremonies connected with the food supply, and intended
to help in securing it. Typical of such ceremonies are
mimetic "dances" representing the animal or plant from
which food is obtained. Often an animal mask is worn,
or a skin, or antlers. Various objects connected, or sup-
posed to be connected, with the source of food are em-
ployed, as meal, water, snakes (e.g., the Moki snake
dance), or the whole or a part of a food animal. The
ceremony is likely to include a feast in which the food
animal is devoured. The obvious inutility of such acts
tempts us to think of them as "mere ceremonies'' or
as merely dramatic performances. This temptation is
strengthened when we discover that the performers are
commonly unable to give a coherent reason for what they
do. To a considerable extent the original reason has
been forgotten. Nevertheless, sufficient traces of ancient
meanings remain in the mythical tales connected with
the ceremonies, and particularly in the acts performed,
the instruments used, the time of the year, etc., to
enable us to judge with certainty that these food cere-
monies were originally intended as participation in the
actual work of food-getting — rain-making, for example.
The type of thinking here involved will presently be
described under the head of "Magic."
2. There are ceremonies, largely mimetic, connected
with war, as the "ghost dance" of certain American
Indians. These ceremonies are originally an attempted
manipulation of the forces upon which victory is sup-
posed to depend.
3. Adolescent boys are initiated into the tribal se-
crets and customs, and sometimes girls are introduced
8o THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
to adulthood, with elaborate and solemn rites. In the
case of the girls the reference is to prospective marriage.
With the boys the reference is to such functions as the
chase, war, and the men's secret society, with its tradi-
tionary lore and its methods of governing the tribe. The
initiation rites are sometimes prolonged and intricate.
Commonly the boy is subjected to tests, which really
constitute training, of his courage and of his ability to
endure pain. Inspirations in the form of dreams or
visions are sometimes sought and obtained.
4. There are rites connected with marriage, birth, and
broadly with sex. Sex consciousness is, in fact, promi-
nent in religion even up to some of its highly developed
forms. The spring festival referred at once to the rebirth
of vegetation, the yeaning of animals (note the promi-
nence of the bull, the ram, etc.), and to human reproduc-
tion (hence phallic symbols, and even sexual license).
5. A certain member of the group, the medicine man
or shaman (equivalent terms), has particularly close
relation to all these affairs. He is a specialist in things
religious, the predecessor of priesthoods. He goes into
trances, has visions, is a soothsayer, foretells events,
detects criminals, prepares charms and amulets, expels
the demons from sick bodies, uses suggestion and hyp-
nosis upon both himself and others. He is largely a
trickster, but a half-believing one, nevertheless, because
of the elements in his practice, chiefly suggestion and
self-h>^nosis, that he does not control by trickery.
Coming, now, to closer quarters with these phe-
nomena, we note that at one point or another they
represent both the social organization and current ideas
as to how the important values of life are secured.
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 8 1
1. Totemism. — Each clan is designated by the name
of some object, usually an animal, sometimes a plant.
One clan is the Eagles, another the Kangaroos, and so
on. The Eagles are blood-relatives of all eagles by virtue
of descent from a common ancestral eagle about whom
imaginative tales (myths) gather. An Eagle will not
ordinarily kill an eagle. Even if the totem animal is
good for food, his life is sacred, except that it may be
taken (but with apologies) in emergencies, and except,
also, that he is eaten at ceremonial feasts of the clan.
Now, this eating of a totem animal is not mere eating
as we think it; rather, the savage believes that he
thus absorbs something of the strength, or courage,
or cunning of the species. Nay, more; not only is
the totem animal, as we have seen, a sacred animal,
but by partaking of it one arrives at the very
source of power and is united with it. The feast is a
sacrament.
2. Mana. — The totem animal has its power or cun-
ning, and it is sacred because it has mana (which has
various names among different tribes, as orenda, wakonda^
etc.) . Men eat the totem animal in order to obtain mana.
A large endowment of mana is what gives the medicine
man his skill. The successful hunter or warrior succeeds
because he has mana; the unsuccessful one lacks it. The
spirits all have it. This is what mana is. It is, so to
say, the source of what is important. It is not defined
to thought as either personal or impersonal, for the
distinction between personal and impersonal has not yet
begun to be clear. Yet the idea of mana has been
hastily interpreted as ''high gods of low peoples'' and
even as an aboriginal monotheism.
82 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
3. Taboo. — We have seen that the totem animal must
not be killed like other animals, or subjected to ordinary
uses; he is taboo. A person who violates this taboo
becomes himself taboo; he, in turn, must not be touched
until ceremonies (such as lustrations) for removing the
taint have been performed. From the totem animal taboo
develops outward in various directions. Articles con-
nected with the sacred meal or with the tribal initiation;
the spot where the solemn ceremony of initiaton is per-
formed; the time of its performance; the name of the
totem; the person of the chief and his property — all
these have been taboo in one place or another. The
priestly code of the Old Testament, with its minute
prescriptions concerning the ''clean" and the ''unclean,"
and concerning the "holy" things that must not be
touched, together w^th the avoidance of the use of the
name Jahwe, illustrates taboo in a highly developed
form. "Clean" and "holy" have here a sense far dif-
ferent from our ordinary usage. To early thought both
the powerfully good and the mysteriously evil are taboo.
The dead body of a man is held in especial horror — it is
taboo. A woman is taboo at childbirth. These prohibi-
tions and many like them are enforced by fear. Who-
ever violates one of them delivers himself over thereby
to evil powers that may work him all manner of harm.
The idea here is not infection in our medical sense, but
rather a putting of one's self under the influence of hostile
powers not clearly defined.
4. Magic. — Among low types of savages magic is
omnipresent. To see what it is, let us examine some
instances. For example, women are found wearing in
their hair combs upon which are inscribed symbolic
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 83
marks for keeping away the diseases that the wearer
fears. A hunter, similarly, scratches upon his weapon
some mark, such as an animal figure, to insure success.
To produce a shower, water is sprinkled or a gourd rattle
is sounded. To injure an enemy, one makes an image of
him and pricks or burns it, or one obtains some of his
hair or finger-nail parings and treats them in a similar
manner. Three ideas are here commonly assumed: that
a part separated from the whole (as nail parings, or even
one's name) still influences the whole (sympathetic
magic); that imitating anything, which is possibly
thought of as manipulating an actual part of it, tends
to bring the action itself to pass (imitative magic) ; and
that spirits (demons in the broad sense, not merely evil
beings) can be induced or compelled to work for men to
produce either good or evil. That we are here within
the atmosphere of mana also is clear from the fact that
the medicine man, who is such by virtue of his peculiar
possession of mana, is chief magician.
5. Spiritism. — We have just seen that magic is
largely a commerce with spirits. But we must now
notice that *' sympathetic" and ''imitative" magic
existed before the notion of spirits had become definite.
Animism, in the sense of belief in a soul separable from
the body and therefore able to survive bodily death, was
achieved only through considerable reflection, which
may have required a long period of time. Probably the
first interpretation of death did not regard it as ending
what we have come to call life, but only as modifying it.
The dead man was the same sort of object that he was
before, but with circumscribed powers. Even when the
body decayed, something of the man hovered around
84 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
the spot. Indeed, to prevent so feared a being from
wandering about, the body was sometimes fastened in
its place, a stake being driven through it into the ground,
or a pile of stones being laid upon it. But various ex-
periences— men seen in dreams and hallucinations, for
example — led to the notion that a man has a "second"
that can wander abroad. At death, of course, it takes its
final departure from the body, and thenceforth leads the
life of a spirit or demon in the full sense of the word.
When this belief has been reached, magic becomes to a
considerable extent spiritism in practical operation, that
is, the influencing of events by first influencing or con-
trolling spirits that have power over events. Magical
processes mediate both good (so-called white magic)
and evil (black magic). Commonly, however, magic
comes under the ban, or at least disapproval, of society
as something dark and dangerous. It becomes a secret
practice, employable by individuals, in contrast with
the ceremony of the tribal or established rehgion. When
one people conquers another, the gods of the conquered
are Hkely to live on as the arch-spirits of magic. Medi-
aeval witchcraft, which was transplanted to the American
colonies, had its roots in the pagan religions that Chris-
tianity supplanted. This particular magic became a
"diabolical" counterpart of Christianity. There was a
supreme evil divinity, with angelic subordinates and
with sacraments and festivals; and there was supposed
to be an obedient society of men, its members signed
and sealed, to correspond with the church.
6. The myth. — Broadly considered, the myth is simply
the thoughtaspectof any well-established practice of the
sort now outlined. Mythology is picture-thinking, a
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 85
mass of stories, of which we have a Kving specimen in
our own Santa Claus tales. These stories are authorless,
being the common product, as they are the common
possession, of the group; howbeit, quicker minds must
have contributed more than slower minds to the struc-
ture. Myths are at first believed, just as children believe
in Santa Claus. In some cases the retelKng of the myth
is a part of a solemn ceremony, and then the tale itself
is supposed to have potency with respect to the beings
that it tells about. What occasions give rise to myths,
and what determines their content ? So much of my-
thology concerns the sun and the other celestial bodies
that one recent theory would have it that mythology as
a whole is man's early interpretation of the prominent
or striking phenomena of the sky. Again, it has been
thought that, finding himself using certain names and
titles having original reference to animals, he invented
tales to fit the names. It is as if we should explain the
fact that a certain white man is called Mr. Black by
imagining a black ancestor who transformed his skin to
white. Finally, it is held that the myth is the intel-
lectual expression of the ceremony, often an attempt to
account for it. Whereas the ceremony was once re-
garded by some students as a dramatic representation
of an antecedent myth, a later view is that, finding
themselves performing a customary rite, men gave a
quasi-rational color to their acts by gradually elaborat-
ing a myth or a set of myths.
The matter is complicated, but all in all the last is
the general direction in which we find the richest results.
The decisive facts, it appears, are these : (a) Comparison
of the content of many of a people's myths with the
86 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
content of its ceremonies makes clear that the two are
most intimately related, (b) But the ceremony origi-
nated in an attempt to repeat some supposedly effective
part of an early utility act, such as hunting, fishing, or
planting and reaping, (c) With early men, as with us,
habitual social activities that have a strong emotional
accompaniment tend to become a ritual which sur-
vives its first occasion, and persists even after its original
significance is forgotten. Under such conditions imagina-
tion and reflection produce reasons for the act. After-
thoughts which suppose themselves to be forethoughts
are common at all stages of culture. For example, the
ordinary notions as to why human beings wear clothes
are almost parallel to mythology. A still better example
is the reason for the Sabbath given in one of the creation
stories — we rest on the seventh day because God did so
when he created the world. Here the custom, already
existing, gives rise to a fanciful causal account of it.
(d) But the myth is not held down to its original function
or occasion — it grows with growing interests and with
growing insights. For example, the Greek spring festival,
originally intended to promote fertility, gathers a con-
siderable part of its thought content about the snake,
which is supposed to fertilize the earth. But the snake
does not end here; it lives on in wider reaches of thought
as a phallic object, as sacred to Asklepios the healer, and
in close relation even to Hermes and Zeus.^ Here solar
mythology appears thoroughly fused with fertility
mythology, which, in turn, springs out of festivals in
which men originally believed that they were practically
assisting the processes of reproduction and growth.
* Harrison, Themis, chap. viii.
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 87
{e) Finally, with increasing culture, the myth yields up
its supposed literal truth, and becomes a foundation for
drama, poetry, and a reasoned theology.
7. Fetishism. — A fetish is an inanimate object, known
to be such, but supposed to be the abode, for the time
being at least, of a spirit, or at least of some sort of
superior potency that makes it of special value to its
possessor. Doubtless the earliest fetishes were simply
natural objects of such unusual form as to awaken as-
tonishment, or so related to one's pleasure and pain
as to awaken unusual emotion. Later, appropriate
objects are made into fetishes by the medicine man or
*' witch doctor" — that is, he selects or compounds the
object and causes a spirit or potency to enter it. The
possessor is likely to carry it upon his person to insure
good luck. If it does not work, it may receive a scolding
or a beating, and ultimately it may be thrown away and
a new fetish procured. This description applies particu-
larly to Africa.^ Fetishism is perhaps not so much a
stage in the general development of religion as a fungous
or degenerate growth. It is magic in its lowest form,
which involves also spiritism in its lowest form. It is
arbitrary, individualistic, often anti-social.
We are at last ready to attempt a functional charac-
terization of early religion. Our fundamental questions
are. What types of value-consciousness prevailed ? and
What measures were taken to complete, unify, and con-
serve the values that were recognized? As to the
recognized values, we shall come near to the whole
truth if we think in each case of a small group of men
(horde, clan, tribe) struggling to maintain and perpetuate
* R. H. Nassau, Fetishism in West Africa (New York, 1904).
88 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
itself as a group, and therefore absorbed in co-operative
food-getting, in co-operative protection from beasts,
weather, and human enemies, and in the strict regula-
tion of a few social relations (as marriage), all of which
is thought of as dependent in part upon a mysterious,
diffused power {mana) and in part upon more specific
beings of demonic, yet human, type. The measures
taken, over and above what we count as industry (hunt-
ing, herding, agriculture), are the ceremonies and fes-
tivals already described. Through these ceremonies
tribal man looks for abundant food, success against
enemies of all kinds, and maintenance of the social order.
To complete their values, men here seek plenty; to con-
serve them, men seek to produce a stable social order that
shall be continuously in favorable touch with the powers
upon which food and other goods depend; to unify
values, the measure is again a social one, namely, the
production in the individual of willing, or rather auto-
matic, subordination of desires to social standards (cus-
toms), which in turn the group shares with a larger social
or quasi-social order (the totem species, mana, spirits of
ancestors). Belief in mana is one important root of the
distinct god-belief that later appears. The totemic com-
mon meal will give place to sacrifice and a merely
symbolic eating of the god. The ceremony will become
worship. The social order that supports the ceremony
will broaden into nation, church, humanity. The social
ideal will grow refined and humane, and its scope will
enlarge even to the thought of a spiritual-moral world-
order, either existing or to be achieved. Finally, the
social focusing of life's values, here forced by custom,
will ultimately emancipate the individual from custom
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 89
and lead him into inner freedom that more than fulfils
the law.
Such, in very brief, is early religion, and such is our
own spiritual lineage. We see: (i) that religion is
present among early men because the functions of
religion with respect to values are performed, rather
than because any particular type of ideation or of belief
prevails; (2) that early religion comprehends every
interest that is felt to be important; (3) that it springs
directly out of instinctive behavior, such as food-getting,
marrying, fighting; (4) that religion grows in a peculiar
way out of the social instincts that underlie custom and
group organization; (5) that, as far as origins are con-
cerned, religion is continuous with magic and spiritism,
though it often tends, as we shall see, to grow apart from
them; (6) finally, that, though animal gods or quasi-
gods preceded gods in human form, nevertheless an-
thropomorphism is fundamental to the whole.
Concerning magic and anthropomorphism a word or
two more must be said. As to the relation of magic to
religion, three positions have been held. Frazer at one
time was of the opinion (subsequently modified) that
religion arose because magic, which preceded it, did not
work.^ Leuba contends at great length that magic and
religion are separate in origin and in inner principle ; the
mark of magic being control of hidden powers; that of
religion persuasion of psychic beings.^ King holds that,
though religion and magic have a common root, magic
is or tends to be an individual, non-social, and often
anti-social use of the same sort of powers that religion
* J. G. Frazer, The Golden Bough.
' A Psychological Study of Religion, Part II.
90 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
employs.^ The following facts seem to be of decisive
importance for this whole problem: (a) Religious cere-
monies in which prayer is used to persuade a god are
historically continuous with ceremonies in which efifects
are supposed to be wrought otherwise than by psychic
process, for example, by eating the totem animal. On
the other hand, in developed religions gods are sometimes
controlled rather than persuaded.^ Further, magic
seeks much the same values as religion, such as health,
protection from enemies, and success of various sorts,
and the religious and the magical methods of seeking
these values have such common root ideas as influencing
the whole through a part of it (as getting influence over
a god by using his name), and securing something by
imitating it (mimetic dance, dramatic rehearsal of the
adventures of the god, symbolical sacrament). Finally,
mana (the taproot of god-belief) and also spirits are used
by the medicine man, who is the precursor of priest-
hoods at the same time that he is head magician. All
this looks toward a fundamental unity of origin and
inner principle, (b) Numberless ways that we can ob-
serve among ourselves bring the magical and the religious
into the closest relation. A child declared that a prayer
by a certain minister was of no avail because he prayed
with his eyes open. Christians who refuse to pray except
in the name of Jesus display an attitude that is obviously
a survival of the magical use of names. Mothers are
* Development of Religion, chap. vii.
■J. H. Breasted, Development of Religion and Thought in Ancient
Egypt (New York, 191 2), shows that for a long period Eg>'ptian religion
was largely a body of devices for getting power over the gods (see p. x
and Lecture Vni).
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 91
anxious about their babies until the rite of baptism has
been administered. Multitudes wear amulets upon a
cord around the neck, referring the protective effect to
some saint. By a word priests change bread and wine
into flesh and blood. It requires no stretching of either
term to call these things either religion or magic, (c) On
the other hand, however, we see religion, or at least
official religion, separating itself from magic and con-
demning it. ''Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."
Traffic with the gods of a conquered people is by the
conquerors condemned as diabolical magic. Magic,
further, can be and is practiced in secret, and by indi-
viduals, whereas the religious ceremony is above all
things a group act for group ends.
The conclusion toward which these facts point is
that, though magic and religion have a common origin
and are historically and psychologically continuous with
each other, there is a genuine and profound difference.
Religion organizes life's values and seeks them socially;
magic fixes upon any particular value and seeks it
individually or at least independently of the larger social
order. Because it lacks the social quality of religion,
magic magnifies wonders, and glories in supposed events
and connections that lack moral significance. Thus it is
that magic so commonly seeks out supposed secret laws
of nature in order to control events, whereas religion,
all in all, brings worshipers into submission to beings
of a social sort.
Let us notice, finally, the anthropomorphic char-
acter of the whole movement. Certain external facts
are plain. Before men believed in gods having the
human figure, the totemic animal ancestor was a quasi-
92 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
divinity. Not only so, but the totem animal is intimately
associated with early gods that have the human form.
The human god transforms himself into the animal; or
is part animal, part man; or is accompanied by the
animal; or bears the figure of the animal on his cloth-
ing— in short, the human god evolves from the animal.
Therefore, it is said, theriomorphism precedes anthropo-
morphism. But a distinction must be made between
two senses of the term form {-morphism), between the
physiological sense and the psychological. The order
therio- to antkropo- is primarily physiological. Back of
it is the psychological fact that the qualities of men, as
men then conceived these qualities, were attributed to the
totem animal, especially the totemic ancestor. To sup-
pose that primitive man formed his notions of animals
by a strictly objective procedure like that of our natural-
ists at their best is to invert the actual way of the mind.
No, the bear is a brother or an ancestor because of the
manlike thought and motive that the Indian thinks into
him. Anthropomorphism, in the psychological sense,
inheres in religion as such from the beginning.
APPENDIX
THE RELATION OF THE SEXUAL INSTINCT TO RELIGION
Various writers have held that the psychical origin and the
permanent psychical support of religion are to be found in the
sexual life. The facts that give rise to this theory are as follows:
(i) the wide distribution of gods of procreation, of phallic symbols,
and of sexual acts as a part of religious ceremonial; (2) the dis-
covery of a sexual factor in mental disorders that take the form
of religious excitement, depression, or delusion; (3) the existence
of various sects that connect spiritual yearning or perfection
directly with sex, either in the way of indulgence or in the way of
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 93
suppression; the phenomena range from license on the one hand
to the sanctification of virginity on the other, with polygamy and
various other sorts of control between; (4) the imagery of court-
ship and marriage that figures so largely in mystical literature,
together with evidence that sexual sensations and desire, in certain
individuals, are a factor in mystical ecstasy; (5) the close con-
nection between conversion experiences and adolescence; (6) the
emphasis upon "love" in the Christian religion.
These facts indicate some sort of psychical connection between
sex and rehgion. But to determine what this connection is we
must have a more scientific method than that which seeks to
explain religion by picking out some one widespread phenomenon
that happens to attract one's attention. By this loose method a
pretty strong case could be made for the proposition that fear is the
psychical origin and support of rehgion, or that economic interest
is the controlling one. The problem, too, needs to be sharpened.
On the one hand, there must be such an inventory of original
human nature as will put us on the lookout for all the elements
in the great complex called religion. On the other hand, pains
must be taken not to oversimplify, particularly as regards early
religion. Further, we must face the question. How are instincts
as a whole related to the desires that are usually regarded as
higher ?
Postponing to later chapters the discussion of various phases
of this problem, I shall at this point briefly indicate the conclusions
toward which recent studies of original nature, of primitive reli-
gion, and of individual religious experience in higher religions
seem to be tending with respect to the general relation of the
sexual instinct to religion: (i) The earliest religion known to us
is not an individual experience (as might be the case if sexual
instinct were the sole source) but a group enterprise. (2) The
instinctive basis of social grouping is complex, sex being only
one factor. (3) The interests of the earliest religious groups
known to us include those of sex, but other interests, such as the
economic, are always prominent. (4) Throughout the history of
religion this complexity prevails. The act of making war, or
of administering justice, or of protesting against the oppression
of the poor, or of repentance for any kind of wrongdoing, or of
94 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
aspiring toward any ideal good, may have a religious aspect
directly — that is, because of its own felt importance. (5) Phallic
symbolism, which is widespread, appears commonly in comiection
with rites that have to do with the fertility of the earth, that is,
with the food supply. This is true, for example, of the serpent,
and of whatever phallic symbols the "high places" of the Old
Testament bore. The sex interest, that is to say, does not neces-
sarily dominate religion even here. (6) Where sex interest does
succeed in dominating religion, as in the worship of Astarte, it is
opposed and finally defeated by religion, not by irreligion. (7)
Some of the emotional ** reverberations" of sex, as in adolescence,
have a pervasive influence which religion shares along with the
social, the aesthetic, and the intellectual life. But in religion, as
in social organization, art, and science, this is only one factor of a
complex. (8) In some notable instances religion takes a social-
ethical ideal as its cause. The Christian principle of "love" is
an example. Here it is parental instinct that comes most clearly
to expression. It has, in fact, the controlling place, for the love
that is required between men is that of brothers, the sons of a
common father.
The interesting suggestion has been made that primitive man's
first notion of spirit possession and of transcendent mystery may
have arisen directly from the intensity of feeling and of emotion
in sexual intercourse, together with the involuntary character of
sex excitement. Hence it is inferred that the first objects of
worship were the sexual organs, and that the first gods were simply
imaginative representations of sex experience.' The origin of
religion in the race must doubtless be sought in some sort or sorts
of excitement that jogged primitive man out of his habitual modes
of conduct. There is plenty of evidence that sex excitement has a
place here, but this evidence is paralleled point for point by
evidence of the presence of other sorts of intense excitement also.
The capacity of sexual excitement to awaken new modes of con-
duct or of thought, moreover, was limited by the fact that, sexual
promiscuity or at least very early sexual union being allowed,
desire was promptly satisfied, and the strains that fixate attention
* See Theodore Schroeder, "Erotogenese der Religion," Zeitschrift
Jiir Religions psychologiey I (1908), 445-55.
RACIAL BEGINNINGS IN RELIGION 95
for a considerable period were lacking. That is, the sexual life
tended to have the character of habit and conunonplaceness. On
the other hand, the uncertainty of the food supply and the vicis-
situdes of war and of disease created situations most favorable
to the sort of repeated fixation of attention out of which a new
mode of conduct and of thought emerges. Hence the great promi-
nence in early religion of ceremonies connected with the food supply
and with the maintenance of group solidarity. For a discussion
of religion in adolescence, see the chapter on "Conversion."
CHAPTER VI
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD
The term "god " connotes qualities not clearly present
in either spirits or mana. The spirits with which early
man had dealings were often vague, shifty, lacking in
the qualities that command respect. One might say
that they were objectifications of men's unorganized
impulses. Mana, especially as contained in the totem
ancestor, is more stable and awe-inspiring. Yet it lacks
clear individuality. The gods, on the other hand, are
manlike, have individuality or character, and are rela-
tively exalted. Men establish relations with them by
prayer and by various relatively permanent social ar-
rangements, such as vows and covenants. We have
now to ask how it is that, starting without any god-idea
at all, men got themselves gods.
Because of our traditions, many of us tend, whenever
*'the idea of God" is mentioned, to think of it as an
explanatory or philosophical concept. Consequently,
when inquiry is made as to its origin, we are prone to
ask from what facts early men might have reasonably
inferred the presence of divine beings. But it is certain
that the genesis of the idea is not to be found in the con-
trolled thinking that we call philosophy. The idea
reaches back to, and is continuous with, mana and the
spirits, which, in turn, are continuous with still more
inchoate conceptions. Our search will not stop short
of the crude impressionism in which thinking started.
96
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD 97
Our problem is twofold : first, to find out what ideas
of a more elementary sort were used in building the
god -idea, and, secondly, to determine the functions
involved, the desires that found satisfaction in or
through it.
Five elements commonly appear in the early mytho-
logical representations of the gods: (i) the form or the
ways of some species of animal; (2) the form and the
ways of man; (3) the ways of spirits, as hyper-rapid
movement, making one's self invisible, taking possession
of a man or an animal;^ (4) some phenomenon or process
of nature; (5) mana. In a sense each of these five may
be regarded as an origin of the god-idea, but no one of
them is the origin. Nor is there a single, exclusive line
of descent. Individual men may have been deified, but
euhemerism is clearly in error in supposing that all wor-
ship is worship of the dead. Even the hero-gods of
Greece, it appears, are not reminiscences of great civil-
izers or deliverers, but of early fertility festivals.^ Again,
divine beings arise out of spiritism, and no doubt the
notion of disembodied spirits has played a part in all
developed god-ideas. According to Wundt, the god-idea
proper arises through fusion of two antecedent ideas,
demon and hero. Yet nature-powers, too, have had a
part in the entire development. The fruitful earth, the
fructifying rain, the progression of the seasons, the sun
and the moon, the sea, the mountains — elements like
' This fact throws light upon the question whether magic and
religion have separate origins. The gods themselves are to a large extent
magicians. By a word, or by the use of some talisman, they impose their
arbitrary will upon nature.
' Harrison, Themis, particularly p. 215.
gS THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
these commonly appear in early god-ideas. And, in
all and through all, there runs the idea of mana, the *'it"
that separates the very important from the common-
place.
In spite of the tendency of religion toward conserv-
atism, these elements have been mobile. A people's
conception of its god grows and changes with the chan-
ging experience of the people. Gods, like men, can take
on new interests and occupations, or move from one
realm to another. They are influenced by the company
they keep, as is evident from changes that follow fresh
intercourse between two religions. They can even
coalesce with one another.^
In the sense of taking a thing to pieces, we have here,
in brief, the genesis of the god-idea. But we still need
to inquire what controls these combinations and recom-
binations. Why are they made at all? What are men
about in the whole process, and why do they single out
just these elements and form just these combinations ?
The answer is difficult, chiefly because it requires on our
part desophisticated imagination. How would we our-
selves spontaneously act, or tend to act, in the simple
situations of early man ? Let us see how we do act when,
being taken off our guard, we fail to use the accumulated
wisdom of the race. A man who unexpectedly pounds
his thumb with a hammer gets angry with it. One who
stubs his toe kicks the offending obstacle. If a knotty
stick of wood *' refuses" to split, we ''get our dander up"
^ These processes are excellently illustrated in the religion of Egypt,
and in the part that it contributed to the religious syncretism of the
Roman Empire. See J. H. Breasted, Development of Religion and Thought
in Ancient Egypt (New York, 19 12).
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD 99
and ^'go for if with savage blows. In our unsophis-
ticated moments we ''contend" with storms; at the
height of such a contest one who manages a canoe or a
boat, his attention strained upon the one issue, goes
through an experience not unHke that of a fencer or of a
wrestler. How often, when one is weary or "all out of
sorts," one feels, and even says, "Everything seems to
be against me." On the other hand, a happy child was
heard to say, "I love everything, and everything loves
me!" How fond we become of things that are closely
associated with our hours of freedom and happiness, as
in sports. A fishing-rod, a canoe, a camp ax, a bicycle,
an engine that works well — we actually pet and fondle
them! And the spots where our profounder happiness
has come — the old home, the college, a scene of deep
friendship or love — are "sacred," set apart from ordinary
places, because our experience in them has become, as
it were, a part of them. In short, emotional thinking
tends to transfer the glow of our minds to the object of
our thoughts. This is called in German Einfuhlung.
That which, to our cooler thinking, is only a "thing,"
becomes by Einfuhlung friendly or unfriendly. Now,
one has only to think of the greater extent to which this
is characteristic of childhood, and then to consider that
mind in its early stages lacked most of the knowledge
of "mere things " with which we check our own emotional
thinking, to get a clue to the functional origin of god-
ideas.'
* The way in which emotional thinking calls for objects to express
itself upon is illustrated by the story of a Shekyani chief, Ogwedembe,
whose sister, married to a member of the Mpongwe tribe, had died.
Ogwedembe, having come to the funeral, kept saying, "I wish my
lOO THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Now and then a whole group of modern men and
women, under a sudden shock or an excessive strain,
seems to be transferred into a world of personal or
quasi-personal meanings. The ''Titanic" survivors
who were rescued by the "Carpathia," so Stanton Coit,
an eyewitness, relates, seemed not to be stunned and
crushed but "lifted into an atmosphere of vision where
self-centered suffering merges into some mystic mean-
ing We were all one, not only with one another,
but with the cosmic being that for the time had seemed
so cruel. "^ Still more significant is Professor James's
analysis of his own attitudes and those of others on the
occasion of the great California earthquake, which over-
took him at Stanford University. ''As soon as I could
think," he says, ''I discerned retrospectively certain
pecuHar ways in which my consciousness had taken in
the phenomenon. These ways were quite spontaneous
and, so to speak, inevitable and irresistible. First, I
personified the earthquake as a permanent individual
entity Animus and intent were never more
present in any human action, nor did any human activity
ever more definitely point back to a living agent as its
source and origin. All whom I consulted on the point
agreed as to this feature in their experience. 'It ex-
pressed intention,' 'It was vicious,' 'It was bent on
sister had not been married to a Mpongwe, for it is not your custom to
shed blood for this cause. But I feel a great desire to kill someone.
If this had been a Shakyani marriage, I would have gone from town
to town killing whom I chose." The Mpongwe replied, "But we have
no such custom." He answered, "Yes, I know that; I only said what I
would like to do, though your tribal custom will not allow me to do it."
— R. H. Nassau, Fetishism in West Africa (New York, 1904), pp. 311 f.
* The Outlook, April 27, 1912, pp. 894!.
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD loi
destruction/ 'It wanted to show its power/ or what not.
To me it simply wanted to manifest the full meaning of
its name. But what was this ' It ' ? To some , apparently,
a vague, demoniac power; to me an individualized
thing."'
With these clues in mind, let us imagine what the
world must have seemed like to our early ancestors.
What were the occasions of emotional excitement, and
upon what object was attention likely to focus on each
occasion? This object, whatever it may be to us so-
phisticated mortals, was to our ancestors a living thing,
with desires and attitudes of its own. Animals, of course,
were such objects, especially animals that were feared,
those that were used for food, those whose special traits
(courage, cunning, etc.) attracted notice, and those that
were associated (in the mind of the savage) with impor-
tant events, such as the revival of food-yielding plants in
the spring. Where anxiety for the food supply is common,
a food animal or even plant becomes a friend, perhaps a
relative. To feel the reality of the totemic relationship
was probably easier than it is for us to feel our racial
unity with the African pygmies. To feel the wonder of
an animal's courage or cunning was to attribute mana
to him. If he was the totem animal, eating him at the
tribal festival was a method of obtaining some of his
mana. Further, since he was a relative, in the tribal
dance that accompanied the meal men wore the animal's
skin or head, or masks representing him. Just as a small
child will shrink in terror from a man who, without any
disguise, impersonates a bear by 'Agoing on all fours"
^ Quoted by the Boston Transcript, June 6, 1906, from the Youth's
Companion.
I02 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
and growling, so to tribal men the mask-wearer was for
the time being much more than an ordinary man. The
human and the extra-human fused. Here we have all
the elements and motives necessary for belief in exalted
beings having qualities of both men and animals. These
elements are consolidated into a tradition by the recur-
ring festival, with its retelling of the old stories and its
re-enactment of the ancient ceremonies under conditions,
such as night, secrecy, and prolonged strain of attention,
that favor the reinstatement of the emotion. What
gives vitahty to the whole is the feeling that great inter-
ests are at stake — food, health, all kinds of success, even
unnamed and vague welfare and illfare.
In the general characteristics of emotional thinking
we have the basis for spiritistic beliefs also. The origin
of rehgion used to be sought in animism, or the belief
that objects are inhabited by spirits. Such belief is,
indeed, universal at certain levels of culture, and it has
had an important part in the evolution of religion. The
question is, What part? Clearly, animism as such is
simply a general level of thought. It contributes some-
thing to the god-idea, but it is not of itself religion. We
must still search for the motives, the life-issues. More-
over, animism is not a strictly primitive form, even of
thought. It involves the notion of a difference between
spirit and body, a notion that could have been achieved
only through a considerable process. As the achieve-
ment of this notion is, of course, one phase of religious
evolution, a preanimistic stage of religion is now rec-
ognized.
Let us try, then, to represent to ourselves how the
idea of a spirit separable from the body arose. On the
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD 103
converse side, this is the question how men first began
to think of body as separable from spirit. Not that all
objects whatsoever were at one time thought of as alive
and friendly or unfriendly; for objects habitually pres-
ent without emotional accompaniments were probably
as colorless to early man as they are to us. But this
does not mean that early man thought of them specifi-
cally as not alive, as "mere'' things; it means, rather,
that he did not raise the question. But any one of these
habitually colorless things might, merely by the laws
of mental association, become the focus of emotional
interest and therefore reveal itself as alive like a man.
Now, to be alive like a man was not, at first, to be com-
pounded of soul and body, but just to have the breath
of Hfe (anima). The Hebrew creation myth says that
God ''breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and
man became a living soul." The question, then, is how
this bodily soul came to be thought of as a spirit, that
is (primarily), a second or double capable of existence
on its own account and of uniting itself with bodies,
whether human, animal, or other. An old theory has
it that from the shadow that accompanies a man but is
intangible; from the reflection of one's face in a pool;
from dream memories in which one recalls having been
at a distance from the spot in which one's body certainly
lay; and from visions, at night or by day, of persons
whose bodies are at a distance or perhaps buried, men
inferred the existence of a man within a man, but sepa-
rable from the tangible body. Wundt adds the experience
of trance, in which the body seems strange or "not here."
This "second" is still body, but intangible — a ghost
through which a sword may be thrust without wounding.
104 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
This notion, once reached in respect to man, could
be extended to other things — the whole world could be
peopled with flitting spirits or demons. Without doubt
some such association of ideas occurred, but its effect
was merely to render more precise and differentiated the
thought factor already described as present from the
beginning, namely, the self-projection characteristic of
emotional situations. Spirits are at bottom not an
intellectual "find"; they are rather a focalized repre-
sentation of intense experience with its spontaneous
Einfuhliing.
Some important results flowed from the attainment
of this notion. First, death received a fairly definite
interpretation, at first a terrifying one — that the spirit
of a dead man is a malignant power that Kngers about
the body for a time and then wanders abroad — but
later, in the more progressive groups, the more construc-
tive notion of continuity of social bonds between Kving
men and their departed ancestors. Secondly, it became
increasingly easy to attribute exalted human qualities
to the superior powers. The vagueness of mana and the
equivocally human nature of the totemic ancestor could
not remain unchanged; they became conformed to the
image of the human. But, thirdly, the unsocial tend-
encies of men were objectified in swarms of capricious,
even malignant, spirits. There is no absolute dividing
line between gods and such spirits; all have human
qualities, all are projections of what men felt in them-
selves when they wxre excited. Even very great or
divine spirits were often tricky, passionate, filled with
the cunning of magicians rather than the wisdom and
justice of magistrates. But as the larger, more stable
THE GENESIS OF THE IDEA OF GOD 105
interests of society came to be represented in certain
spirits, who were approached by prayer and group cere-
monial, so the more petty, less social interests were taken
over by inferior spirits, who were in some degree con-
trolled by individuals rather than worshiped by the
group. Thus arises the opposition between religion and
magic and the identification of magic with spiritism.
The prominence of sun, thunder, mountains, and
the like in early god-ideas led many students to the
supposition that these ideas sprang directly out of
wonder at striking phenomena. No doubt there is a
grain of truth here. Phenomena that excited strong
emotion were doubtless taken as the presence of living
things capable of friendly or unfriendly attitudes. But
there remains the problem as to how experiences as
commonplace as sunshine can awaken such emotion.
We know definitely that early ceremonies in which sun,
moon, rain, springtime, and autumn are prominent
commonly have to do with the food supply. We may
fairly infer that, though curiosity as to the causes of
striking phenomena was never absent, the chief organ-
izing interests, the ones that could produce recurring
emotional excitement with reference to even these
commonplace phenomena, were such obvious, vital
issues as hunger, sickness, death, marriage, and war.
The chief source of the god-idea is organic and social
need; free curiosity is secondary.
A general answer can now be given to our second
question. What were men about when they put all these
factors together into god-ideas? It is clear that god-
ideas attribute human qualities to the extra-human.
This is sometimes called imaginative projection of the
io6 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
human self. But to early man there is no "projection"
at all; the gods are simply realities of experience when
it is most vivid. If he could have phrased his procedure,
he might have said something like this: *'I feel alive
most intensely when with my tribe I wrestle with some
sense of common need or rejoice in some common joy.
At such moments I realize that our feeling is more than
ours; it is something that overwhelms us; it is shared
by those beings — ancestors, spirits, nature-powers — that
are close to us in our struggle to live. They want what
we want; they work with us to obtain it; and they that
be with us are stronger than they that be against us."
In short, the genesis of the god-idea is a spontaneous,
underived conviction that what is most important for
us is really important, that is, respected and provided
for by the reality upon which we depend. For early
man the world of values is the real world.
CHAPTER VII
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS
In the earliest stages of culture religion is mucli the
same the world over. The similarity is, in fact, so great
that one inevitably asks whether communication has
not taken place between the most remote and mutually
inaccessible tribes. But religion develops into religions
with contrasting or even antagonistic traits. Why this
early uniformity and this later lack of it ? For answer
we must look to the broad general principle already
explained, that religion is not a separate interest having
a particular character of its own, but rather a way of
deahng with interests, an organizing principle among all
the values that are recognized at any stage of culture.
The almost uniform character of early religion does
not point to a single origin of religious practices at some
particular spot whence they have spread over the earth,
but to the relative simplicity and uniformity of interests
of all men everywhere who are still in the early stages
of the conquest of nature. This principle applies to
many things besides religion, such as primitive tools.
It is not probable that the stone hammer, or the bow
and arrow, arose at a single point, but at many points.
Just so, the hunting and later the domestication of
animals, and the gathering of wild seeds, followed by
sowing and reaping, are to be traced to desire for suffi-
ciency and certainty of food in a world that everjr^vhere
provides nutritive material of about the same sorts.
107
io8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
So with emotional attitudes; and so with ideas as to the
forces involved, and the crude methods for dealing with
them. The returning life of spring, for example, could
not fail to be met with joyous ceremonies in many parts
of the world, and these ceremonies would include many
close similarities without any borrowing whatever. All
this presupposes, however, some law of evolution where-
by, under similar conditions, mental reactions of the
same sort enter into the biological order.
On the other hand, growing differentiation of inter-
ests affected religion directly. For religion is not a
thing by itself; it has no springs other than the impulse
to live, to live well, to live a diversified yet organized
life, and especially to live socially. To explain the rise
of religions, then, we must study the particular factors
in the experience of any people that led to specialization
of interests. At the same time we must bear in mind
tendencies toward organization and systematization that
are common to mankind. Seven such factors and
tendencies can be recognized:
1. Geographic situation. — For example, the Egyptian
religion reflects a Nile valley consciousness; the Baby-
lonian, that of the lowlands of the Euphrates; the
Scandinavian, a consciousness of the northern forests
and the rigors of the northern winter; the Hebrew, of
the hill and valley land of Palestine, with its nearness
to the great trade route between East and West and yet
its possibilities of upland seclusion.
2. Economic development. — Herdsmen have one sort
of religion, agriculturists another. The sacredness of
the cow among the Todas is often adduced as an instance ;
the struggle between Jahwe worship and Baal worship
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS 109
likewise. Great accumulations of wealth, as at Bethel
in the days of Amos, produce results in worship and in
ideals. It is not otherwise with us. Churches whose
traditions relate them to an earlier economic order are
laboring to understand the religious significance of
factory production, with its massing of employees,
its massing of capital, and its methods of distributing
the product of labor. It is beginning to dawn upon
the Protestant consciousness that the Christian religion
has never been an independent thing merely acting
upon the economic order, but that the religious order and
the economic order are two parts of one indissoluble Hfe.
3. Social and political organization. — ^As totemism
was at once religion and tribal organization, so the forma-
tion of nations was the formation of national religions.
Monarchy reflects itself in monarchic notions of divinity.
Monotheism cannot arise until there is a large poHtical
consciousness. In one notable instance, that of the
Egyptian ruler Ikhnaton, we can witness the idea of one
only God, great and good, arising directly out of the
thought of world-dominion. Ikhnaton 's idealism failed
to become a religion because the people were not pre-
pared for it. It remained for the prophets of Israel to
take up the task. With the battering down of Hebrew
national pride by defeat and exile, some change had to
take place in the idea of the national god. Some of the
prophets, their poHtical outlook broadened to inter-
national proportions, conceived the mind of Jahwe to
be correspondingly broad — he was God of nations, not
merely of one nation. Others, reflecting upon the inner
qualities that make rich our social Kfe (as Hosea's re-
flections upon conjugal affection, and Amos' analysis
no THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
of social justice), conceived of ethical tenderness or
strength as belonging to the God of all the earth. In
Jesus' notion of the Father there were contributions
from family organization, national life, and international
experiences.
4. Interaction of peoples. — The intermingling of
peoples, whether by means of war, of migration, or of
commerce, exercises an influence upon a people's religion
as upon all other elements of culture. A god is taken
over, or new forms of worship are adopted, or a dormant
motive is stimulated into activity, or a doctrine is
accepted. This applies not only to intentional syncre-
tism like that at Rome, but even to would-be exclusive
religions. A conquering religion may impose its gods
upon the vanquished, but the vanquished faith is likely
to mingle with that of the conquerors. This happened
after the conquest of Canaan, and it happened with
Christianity. Both Christian theology and Christian
worship contain elements derived neither from Jesus
nor from Judaism, but from the cults that surrounded
the early church.
5. Cultural influences, as philosophy, science, art. —
The earliest culture is not departmentalized as religion
plus morals, plus law, plus philosophy and science, plus
art and literature; rather, these interests are present
without being differentiated from one another. The
genealogy of science and philosophy as well as of theology
reaches back to mythology. The beginning of the
drama is in the so-called mimetic dance, which is a part
of a religious ceremony. Another part of it, the chant,
and the rude rhythm-making that accompanied it, have
much to do with the origin of song and of instrumental
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS iii
music. Carvings and drawings made for their supposed
magical effect gave rise to sculpture, painting, and writ-
ing. The effort to build a house adequate for a god had
much to do with the rise of architecture. Education,
finally, goes back to the initiation ceremony which, both
in itself and in its interim influence, constitutes a training
by society for social ends. It is only in recent times, in
fact, that control of education has passed out of the
hands of the church. But each of these (observation
and thought, song, poetic composition, etc.), broadening
its sphere, became more and more conscious of itself as
an interest per se. Where each had heretofore existed
only as a contributor to a whole that can best be called
rehgion (just because of its wholeness), each came to
assume independent control of itself. In a sense
*'reHgion is the mother of the arts," and of the sciences
too.'
This differentiation from religion marks the arrival
of religion at self -consciousness, with specialization of
functions and organs — religious doctrines, literature,
art, priesthoods, and much more. We can now speak
of interaction between religion and the other parts of a
people's culture. The characteristics of religion in a
given instance will depend in part, for example, upon
the status of knowledge. A very accessible case is the
modification of even popular Christianity by modern
science and discovery. The larger world in which we
live is reflected in the idea of God, which has been
immensely enlarged and ennobled within the era of
* Hocking, chap, ii, makes some subtle observations on this fertility
of religion, and on the problem. What is left of religion when the arts
are all free?
112 THE rSVCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
great geographical, astronomical, physical, and biological
discoveries. The influence of the aesthetic arts is more
subtle because it works directly within the emotions;
yet no one can doubt the religious effect of temple archi-
tecture— the solemn colonnade at Thebes, the graceful
dignity of the Parthenon, the aspiring mass of a Gothic
cathedral. Similarly, the investment of the ritual with
aesthetic wealth in tone, color, and movement guides
as well as expresses sentiment. When painters and
sculptors became interested in the human figure as such,
and not merely as a means of representing the gods, art
acquired ability to soften and humanize religion, as it
has done through a multitude of Madonnas with the
Child. On the other hand, the absence of development
in any branch of culture means always some difference
in religious development. Limit education to a social
class, and you will have a religion different from that
which will appear in the same people if education
becomes universal. The printing press, too, is religiously
momentous. In short, we have in these interactions
still further evidence that religion is not a separate and
independent interest wdth a history exclusively its own.
Even when it takes the form of a special interest it does
not become wholly specialized, but remains responsive
to all the movements of the arts and sciences that
originally sprang from it.
6. The institutionalizing of religion. — Our first glimpse
of rehgious origins shows us an institution — a ceremony
firmly supported by custom. The sacredness of custom
passes on to institutions like priesthoods, temples, sys-
tems of doctrine, and sacred laws and literature until
in some cases civil government is paralleled in firmness
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS 113
of organization, in dignity, and even in power by ecclesi-
astical institutions. Why religion gave itself institu-
tional form is plain to see — important interests of a
social sort appeared to require the correct repetition of
the effective act, in the first instance some ceremony.
But the mere fact that religion has been largely an
institutional affair has had significant consequences,
some of which are not so plain.
In the first place, it has helped to develop the notion
of the secular as against the sacred. The temple and
the priests are commonly supposed to be nearer to the
gods than are the commonalty. In some instances this
has resulted in two codes for conduct.
In the second place, institutions as such resist change.
The very act of formulating and organizing anything
carries in itself an assumption that here, at this point of
time, something has been found that is worthy of preser-
vation. Capital, labor, reputation, and dignity are
therefore invested in it. The institutional leaders tend
thenceforth to identify their own attitudes with those
of the divine being, and thus finally demand the right
to legislate for life in general and to exact obedience.
The claim of ecclesiastical organizations thus to speak
for the god is, historically considered, a demand that
the reHgious spirit shall submit to one or more of its
own ancient products.
But, in the third place, there is a much less under-
stood side of the institutionalizing process. In spite of
the conservatism of institutions, they are often organs,
used in ways they know not of by the life-forces that
produced them. Taboo applied to the property of the
chief helps to found the general right of property. On
114 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
the other hand, by establishing the intermediate idea
of the ceremonially holy, taboo led the way toward
feeling for the ethically holy and right. Ethical content
has, in fact, seeped into many an ancient pre-ethical
shell. From purification ceremonies intended to remove
the effects of broken taboo grew the notion of a purifi-
cation of the heart. Spells and incantations grew into
prayers for favor; these grew into aspiration for uni-
versal righteousness. The shell that remains from the
original ceremony, or verbal formula, becomes at last
more or less consciously a symbol. Christian practice
contains many a form into which fresh meaning has
come. This is true of baptism (a residual of lustration) ;
the eucharist (a residual of totemistic eating of the god) ;
our processions and our bowing, kneeling, or standing
in public worship; finally, a great part of our reUgious
terminology. Even formulae that were originally in-
tended to define the truth for all time cease, almost
insensibly, to be definitions, and become instead symbols
of truths or of group interests, the definition of which
is elsewhere attempted. Wherever freedom prevails,
creeds tend to become mere flags that remind the people
of their group loyalties.
To assume, then, that the present meaning of an
institutional form is the same as the earliest meaning
is to make one's self liable to historical and psychological
error. Institutions are more plastic than their external
forms would lead one to suppose. Especially is this
true of institutions that commit themselves to some
high ideal, as the Christian churches have so largely
done. The extent to which the progressive changes of
Christianity have sprung from within the ecclesiastical
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS 115
bonds is rather astonishing. At the present moment, too,
the faults of the churches are not more drastically ex-
posed by the church's enemies than by loyal church
people. It is safe to say, also, that no institution with
a history has shown greater capacity for adaptation
than the Protestant churches have displayed since the
middle of the nineteenth century. The doctrine of
evolution, the historical study of the Bible, the sudden
expansion of the social consciousness, the transformation
in people's ways through the growth of cities and of
modern machinery — these things created a situation
that would have been ominous for the churches if
ecclesiastical institutions were really as inflexible as
their external forms appear to be. Without attempting
to say how far these churches have solved the problems
thus thrust upon them, one can easily see that they have
gone a long way in the assimilation of modern knowledge
of a revolutionary character (as far as theology is con-
cerned), that they have largely shifted their emphasis
even with regard to the meaning of the Christian life,
and that they have entered upon fresh practical tasks
of the greatest difficulty.
7. The influence of individuals. — Several great reli-
gions and many minor ones take their start from indi-
vidual leaders. It is an impressive and rather mysterious
spectacle that we witness here. For in some cases the
leader not merely starts something going, as a statesman,
a warrior, or an inventor may do, but he attaches the
people to himself personally with a loyalty or even
affection that runs on for centuries after his death.
There is nothing comparable, in other phases of life
than the religious, to the attachment of milHons of men
ii6 TIIE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
to Gautama, Jesus, and Mohammed. And these are
but supreme instances; the masses respond, and have
always responded, with a peculiar loyalty to many lesser
lights. For this reason a chapter will be devoted to
analysis of the mental traits of religious leaders. But it
should be said at once that the influence of individuals
in differentiating religion into specific religions is not
limited to the leaders. Individual variation takes place,
or may take place, in greater or less degree through a
whole mass. The quick response that makes one an
early disciple is an individual variation as truly as the
quality in the master that evokes the response. So with
the formation of parties for or against a new leader; the
new issue, felt as such by large masses of men, is a sign
that social evolution is going on by means, not only of
*' mutations" or large variations in a few individuals
who lead, but also by accumulation of smaller variations
in the masses that follow.
This list of the factors that give to each religion its
special character does not include the mental traits of
different races of mankind — what is sometimes called
racial temperament. Differences between religions are,
of course, to a considerable extent, differences between
races also; but this does not prove that one is the cause
of the other. Moreover, racial traits must themselves
be accounted for. The most probable view of the
matter is that mankind is a single species that origi-
nated at a particular spot, whence it spread over the
earth, and that racial differences arose through the long-
continued influence of special habitats. It is natural to
suppose that causes that could produce the anatomical
contrasts with which we are familiar might produce cor-
RELIGION AND THE RELIGIONS 117
responding contrasts in mental constitution. There is, in
fact, a popular belief that racial mental traits are passed
on by the procreative process just as stature, or color of
skin and of hair, or shape of nose is passed on. Yet
everywhere we find the same senses, with few if any of
the wide differences that were once supposed to exist;
the same instincts ; the same processes of mental organi-
zation. What is different is the objective interests
with which men occupy themselves, and the degrees to
which a given interest is followed up. But this kind of
difference can be accounted for, in large measure, by
the respective situations of different peoples, such as
the kinds and degrees of action required by climatic
conditions and the nature of the food supply, and the
presence or absence of the stimulus that comes from
the intermingling of peoples. In short, though a dog-
matic denial of the existence of inborn racial tempera-
ments would be rash, we cannot with assurance appeal
to such temperaments as an explanation of the differ-
ences between rehgions. We are thrown back upon the
assumption of minds substantially alike reacting in
environments that do not offer the same stimuli, and
therefore do not awaken the same desires and efforts.
Hence, there are arrests of development in one quarter
and particular types of development in another.
The differentiation of religions, that is to say, is
primarily functional rather than structural. Differences
in the thing that has to be done, or in the means for
doing it, or in the groups that are related to the doing
of it — in short, differences in the specific purposes of
life and in the specific objects through which satisfac-
tions are secured shunt thought to one track or another.
Ii8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
A need to think is primary, and this is none other than
a need to organize the given environment, natural and
social, so as to attain some specific aim, such as food,
victory, health, or social justice.
When, however, such a thought process gets well
started, it tends to develop an interest in its objects
regardless of their relation to practical purposes. There
is pleasure in developing a story, or in embellishing a
portrait, or in reconciling and systematizing scattered
concepts. Thus the initial differences in the thought
structures of different tribes and nations are heightened
until, growing from very similar t>^es, we have the
contrasting complexes presented by the theologies of
the world.
CHAPTER VIII
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT
That religion is a social phenomenon is already
obvious. But the term ''society" covers many kinds of
groupings and many kinds of group enterprise. We
must therefore go on to consider whether the sociality
of religion may not be of various species. In particular
we shall need to discriminate between the mechanism of
group action (the structure) and the satisfactions that
such action brings (the functions). In both the struc-
tural and the functional direction, in fact, we shall find
important differences. They gather about certain types
of group conduct that will now be described. Let it be
remembered, however, that setting things apart for
purposes of description does not imply any equal apart-
ness in history. Differences develop for the most part
gradually, so that types shade into one another. More-
over, contrasting types may Hve side by side.
Bearing in mind this caution as to the meaning of
our classification, we may easily recognize three chief
types of religious group conduct.
I. THE RELIGIOUS CROWD
I. The type. — Considered as social grouping and
social enterprise, what is the difference between an old-
fashioned negro revival and the Edinburgh Missionary
Conference? A question like this reveals at once the
existence of religious crowds as distinguished from other
religious groups. The earHest religious group conduct
119
I20 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
was undoubtedly of the excited, unreflective t>'pe. We
have similar phenomena in the Crusades, in the medi-
aeval ''dancing manias," in the ''witchcraft mania," and
in some revivals of the present day among both whites
and blacks — to mention only a few instances.
2. The structure of the crowd ^ or how the crowd form
of co-operation is effected. — What a man will do in a given
situation' depends, not merely upon his original nature,
together with the items that might be attended to in his
present situation, but also upon the actual distribution
of his attention over these items. If, upon looking at an
autumn landscape, my attention centers upon the col-
ored foliage, I act in one way; but if my attention centers
upon the opening burrs of a near-by chestnut tree, I act
in a different way.' Now, attention may be distributed
with a greater or le^ degree of what is variously called
deliberation, analysis, and criticism. Deliberation con-
sists in having within the focus of attention two or more
objects or ideas that involve opposing tendencies to
action.^ An immediate result of deliberation is post-
* Students will find it worth while to accustom themselves to
Thomdike's categories of situation and response. In order to understand
an act, note not only what is done, or the "response" (beginning with
bodily movements, then going on to vocal sounds, and finally to things
said), but also the "situation," which includes the objects present, the
bodily states, and what happened just before. Having analyzed thus
both situation and response, one may raise the question. What in this
act is due to original nature, and what to antecedent experiences of the
individual ?
' The apparently impulsive quality of ideas, sometimes expressed
in the phrase "ideomotor action," as far as it is not directly instinctive,
is a matter of habit. Whatever reinstates a part of a past experience
tends to reinstate the whole of it; the presence of any idea involves a
tendency to the reinstatement of any activity that has been associated
with it.
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 121
ponement or checking of these tendencies. Hence, each
idea that is thus attended to may represent to us an
inhibition of a tendency represented by each of the other
ideas. Dehberate action is response that takes place
after, and in a form determined by, such preliminary
inhibition or checking. To the extent that any response
occurs without this preliminary inhibition we say that
it occurs under suggestion as opposed to deliberation.
Suggestion means, then, determination of the response
by narrowing of attention so that inhibitory items pres-
ent in the situation are at least relatively inoperative.'
Crowd action, in the technical sense of the term
"crowd," is co-operation produced by suggestion, that
is, the suppression of inhibitions. We shall soon see
that co-operation can be secured also by the reverse
process — by means of inhibitions. An example of crowd
action is as follows: During a football game I stood with
* The art of the hypnotizer consists in controlling attention in the
sense of narrowing it. What is the difference, it may be asked, between
this narrowing of attention and concentration of mind in study or other
enterprise ? For practical purposes it is sufficient to answer that study
holds on to differences, while suggestion lets them go. Theoretically
however, the matter is not so easy. The occurrence of complete mono-
ideism is not demonstrable; attention always involves a field and a
focus, that is, both multiplicity and selection. The selection that
constitutes study and the selection that constitutes suggestion are,
structurally considered, continuous. There is no precise dividing line
between one's ordinary state and hypnosis. That a distinction, an
inexpugnable one, remains, however, is clear. I surmise that the
difference between the "normal" and the hypnotized individual, be-
tween waking and sleeping, and even between perception and halluci-
nation, can be expressed only by reference to the distinction between
greater and less self-realization. That is, the distinction goes back
ultimately to the preferential functions. It follows, of course, that
what is above designated as "the structure of the crowd" involves and
depends upon a functional distinction.
122 TIIE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
many other persons at a certain part of the side line.
We were all sympathizers with the home team. As the
game grew exciting, we who were next to the rope
grasped it firmly and pulled hard in the direction in
which our team was struggling to go. We had no pur-
pose in pulling, and most of us never discovered what
we were doing. We were a crowd — that is, a mass of
minds with attention narrowed to a single interest, and
consequently acting as one. The unity depended upon
lack of inhibitions.
Such reduction of inhibitions may occur precisely
because men are together in one place, ^a) The many,
merely as sensory objects moving and making sounds,
excite me and tend to dominate my attention, (h) The
mere presence of others of my species awakens in me a
gregarious response that is pleasurable — I thrill, fix my
eyes upon them, move toward them, follow them about.
The pleasure here involved also reinforces any other
tendencies to action that may happen to be present.
(c) Conversation, passing back and forth, further helps
to fix the attention of the many upon the same things.
{d) Some individual, either by design or under the
excitement of the situation, makes a speech or expresses
a sentiment or proposes action or initiates action that
focuses attention still more completely. From this com-
mon focus of attention, which is excited and emotional,
arises the common act. ^
Each sort of crowd action arises in the first instance
spontaneously. But some sorts at least can be reinstated
by a designed reproduction of appropriate conditions, as
in football games, revival meetings, or primitive religious
ceremonies. On such occasions an additional factor is
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 123
the mental representation of previous crowd experience.
What has happened before easily determines the present
focus of attention and therefore the fresh response.
Thus it is that fashions of crowd action arise.^ There
are styles in revivals — styles not only of singirig, praying,
and preaching, but also of response thereto. Dancing,
shouting, and ^'the power" are renewed season after
season in negro meetings. Similarly, different revival
waves among the whites have produced different types
of conversion. A study of laughter in these movements
would undoubtedly show the prevalence of a fashion for
a time, and then a shift, each fashion seeming to be
most natural while it lasts. In thq Billy Sunday meet-
ings many church people of the present day, both laymen
and ministers, lay aside their ordinary standards of
taste, courtesy, reverence, kindliness, and theological
consistency. The shock that this revivalist's standards
once caused has now been replaced by habitual com-
placency— a crowd fashion has been created. By a
parallel process the primitive religious crowd moved
forward from what was spontaneous and unplanned to
custom, specifically the punctilious ceremony.
Crowd action tends, in general, toward the sim-
plicity of instinct, for unity is here attained by rendering
individual variations inoperative. Nevertheless, habits
that are common to the individuals in a group play a
' At the baseball games of a certain college I observed repeatedly a
sudden and general increase of excitement on the bleachers when the
seventh inning started. "The bloody seventh," it was called. This
odd fashion appears to have had its origin in the fact that on one or
two occasions the home team, after being outplayed in the earlier innings,
made a marked rally in the seventh. Many other examples of crowd
fashions could easily be found in our athletics.
124 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
part. How is it that such ideas as ''Jerusalem," the
*'holy sepulcher," *'Turk," *' infidel," could start a cru-
sade ? It is because of certain already established habits
of thought and of action. If crusades are no longer
possible, it is because our background of habits is dif-
ferent. On the other hand, an individual's habits may
be profoundly interrupted, as in many conversions, by
his experience as a member of a crowd. What happens
in this case is the arousal of a still more ingrained habit,
or else of instinct itself.^
3. Functions of the religious crowd. — Our discussion
of crowd structure has prepared us for the following
brief catalogue of the satisfactions involved: {a) Satis-
faction of the gregarious instinct. (6) Release from
monotony and routine through fresh sensations and
emotions, {c) Pleasurable sense of elevation, freedom,
even sublimity. It arises from the unification of mind
through the suppression of inhibitions. Hesitations,
cares, responsibilities, vanish. One feels one's self burst-
ing through limitations and becoming one with a great,
not definitely bounded reality. Note that this sense of
elevation is attained, not by solving problems, but by
forgetting them. The physiological correlate is unifica-
tion of motor discharge by simplification rather than by
organization. A crowd cannot exercise skill, {d) Indul-
gence of other instinctive impulses, as those of sex and
of pugnacity. The Roman bacchanalia, in which in-
stinct assumed the throne, will serve as an example.
^ When a crowd of Christians applauds a revivalist for picturesquely
assigning to a savage hell persons who disagree ■vs'ith his theology, what
happens is a flaring up of instinctive pugnacity — the same thing that
makes men enjoy a dog fight.
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 125
{e) The primitive crowd, as the beginning of human
co-operation, made the food supply more stable and
social relations more dependable. The general efficiency
was heightened by the massing of energy. (/) At any
stage of civilization enterprises that do not require dis-
crimination can be advanced by crowd action. Thus
it is that revivals of the crowd type can reinforce com-
mon morality. For the same reason, however, they can
reinforce the authority of dogma and help keep intoler-
ance alive. But reconstruction of standards, as dis-
tinguished from enforcement of standards, requires
dehberation.
Here we come upon a profound limitation of the
term ^'society" as applied to a crowd. The fact that
men act together is no guaranty that their acts are
social rather than unsocial in motive and end. Crowds
are notoriously cruel, notoriously unregardful of the
moral standards that are the later and finer product of
social evolution. If the leadership happens to be in the
hands of a morally discriminating person, the crowd
may, indeed, be led toward truly social ends, but power
as a leader does not depend upon moral discrimination.
Therefore the evolution of social standards, as far as
this implies increasing regard of men for one another
and disciplined action in behalf of this regard, depends
upon supplanting the crowd form of organization by
some other principle of integration.
II. THE SACERDOTAL GROUP
I. The type. — When a ceremonial system becomes
well established, a new principle of group conduct
appears. Co-operative action no longer waits for the
126 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
emotional realizations that mark the crowd. Whether
such realizations are present or not, group action goes
forward. A specialized control has been organized in
such forms as priesthoods, traditions and sacred for-
mulae, sacred scriptures, dogma (that is, authoritative
teaching). For short, we may say that this type of
grouping rests upon authority. The divine being makes
himself known, not directly to the members of the
group, but through a particular organ, and this organ
not seldom enforces its authority by means of fears
and even of physical penalties. For examples of the
sacerdotal group, we may look to the organized tribal
religions, to the national religions,^ and to all churches
that endeavor to enforce as final a particular form
of worship, or of ecclesiastical government, or of
doctrine. •
2. The structure of the sacerdotal group. — How is the
unity of the sacerdotal group brought about? Not by
desultory crowd suggestion, nor yet by deliberation
among the members of the group, but by systematized
suggestion through sacrifice and sacrament, ritual, a
code of commands and prohibitions, and religious educa-
tion of a particular type.
The earliest religious rites were, from the standpoint
of the people, actual participation by them in doing the
thing that needed to be done. When, in the later temple
sacrifice, the thing comes to be done for them, a new kind
of control is set up over them. Through the priest the
people approach the god; through the priest the god
* All national religions are perforce religions of authority. They
participate in the exercise of sovereignty through taxation if in no
other way.
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 127
approaches the people. Traditional lore, priestly wis-
dom, and political expediency become an organized
authority, having a continuous life of its own. Its
method of control is reiterated, systematized suggestion,
primarily through such outward acts as sacrifice, around
which common hopes and joys are made to center.
Sacrifice gives way in many places to mystery-cult and
sacrament, in which only a few material traces of their
origins remain, as an ear of corn, a bit of bread, a cup
of wine, a drop of oil or of water, a touch upon the head.
But these are now the outward expressions whereby
an articulated doctrine controls the people through
suggestion. By suggestion from the priest the wor-
shipers are assured, for example, that the god is
present in the wine-cup that their eyes behold, or
that some new relation to God is effected by a touch
or by baptismal water. Thus the people, whether
they betake themselves to the temple by two's and
three's or by hundreds, are made one in the unity
of a doctrine that exists independently of their
will.
In sacerdotal worship the sacrament is reinforced by
other parts of the ritual. Here the priest works upon
the people by suggestion through what is recognized by
them as partly, though not exclusively, symbolical.
Pictures and statues, processions, kneeling, bowing,
crossing one's self, the Latin of the mass, intoned psalms
and prayers, the repetition of ancient creeds — these are
one and all instruments of suggestion. They are not
used because they promote reflection and deliberate
action, but because they bring attention back repeatedly
to the same point, thus renewing control by what is
128 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
already authoritatively fLxed.* Tendencies toward sacer-
dotal grouping can sometimes be discerned in a change
from ** saying" to intoning the Lord's Prayer, the
Prayer of Confession, and the Creed; perhaps also in
singing, instead of reading, the psalms. Here the con-
tent, which was at first an expression of discriminative
thinking, not only ceases to awaken like thoughts, but
becomes an instrument of suggestion whereby the wor-
shiper's mind is bent to the ideas of the ecclesiastical
authorities.
The sacerdotal group is kept together, in the next
place, by a code of commands and prohibitions, which
may include matters of belief as well as of conduct. In
respect to conduct, ethical duties (which have to do
with the social weal) stand side by side in all such codes
with ceremonial prescriptions whose derivation from
taboo is much more direct (as those that concern the
superior sanctity of certain places, times, words, doc-
trines, and sacramental acts). The whole is enforced
by the sanction of pains and pleasures attached to dis-
obedience and obedience, respectively, by the will of a
divinity. Here again suggestion, largely in the exceed-
ingly effective form of direct command, is the mode of
group unification and control. Reflection may be en-
couraged within limits, particularly in the way of defining
and applying the prescribed rules, but the ultimate is
always authority (as of revelation contained in an
ancient literature, or uttered through a living priest).
* This does not apply to all use of liturgical forms or to all use of
religious symbols. As the quiet of one's study, the presence of books, and
the sight of one's desk stimulate intellectual work, so liturgical forms
may be constructed so as to produce reflection and deliberation as
distinguished from mere contemplation.
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 129
Therefore the ultimate psychological method of the
sacerdotal group Kfe is suggestion.
In the more developed sacerdotal groups perpetuity
of control is sought through diligent instruction of the
young. Instruction, one might suppose, would control
less by suggestion than by awakening reflection. If we
look, however, at ancient Jewish schools, or at Moslem
schools, we shall see that drilling certain formulae into
the pupil's memory is the central and essential thing in
the work of the teacher; and in the sacerdotal branches
of Christianity we shall find that habit-formation in
thought and conduct, on the basis of direct command
(whether it is fully expressed or not), is the essence of in-
structional method, reflection being employed only under
the strictest predetermination of its main conclusions.
3. Functions of the sacerdotal group. — It is evident at
a glance that religion in this form may contribute to any
of the satisfactions of tribal and national existence. For
example, in the wars of Israel, and in the European war
that is raging as these words are written, religion
strengthens the courage and solidifies the obedience of
the soldiers. For each army feels sure that God is on
its side. In both cases the soldiers are incited to a lim-
ited amount of reflection by having their attention called
to the wickedness of the enemy; in both cases the indi-
viduals feel that they are freely devoting themselves to
a cause; but in both cases the cause is chosen for them,
not by them. That the method whereby religion here
produces its social effect is suggestion rather than reflec-
tion might be inferred directly from the fact that the
national point of view, whatever it is, is sure to be rein-
forced through the exercises of religion. Prayer, hymn,
130 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
mass, sermon, have the cfTcct of removing inhibitions
and narrowing attention upon a predetermined set of
ideas and interests. Here sacerdotaHsm reveals its true
and uniform kinship with the military t^-pe of social
organization. The power of a regiment may be aug-
mented by speech-making and exhortation, but these
are not fundamental; they are only accessory to the
basal ground of unity, which is that a few command
what seems good to them, and the many obey. Just so,
the religious group conduct now under consideration
may include argument, persuasion, emotional revivals,
and willing devotion on the part of individuals, but all
these are produced by and on behalf of an authority
that, in the last analysis, resides in one or a few persons
who command what seems to them good. The relation
between this ''seeming good" to the authoritative few
and the correlative ''seeming good" to the obedient
many constitutes the special problem of the functions
of the sacerdotal group.
The processes of suggestion just referred to prevail
also in various ecclesiastical groups that no longer fuse
religious authority with the sovereignty of the state.
The functions, however, are similar, namely, the rein-
forcement of any interest that presents itself by means
of the organs of authority. These interests commonly
attach themselves to some tradition or historical incident
in which the authority of a god is supposed to be con-
ferred upon a human individual or organization. Now
and then a fresh revelation is claimed and a new sacer-
dotal authority set up, as in the cases of Joseph Smith,
Mrs. Eddy, and John Alexander Dowie ("Elijah II").
These must be added to the more ancient instances
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 131
of authority, whether in Israel, or in Islam, or in Chris-
tian history, if we would obtain an adequate notion of
the satisfactions that keep alive the sacerdotal group.
These satisfactions may be summed up as a sense of
individual salvation through conformity to a fixed social
standard, whether of belief or of practice. *^ Sense of
individual salvation" is to be understood as including
relief of functional disorders through faith or other con-
formity to authority; confidence that one is to succeed
in business; victory over habits recognized as evil;
release from fears (awakened to a large extent by the
very authority that allays them), as from the fear of
future retribution; enjoyment of prospective bliss in
heaven; gregarious satisfaction, and the elevation
already described in connection with the religious crowd.
What distinguishes these functions from those of the
religious crowd is the fact that, whereas in crowd action
the self is inhibited, in the sacerdotal group it is recog-
nized. On the other hand, what distinguishes the
sacerdotal group from the deliberative group, which is
now to be considered, is a difference in the sort of recog-
nition given to the individual, and the consequences that
flow from this difference.
III. THE DELIBERATIVE GROUP
I. Type and structure. — In deliberative bodies we
find a kind of group conduct that is vastly different from
the two types already described. For, as a preliminary
to each common act the entire group pauses, the chair-
man saying, "Are there any remarks?" Then, as if
challenging each individual to full self-expression, he
asks, "Are you ready for the motion ?" This procedure
132 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
has been devised so as to prevent action under sug-
gestion. Individual inhibitions are not avoided or
suppressed, but invited, spread out for inspection, often
acted upon separately by dividing the question or by
voting upon proposed amendments. Moreover, pro-
vision is made for several alternatives besides yes and
no, as reference to a committee, laying on the table, and
making a special order for a future meeting. The degree
and rapidity of variation are indeed restricted in most
such bodies by constitutions and by-laws. Yet these
also come into being through deliberation, and they con-
tain provisions for amendments — that is, they invite
individual initiative with a view to reorganization of
the group.'
Here, then, we have a group that achieves unity by
means of the very thing that might be expected to pre-
vent united action, namely, the free variation of thought
and desire among its members. The unity of a crowd
depends upon preventing its members from acting as
individuals; the unity of a sacerdotal group depends
upon prescribing in advance how the individual shall act;
the unity of the dehberative group is achieved by the
heightening and the freeing of individuality.
This structural principle appears in religion itself.
The Edinburgh Missionary Conference, for example,
which was regarded by the participants as a profound
religious experience, achieved its great reKgiousness pre-
cisely by frank recognition of the variant elements
present. The range of deHberation, which was here
* One ecclesiastical constitution known to me has an article on
amendments that excepts from amendment a certain section of another
article. But this section could be amended by first amending the article
on amendments so as to remove the restriction.
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 133
restricted by common consent, is theoretically unlimited
in various religious meetings and bodies, both local and
general, that choose their ends and their methods by
vote of the members. These are religious groups; their
enterprises are religious, and their proceedings constitute
social rehgious experience.'
The structure of such groups may be summarily
described as involving two principles: First, through
pauses, incitements to reflection, and the pitting of
desires against one another, the individual is stimulated
to self-discovery — the discovery of what it is that he
really prefers. Here is organization of a self, not sup-
pression or mere manipulation. Secondly, by the same
means the individual is stimulated to use the desires of
others as data for determining his own preferences. He
is listened to, but he also listens. In one and the same
process he gets acquainted with others and with himself,
and he forms a social will that is yet his own discrimi-
native will.
2. Functions of the deliberative group. — Whereas in
groups of the other two types ends are imposed either
by instinct or by suggestion, in the deliberative group
the membership as a whole freely chooses and defines
its own functions. The ends actually chosen may and
do include much that is derived from sacerdotal tradi-
tions. Instinctive satisfactions, too — as of the social
instincts — are always a factor. Yet in the ethical group
a fresh type of satisfaction secures an organ — the satis-
faction of freely weighing and criticizing satisfactions.
^ It involves no stretching of terms to say that listening to a statis-
tical report from a church society is a religious act. For surely the
point of view, the motive, and the meaning of the act determine its
proper classification.
134 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Since this weighing is a social act that looks toward the
determination of social ends, it follows that the distinc-
tive function of the ethical group is the criticism and
reconstruction of society itself through the free acts of
its members. Crowd action may assist social reconstruc-
tion, but only accidentally. Sacerdotal authority also
may assist, but with equal right (which it fails not to
exercise) it may close the doors of social criticism. But
in the deliberative group we have a structure that arises
and maintains itself precisely by inviting criticism and
proposals for reconstruction.
The adoption of this reconstructive attitude, however
gradually it may occur, and with whatever compromises
with tradition, gives a new meaning to ideals and to
faith. Under sacerdotalism an ideal is a pattern to be
copied; the idealizing process consists in making the
pattern vivid, and faith is acceptance of the authority
that imposes the pattern. In the deliberative group, on
the other hand, patterns are themselves judged, and
there is provision for change that implies, if it does not
assert, creative evolution in the social sphere. Here an
ideal is not a set pattern, but a direction of movement,
and faith is not conformity, but the will to idealize and
to control the actual by means of the ideal.
Common worship, under such social standards, tends
to acquire a character of its own. It stimulates the
worshiper to reflect, that is, to have his own thoughts,
to know his own mind, and to realize differences. Hence,
in denominations that most approximate the delibera-
tive type of government, there is avoidance of foreign
tongues, of intonation, and of the spectacular. A larger
proportion of words is used after the ordinary manner
RELIGION AS GROUP CONDUCT 135
of communication rather than as symbols of something
that they do not say. The minister in his prayer en-
deavors to represent the aspirations of the group.
Finally, the sermon plays a larger part. The tendency
of all this is to make the worshiper realize himself as
an individual.
Conversely, the divine being who is conceived as
the head of the group tends to be less and less a chief
or king — even though a condescending one. Something
more intimate seems to be required, some closer partici-
pation with men. Such participation is found in the
special sort of ideals that the deliberative group commits
itself to. The divine being, instead of merely giving
commands, inspires the idealizing that judges all com-
mands. He is the inner pressure that causes the question-
ing of standards. Therefore he is the chief worker in the
group rather than a mere master of those who work.
In the deliberative society religious education also
tends to acquire a quality of its own. Mere instruction
and mere drill no longer suffice, for the end is not static.
Mere drill, resulting in habit only, provides of itself for
nothing but repetition of the past. Instruction, too, as
long as it aims merely to transmit an existing body of
ideas, lacks the forward impulse. Hence it is that reli-
gious bodies that tend most toward the deliberative
type have insisted most upon personal assimilation, or
upon a decision, or an experience of one's very own.
Exact dogmatic formulae, accordingly, are less empha-
sized, and content, meaning, historical setting, and
exegesis are more prominent. These groups accept, too,
with less reserve, the educational doctrines of interest,
initiative, and freedom.
\'
CHAPTER IX
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT
The three t>pes of religious group conduct that have
just occupied our attention present to us the individual
also in three typical religious attitudes.
First, we have the impulsive individual, who is saved
from anarchy of desire by crowd integration. Neither
instinct alone, nor yet external compulsion, guides and
restrains him, but a new experience which by virtue of
the presence of others brings fresh satisfaction.
Next we have, in the sacerdotal group, the regulated
individual. Rules of conduct and of belief now serve
as a constant corrective or restraint of impulse. One
stops to consider what will happen if one acts in this
way or in that. Foresight of rewards and punishments
produces present satisfactions and discomforts, so that
habits are formed with reference to what is remote as
well as to what is near, and the individual attains a
larger internal organization.
Finally, in the deliberative group we come upon the
self-emancipating individual. He emancipates himself,
not by destroying social control and organization of his
acts, but by overcoming the former separation between
conduct and the ends of conduct that characterizes the
sacerdotal group. Deliberation is the search for adequate
ends, so that conduct may be controlled wholly from
within itself; and ''adequate ends" are those that have
social validity.
136
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 137
Not a few writers have seen that religion is a mode
of social control of individuals, but inasmuch as the
varieties of such control have remained undescribed,
distorted views of individual conduct have resulted. In
particular, religion has been regarded as essentially
restraint of individual variation. Reason, which is
individual, tends to variation; hence religion resists
reason, it is said.^ Again, religion is an inner control
that holds the individual to social standards when
external social pressure is absent — a governing instinct.*
According to this theory, religion does not create
standards or determine ends, but is altogether ancillary
thereto. It is simply a check to individual action, a
postponement, which gives the more ancient, racial
impulses an opportunity to come to the front. The
religious reaction, since it is essentially repressive, is
uniformly painful.
The facts that are offered in support of this theory
are such as these: the prevalence of asceticism in reli-
gion; withdrawal from activity and from individual
effort in prayer; and the muscular retractations that
are characteristic of worship, such as bowing, kneeling,
closing the eyes, and drawing one's self together in medi-
tation.^ The inference from muscular retractations
rests upon the general principle that states of satisfaction
are characteristically expressed by the expansor muscles,
and states of dissatisfaction by the flexor.
» Benjamin Kidd, Social Evolution (New York, 1898), chap. v.
* H. R. Marshall, Instinct and Reason (New York, 1898). See
also his article "Religion: A Triologue," in The Outlook, CIX (March
10, 1915), 587-93.
» Instinct and Reason, pp. 330 £.
138 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
That this theory contains a truth but distorts it will
appear from the following considerations:
1. Religious rites have been very largely joyous, even
taking the form of feasting, games, and various social
pleasures, as at the awakening of spring or the ingather-
ing of the harvest.
2. Intense individual religious experience very often
exhibits two successive phases, strain and release. The
strain may involve sense of sin, or some fear, or sense of
incompleteness, or of divided self, or of world-mystery
/ and world-pain; the release has the correlative forms of
sense of reconciliation, confidence, unified self, power,
a world-light that shines through the world-darkness.
•^ Here religion is release from repression.
3. In multitudes of cases religious experience in-
volves no marked crisis of strain and release, but rather
a reaching toward a goal, the enlargement of one's
scope, the fresh discovery of one's powers and of one's
world.
Before naming the fourth point it will be well to
note that two authors, working from different angles,
come to much the same conclusion as to the effect of
religious experiences upon the individual. James, whose
cases involved many a strain, comes to the conclusion
that religious feeling is, on the whole, ^'a, 'sthenic' affec-
Ni tion, an excitement of the cheerful, expansive 'dynamo-
' genie' order which, like any tonic, freshens our vital
powers We have seen how this emotion over-
comes temperamental melancholy and imparts endur-
ance to the subject, or a zest, or a meaning, or an
enchantment and glory to the common objects of life,"'
^ The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 505.
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 139
Delacroix's intensive study of several great mystics
yields parallel results. The mystic's progress was found
to include periods of intense strain but ultimate release. X
The movement in each case was from a relatively unor-
ganized, obstructed, largely painful experience to se-
renity, steadiness, and increased power for action.
4. Many religious reactions use the expansor muscles,
as processions and dances, song, laughter, the light-
ened step that follows prayer, the friendlier relations
between men.
5. Many of the retractations mentioned by Marshall
have acquired psychic connotations different from the
original ones. It is no uncommon thing for meanings to
flow faster than external forms. Think how the meaning
of the following terms used in letter-writing has been
transformed: "sir," ''madam," "your obedient servant,"
"yours." Just so the bow, which was originally, per-
haps, a sign of submission, is now something entirely
different. So it comes to pass that kneeling, which may
have originated as abasement before a conqueror, has
become with many persons the posture of prayer in
general, even the joyful prayer of thanksgiving.
6. Anyone who will take the trouble to watch persons
who, withdrawing from the activities and from the
sensory stimuli of our hurly-burly life, enter a church
and assume the postures of meditation and prayer, will
be convinced that the whole constitutes, on the mus-
cular side, relaxation of strains. These strains are not
the same as the contractions essential for muscular
work, but rather contractions of muscles that have no
work to do, or contractions beyond the requirements of
the work in hand. They constitute on the physical side
140 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
obstructions and wastes, and their mental correlate is
hurry, worry, distraction, and general discomfort. The
act of merely ''letting go" these tense muscles brings
relief, an immediate satisfaction. There are probably
several reasons for this satisfaction, but one of them
is certainly contained in the general law that obstructed
motor activity is disagreeable, but harmonious, un-
obstructed activity agreeable. Of much worship at
least we can say that it is an organizing of the individual,
and therefore agreeable. And the result is not merely
increased confidence, but also actual increase of effect-
iveness through focalization of attention. In other
words, postures that may have originated in repression
are now means for releasing the individual and increasing
his capacity for self-assertion.^
7. In the deliberative religious group we have a
social force that not only does not repress the individual
but even invites and stimulates him to self-utterance
and to further self-discovery.
Clearly, then, the facts are over-simplified when
religion is regarded as simply an instrument whereby
society controls individuals. Neither society nor the
individual is a static thing, either controlled or control-
ling, but both are in process of forming themselves. In
the merely general statement that religion is a social
phenomenon, we leave unmentioned on the one hand
^ So well-marked is this aspect of worship that letting go one's
tensions has almost become of itself a religion. I refer not only to
books on psycho-physical hygiene like Power through Repose, but also
to various episodes of the New Thought movement, particularly to
teachers who promise their pupils, through mental concentration, not
only peace but also power and plenty. One can, it is said, open at will a
reservoir from which power will flow absolutely without limit.
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 141
the varieties of religious group and on the other the
degrees and modes of individuahty. To say that rehgion
here and there represses individual action does not tell
us enough; it is equally true that religion strengthens
individuals against society. The whole truth is that
religion has had a part in the entire evolution of both
society and the individual. Let us see, then, if we can
secure a general perspective of the individual side of
this evolution.
Until very recently individuals were taken for
granted, with little thought of a possible evolution of
individuahty itself. The pohtical ideals of the eighteenth
century, for example, assumed that society is some sort
of aggregation of individuals, each of whom, in coming
into society, gives up some of the freedom that is natural
to him. Thus the individual was taken as the prius of
society. Genetic psychology has shown, however, that
individuality itself is achieved in the social process and
not elsewhere. In other words, one and the same move-
ment produces society and the individual. Looking at
this movement from the standpoint of the individual,
we discern the following significant facts:
We share with certain subhuman species gregarious-
ness, parental regard, and sexual interest, each of which
involves pleasure through the presence of others of our
species, and at times conduct that is costly to the par-
ticular organism. But in merely instinctive responses
we have neither individual nor society in the proper
sense of the term. Individual and society cannot arise
until a self appears.
But what is it for a self to make its first appearance ?
The answer is difficult. If, thinking of the event as an
142 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
awakening, we recall our own experiences of coming
slowly out of sleep, we get a little help; we notice a
vague sense of well-being, or of ill-being, or of wanting
something, which gradually becomes a clear realization
of where one is and what one is doing. But in this
awakening one uses a stock of memories to which nothing
in the first beginnings of selfhood corresponds.
Concerning these beginnings we can say with some
confidence, however, that they take place in connection
with wants and satisfactions, and that at one and the
same point arise the realization that these wants and
satisfactions are my own, and an attitude of friendliness
or unfriendliness toward objects associated with them.
It has been many times pointed out that the moving,
sounding objects associated in a baby's experience with
feeding-time are early differentiated from other objects.
Following Mead we may add that the baby's own moving
hands and feet, and his coos and gurgles, are to be in-
cluded among these peculiarly interesting objects. Thus
the primal material for the idea of self and for the idea
of socius is all of the same kind. Moreover, the "warmth
and intimacy" of the sense of self attaches at first to all
the moving objects that are regularly associated with
the baby's satisfactions. It is, therefore, by differen-
tiation from what may be called a protosocial conscious-
ness that the individual self arises. The first self-
consciousness is *'we" more than it is *'I."
This "social reference" of the ego abides, however
distinct or self-assertive the ego may become. It is by
co-operation and clash of wills that I come to assert my
will as my own, and it is by thinking of myself from
others' standpoints that I acquire an opinion of myself.
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 143
In this differentiation into self- judging selves communi-
cation by means of language plays an enormous part.
One who should grow up without such communication
would attain to only an indefinite and wavering selfhood;
one who should grow up entirely without human com-
panionship would never become a self at all, would never
have a rational as distinguished from an instinctive
mind.
Thus man is by nature social. Self-consciousness is
per se social consciousness, and individuality is itself a
social fact. Conversely, society, as distinguished from
herds, arises in and through the individuating process,
that is, through the increasing notice that one takes of
another as an experiencing self. Neither term, then —
society or individual — is static; neither merely imposes
itself upon the other, but the two are complementary
phases of one and the same movement.
When we say that religion is a social phenomenon,
then, we should understand that it is ipso facto an indi-
viduating process. When we look backward from the
standpoint of some assured individual liberty, as freedom
of belief and of worship, any earHer social-religious order
that denies such liberty has, it is true, the appearance of
mere repression; yet the same thing, looked at from the
standpoint of what precedes it, appears as the attainment
of greater individuality.
Custom, which may be regarded as a precipitate of
crowd action, is the first organized social control. It
grips the individual with extraordinary power, resisting
and organizing the discharges of even the most imperious
instincts. But it is a psychical control, and it is one
degree removed from instinct. It involves ideas more
144 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
or less interrelated, to which attention is given when
the original sensory stimulus is absent. The vague idea
of mana, the crude mental pictures of spirits, and the
emotionally real taboo all are a stimulus and a support
for an inner, self-realizing life.
Similarly, the development of sacerdotalism does
not so much restrict pre-existing individuality as sharpen
it. Fewer relations are regulated, and a secular sphere
is set off rather sharply from the sacred. The closer
concatenation of beliefs, the more spectacular worship,
the codified instruction, the more exalted and more
personal gods — all these have a sort of ''Stop, look,
listen!" effect upon the individual. Looking at the
sacerdotal group broadly, then, we may say that it is
not only a method whereby certain common goods are
secured, but also a system of checks and pauses whereby
men become more conscious of themselves as individuals.'
The individuality that is achieved in the deliberative
religious group takes various forms and directions. A
first and prominent direction is aspiration for an inner
life as contrasted with external rightness of all kinds,
whether ceremonial acts, or good works, or dogmatic
assent. When effort centers upon *' getting the heart
right," the individual is required to be his own mentor
and judge, and he has motive for fine and fundamental
discriminations. This is true even when, as commonly
happens, a group that emphasizes heart religion con-
' Therefore sacerdotalism faces a practical dilemma. If its checks
and restraints are felt as such by the individual, he is likely to be stimu-
lated thereby to reflect upon the vaUdity of the commands that are
placed upon him. This danger to sacerdotalism is partly avoided by
restricting the range and the severity of the restraints, and by causing
worship to approximate crowd action.
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 145
sciously attempts, in its early stages, nothing more than
inner conformity to a tradition.
The individualizing effect of this effort toward inner
life appears clearly in the sprou tings and divisions that
have taken place v/ithin Protestant Christianity. Nearly
all of them, it is true, have assumed that they are con-
serving or restoring some ancient, authoritative standard;
but whether they are right or wrong in this assumption,
the new grouping arises through free, individual inquiry
and taking of sides. The individualizing effect can be
seen, further, in the respect paid to the spiritual experi-
ences of the plain layman. When thousands of prayer '
and conference meetings invite men, simply as men, to
tell their experience, to offer prayer^ and to discuss the
reHgious life, democratic individualizing of men proceeds
apace. ^
An impulse for education, almost a passion for it,
has characterized some of these groups. A remarkable
number of academies and colleges :'n this country has \
sprung from the religious conviction of the plain people
and been nourished by their toil. The conviction that
one may discern divine operations within one's self; that
there is a divinely appointed place and work for every-
one; that God will guide one to this work and help one
to accompHsh it — this conviction in a group brings to
light abilities otherwise unguessed. It stimulates varia-
tion, and it is also a selective agency in that it encourages
aspiring young people to go to school and college.
A second, closely related form of individual reaction
in the deliberative group is directly intellectual. The
^ The Methodist class-meeting, it has been remarked, has been the
training school of a remarkable number of English labor leaders.
146 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
arfi^umcntative doctrinal sermon, which assumes that the
con<;rcgation is judge; the private reading of the Scrip-
tures \vith a desire to fmd proof texts; the discussion of
doctrines in prayer meeting and Sunday-school class —
these, though they invite crudity and dogmatizing, place
the individual beyond merely external authority. Lay-
men who judge the soundness of their preachers are on
the road toward free personality.
The establishment and maintenance of religious
enterprises through the free decisions of laymen consti-
tute a third phase of this individualizing t>TDe of religious
group. A history of the relation of the home churches
to the modern missionary movement would show the
laymen first giving money to a far-away cause under the
pressure of emotional appeals or of ecclesiastical loyalty;
then studying missions, and here and there assuming
responsibility for the support of a particular missionary;
and, finally, beginning to accept the whole enterprise as
their very own. Many other examples could be given
of the broadening of the individual's horizon, the en-
largement of his discretion, the increase of his initiative.
We are apparently nearing a time when lay and clerical
members of deliberative religious bodies will together
take up the problem of the basis and the standards for
social organization as a whole. In short, the religious
freeing of the individual and the righteous reconstruc-
tion of society are tending to fuse into one process.
The conclusion toward which these facts point is that
religion, considered from the standpoint of the indi-
vidual, is all in all a process of increasing individu-
ation. It carries forward the ego-social differentiation.
It confirms rather than depresses the sense of self,
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 147
and this it does by being so profoundly a social
experience.
What, then, is the psychological significance of
asceticism ? If we consider this question broadly, we
shall see that asceticism, in the strict sense of self-
inflicted pains and deprivations, is continuous with
various self-imposed restraints that are not always
counted as ascetic, such as submission to ecclesiastical
authority and surrender to the will of God. We must
take these as data, together with such conventional
ascetic practices as retiring from society into solitude;
renouncing marriage; denying the appetite for food;
avoidance of ease and of pleasures (aesthetic enjoyment
included); reflection upon disagreeable subjects, like
death, hell, and one's own sins; inflicting positive pain
upon one's self, as by means of the hair shirt, by scourging,
by denying one's self sufficient sleep, or by not removing
such sources of distress as vermin and filth/ Our
problem lies in the paradox that men should take satis-
faction in thwarting such natural functions as these:
the food instinct; the sexual instinct; the gregarious
instinct; the parental instinct; and nearly the whole
list of preferential functions, especially multiplication of
objects, communication, and aesthetic contemplation.
Why do these men want to restrict their wants ?
The most obvious part of the answer is that in a
large proportion of cases one factor is the idea of indi-
vidual salvation — the supposedly necessary price is paid
for the greatest or most enduring satisfaction, such as
' One of the best psychological analyses of such phenomena is that
of James. See The Varieties of Religions Experience^ Index, under
"Asceticism."
^
148 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RFXIGION
heaven, or escape from hell. To this extent the real
problem of asceticism is this: How do repressive concep-
tions of the gods or of salvation secure social currency ?
Granted these conceptions, voluntary self-repression
follows as a matter of simple practical wisdom on
the part of sensitive natures that feel and aspire
greatly. Our sure clue to this problem lies in repressive
forms of human government. The individual has had
to cringe and abase himself before irresponsible mon-
archs; his property has been taken by an irresponsible
taxing power; he and his sons have had to risk their
lives in fighting, without opportunity to decide for them-
selves the conditions of war or of peace. Just so, to get on
the safe side of an ethically irresponsible god, or to accu-
mulate merit with him, is a large factor in asceticism.
But it is not the only factor. Asceticism (under
which I include the types of submission already men-
tioned) has too great emotional power, too great attrac-
tion, to be based upon a mere calculation of benefits.
There are direct instinctive factors also, and even an
element of self-emancipation.^ Correlative to the in-
stinct of master}^, there is an instinct of submission that
brings actual satisfaction in surrendering to an obviously
more powerful being.^ It is as if by complete abnegation
of self-will one became a sharer in the greatness of the
master; he is placated, I become a part of his conquering
retinue, and thus, by ''having no will of my own," I gain
significance.
* I speak here of factors that are not pathological. In some indi-
viduals, doubtless, abnormal organic sensibility, or a mental derangement
nvoh'ing a fixed idea, plays a part.
^ See E. L. Thomdike, Original Nature, pp. 92 ff.
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 149
But discomfort can yield satisfaction without regard
to any other and greater being. A common practice of
children consists in experimenting with their own ability
to endure pain or exertion without flinching/ Grown-
ups boast of the hardships they have endured in sickness,
in camping or exploring, and in exhausting labor.
Mythology abounds in admiration for those who suffer
without being conquered. How is it that such apparent
defeat of desire is turned into victory ? The explanation
is in two of the preferential functions: to be conscious,
and to unify the objects of consciousness. Consciousness
may be heightened by increasing the intensity of a
sensation, even though it be from any other point of
view disagreeable; and self-realization may actually be
promoted by incorporating the discomfort into the con-
scious unity of one's will. To face the coming blow, to
take it without flinching, and then to contemplate it
without whimpering — this victory over self is a victory
of self. It takes that which breaks into the self, and
uses it to effect a firmer organization thereof. A strained
situation sometimes loses, its strain as soon as one "knows
the worst." Peace may come precisely through a clear,
unfaltering recognition that one's feverish desires are
finally defeated. The ascetic, without doubt, finds a
part of his satisfaction in the freshness and the intensity
of his experiences and in the self-unification that he
achieves.
Another factor in much asceticism is clearly ethical.
It is an effort to subdue individual impulses that oppose
» I have seen boys run pins almost full length into their own muscles.
If the muscle was kept motionless there was little pain, but the act was
nevertheless a test of "grit."
I50 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
or seem to oppose the social standard. Here the central
conflict concerns the sexual instinct. The substitution
of marriage for promiscuity, and the founding and
maintenance of the monogamic family, have involved
human individuals, particularly the males, in the greatest
of all ethical strains and struggles. The individual is
required by social tradition and by social penalties to
accept a standard against which the most powerful
instinct rebels. Appropriate educational processes might
perhaps guide this enormous impulsive energy toward
the maintenance instead of the destruction of marriage
and the family. But up to the present time education
with respect to this moral issue has commonly lacked
any such constructive method. The social standard and
the individual impulse have simply collided, and the
individual has been left to resolve the conflict, for the
most part, by his own resources.
The typical ascetic saint goes through an inner con-
flict with what he regards as evil. He seeks complete
victory; he will not be satisfied with anything short of
the death or final quiescence of the troublesome desires.
That is, he seeks to make himself as perfect as the socially
evolved standard. Usually, however, he abstracts the
standard from the social end or good in the interest of
which it originated. He imagines that he can be good
within himself, regardless of his contributions to the
social good. He even withdraws from society into
solitary places, or enters a narrow, monastic group of
like-minded seekers after holiness. Not able to abandon
wholly the social basis of the good, however, he seeks
intimacy with the divine being. God now becomes
partly abstract and unsocial like the ascetic himself, but
RELIGION AS INDIVIDUAL CONDUCT 151
partly a substitute for human fellowship. The sym-
pathy, the friendship, even the conjugal and the parental
affection upon which the ascetic has turned his back,
now assert themselves toward God, or the suffering
Savior, or the child Jesus, or the Virgin, and by a process
of autosuggestion the saint feels his affection recipro-
cated. Thus asceticism finally supports itself upon the
very wants and satisfactions, rooted largely in bodily
functions, that were at first denied in the interest of
something supposedly more sacred.^
^ It should be said, too, that surrender and self-abnegation differ
according to the conception of God. The asceticism of India, among
the enlightened, seeks a genuine and final emptying of the self, because
the supreme being is without predicates. But the Christian idea of a
positively benevolent God carries into Christian asceticism the constant
possibiUty of interpreting surrender and self-denial as the substitution
of social purpose for selfishness. Hence the frequent union of austerities
with philanthropy.
\
CHAPTER X
CONVERSION
Self-realization within a social medium has now been
lestablished as one important phase of the religious
experience. When this religious self-realization is in-
tense, and is attained with some abruptness, the change
is called conversion/ The convert looks upon himself as
having passed from a lower to a higher level, as having
attained to real life, or as having come to himself, or as
having ''found" God. The present chapter will attempt
an analysis of this experience, both as to its structure
and as to its functions.^
Recent publications, as those of Starbuck and James,
have made particular cases of conversion so accessible
that we may here take the primary data as in large
measure already known. To avoid ambiguity of lan-
^ " Conversion " is used in at least six 'senses: (i) a voluntary
turning about or change of attitude toward God ; this is the New Testa-
ment sense; (2) the renunciation of one religion and the beginning of
adherence (doctrinal, ethical, or institutional) to another; similarly, a
change from one branch of a religion to another (as Roman, Greek, or
Protestant Christianity); (3) individual salvation according to the
evangelical "plan of salvation" — repentance, faith, forgiveness, regen-
eration, sometimes with assurance; (4) becoming consciously or volun-
tarily religious, as distinguished from mere conformity to the religious
ways of one's family or other group; (5) Christian quality of life as
contrasted with an earlier, non-Christian quality — a "really converted
man," for instance; (6) any abrupt transfer, particularly a very rapid
transfer, from one standpoint and mode of life to another, especially
from what the subject recognizes as a lower to what he recognizes as a
higher life.
152
CONVERSION 153
guage, however ('the term '^conversion" should be under-
stood, in this discussion, to refer to experiences that
seem to the subject of them to have the following marks :
(i) The subject's very self seems to be profoundly 'A
changed. (2) This change seems not to be wrought by
the subject but upon him; the control seems not to be ^
self-control, the outcome not a result of mere growth.
(3) The sphere of the change is the attitudes that con-
stitute one's character or mode of life. But one's whole
world may acquire new meaning; or there may be a
sense of divine presence; or there may seem to come
new insight into a doctrine or into a whole system of
doctrine. (4) The change includes a sense of attaining
to a higher life, or to emancipation or enlargement of
the self. Not seldom there is victory over habits that
brought self-condemnation. Now and then there is
recovery from moral degradation and helplessness. The
interest of these cases for us springs from the impression
on the part of multitudes of converts that here the
Divine Being can be discerned laying his hand, as it
were, upon men.
The general setting of these experiences includes
three significant facts:
I. In point of abruptness these religious changes/
are paralleled by experiences in every other sphere of'
human interest.^ Intellectual problems are solved in ai
flash, as in the case of Sir William Rowan Hamilton's
discovery of quaternions; whole subjects of study that
have been dark and meaningless have become suddenly
luminous; in some fortunate glance of the eye nature
becomes for the first time appealing and intimate; or
^ Starbuck has a collection of instances in chap. xi.
154 TITE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
one discovers that one is already in love with a person
of the opposite sex.
2. Conversion is continuous with religious growth in
both process and content. The ''growth cases" in our
current evangelical Protestantism, as Starbuck showed
at length, arrive at the same general type of religious
attitude as the "conversion cases," and the rapidity of
' the change has all degrees.
1 3. The distribution of the phenomenon is significant.
/Conversion is by no means coextensive with religion.
Those who say that a sense of sin is a universal mark of
the religious experience are seriously wide of the facts.
It is true that religion almost everywhere allays some
sort of anxiety, but not until the social standard takes
the form of an inner ethical demand — a demand to be
right and not merely to obtain goods — do we find in any
large degree the victorious sense of self-realization with
which we are now dealing. There seem to be traces of
conversion (as in Isaiah) when the failure of Israel's
sacerdotal conception of Jahwe forced thoughtful minds
to reflection and self-examination. The earliest followers
of the Buddha, who proclaimed that the root of evil is in
ourselves and not in something imposed upon us, are
represented as coming suddenly into the light with all
the emotional marks of the evangelical Christian con-
version. There are signs that the mystery-cults among
I the Greeks and the Romans awakened personal religious
' experiences of the conversion t^'pe.^ The history of
Christianity, with its emphasis upon the value of the
* See F. Cumont, The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism
(Chicago, 191 1), pp. 26 £F.; W. A. Heidel, "Die Bekehrungimklassischen
Altertum, mit besonderer Beriicksichtigung des Lucretius," Zeitschrift
fUr Religionspsychologie, III (1910), 377-402.
CONVERSION 155
individual, has been rich in conversions of emiaent men
like Paul, Augustine, St. Francis, and Luther. Mystical
sects like the Friends of God^ cultivated the experience
as a privilege of the common man. The great modern
revivals, from those of Wesley and Whitefield down,
have presented abundant cases. In the evangelical/
movement, particularly in Methodist and Baptist circles,
the prevailing sentiment has been at times that the |
conversion experience should be universal among Chris- '
tian believers. It is to this end that various systems of
revival technic have been devised.
But all this represents only a slight segment of the
history of religion. Even in Christianity conversion
experiences are the exception, not the rule. Communions
that have aimed at a converted membership only have
not been able to maintain any such standard of admis-
sion for a long period. For the conversion of parents
tends, by bringing religion into the home, to produce in
their children a natural religious growth through nurture,
and therefore to prevent conversion. Further, the con-
trast effect necessary for the abrupt experience cannot
be made continuous; it implies occasionalism, whereas
organization in religion, as in anything else, aims at
continuity. Each revival ^'burns over the ground, ""^ so
that an interval must elapse before another can arise
in power.^ The one statistical study thus far made of
^See R. M. Jones. Studies in Mystical Religion (London, 1909),
chap. xiii.
" A phrase actually in use in revival circles.
3 As a consequence of all this, in religious bodies that attempt to
make conversion a standard experience for candidates for membership,
the following conditions are common: (i) Confused use of the term
"conversion." The term has to be let down to fit the experiences that are
156 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
the relation of revivals to the growth of church member-
ship through a considerable period tends to show that
the increased rate of accessions at the time of revival is
/ offset by a decreased rate afterward, and that possibly
the effect of the revivals is not to increase the total
accessions, but rather to hasten certain additions, so
that the curve of accessions takes the form of wave
motion, with high crest and deep depression alternating/
Further study is needed of communities in which an
effort has been made to incorporate evangelistic methods
^ into an ordered program, as "decision day" in the
Sunday school, and a regular annual revival. Here the
tendency appears to be to produce occasional conversion
experiences within a process that is, as a whole, a crude
kind of religious education.
Turning, now, to the structural aspects of the abrupt
' experience called ''conversion," we shall find: (i) traces
•f mental reprtductitn •f the individual's twn earlier
experiences; (2) fresh sensory elements; (3) certain
instinctive impulses; and (4) a law under which these
elements are characteristically combined.
I. The ideational factors are predominantly repro-
ductions from antecedent experiences of the convert
actually produced. What sort of fact, for example, is back of Sunday-
school statistics, or evangelistic campaign statistics, that report a cer-
tain number of conversions? (2) Confusion, morbidness, and negative
reactions on the part of would-be Christians who do not have the stand-
ard experiences. (3) Professional revivalism grows shallow. Unable to
produce a satisfactory number of conversions of the standard type, it
substitutes therefor almost any act that has a religious coloring. A
"convert" is one who signs a card, or holds up a hand, or shakes hands
with the evangelist, for example.
' Samuel W. Dike, "A Study of New England Revivals," American
Journal of Sociology, XV (1909), 361-78.
CONVERSION 157
himself. His notion of the '^ higher " life has been formed
under the influence of standards present in his environ-
ment. He is converted to something, the idea of which
he has already met, as at home, or in Sunday school, or
in preaching, or in his reading and reflection. If the
conversion experience includes consciousness of the
presence of the Christian God, it is because Christian
rather than, say. Brahmin ideas of God have already
been acquired.^ Only so does Christian ''assurance" or
"the witness of the Spirit" occur in any articulate sense.
Only so does articulate insight suddenly arise in any
sphere. A vast mathematical experience lay behind the
discovery of the quaternions. Just so, preceding the
sudden rise of interest or meaning in a field of learning,
there is some acquaintance with the field.
2. On the other hand, fresh sensory elements often
play a part in conversion. The tone of a preacher's voice ;
the rhythm, melody, and volume of revival songs; repe-
tition of a given impression; the sight of others per-
forming a religious act; organic sensations, such as
thrills, tingles, shudders; very possibly now and then
sexual sensations not recognized as such; and the entire
sensory mass that constitutes physical tone, particularly
fatigue and similar states in which excitabiUty as dis-
tinguished from discriminative sensibility exists — all
these have to be reckoned with. The ''twice-born"
type, which is characterized by acute and persistent
feeling of powerlessness to unify one's life, with conse-
quent yielding up of self to some supposedly external
^ Revivalism can do no more than reinforce antecedent educative ;
processes. To the extent, therefore, that revivalistic methods interrupt / — |
religious education, or separate themselves therefrom, they are para- 1
sitic — they rob the source of their own life.
158 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
"redemptive" person or principle (all of which is dis-
tinguished from growth from within), is probably deter-
mined by some persistent, though not yet defined,
physiological depression.
Here is a vast field in which we are sure that certain
elements are present, though they have not as yet been
measured. It is clear, for example, that a bold, com-
manding tone and manner on the part of some preachers
produce an effect over and above what they say. Pa-
thetic, pleading tones, on the other hand, produce a spe-
cific response of their own in the form of tender emotion.
Revival music is obviously different in ideas, in melodic
character, and in rhythm from the music that is most
enjoyed in other situations. The unification of an
audience by means of sharply accented rhythms and
by the repetition of refrains; the emotionally melting
effect of what may be called "personal reference songs"
(I-me-my songs), and the reinforcement thereof by
sentimental melodies — all this is clear, though we do
not yet know just what part a given key, cadence, or
kind of rhythm has in producing a given emotion. The
significance of rhythm, repetition, and the languorous
love music that is sometimes used will be discussed in
later paragraphs.
An important side light upon certain sensory factors
in conversion comes from an experience occasionally
reported as having occurred in connection with anesthe-
sia.^ The type is well represented by a gentleman who,
in a conversation with me, described the event substan-
tially as follows: Upon awakening from ether anesthesia
* See, for instance, James, The Varieties of Religious Experience^
pp. 387^3.
CONVERSION 159
in connection with a surgical operation he recalled that
he had witnessed, as it were, the solution of the pro-
foundest problems of life. It was as if all the contra-
dictions of existence had risen before him and then been
brought into wondrous unity — an experienced unity.
Before the operation he had been losing his religious
hold by reason of difficulties growing out of his college
and university studies, but his anesthetic experience had
given him a religious footing that it seemed to him
nothing could ever shake. I inquired what doubt had
been laid, and what speci&c answer had come to any
specific question. He replied that there was no definable
intellectual content in the whole experience; he could
not even now give a philosophical resolution of his old
philosophical doubts; yet he had become immovably
sure that there is a good meaning in existence as a whole,
and his daily life had gained in confidence and moral
firmness.
Here a reversal of attitude toward life as a whole
was initiated by a physiological process, the psychical
correlate of which must be regarded as primarily sensory,
namely, kinesthetic sensations of muscular rigidity
followed by those of muscular relaxation.
In general, an anesthetic acts first as a stimulant and later as a
depressant. The final and complete relaxation of the muscular
system is frequently preceded by tonic muscular rigidity. The
psychical effects of such a change will hardly be realized by anyone
who has not become familiar, in his own person, with the relation
between muscular tension and anxiety, restlessness, and a divided
self on the one hand, and that between muscular relaxation and
calm, poise, and self-reconciliation on the other. When every-
thing goes wrong and you cannot adjust yourself to yourself or
your work; when you find yourself doiag under high tension what
\
1 60 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
ought to be easy; when you cannot let go your cares or secure
restful sleep, then hunt for tense muscles and relax them. In
forehead, jaws, fingers, legs — somewhere you will find a physical
basis or condition of your unrest. Relieve the tension and your-
self and your world will be less divided and contradictory; you
will experience in some degree the very unification that the mystic
looks upon as a revelation. Relaxation has always been one
feature of mystical practices, in fact. It is not strange, then, that
here and there a medical patient gives a mystical interpretation
to the change from tension to relaxation under an anesthetic.^
This total fnass of relief was his relief; it was a coming
to himself after dispersal and distraction. The emotional
massiveness of the relief, under the recognized principle of
perseveration,^ was carried over into the waking state.
Put into articulate terms it was: ''All is well; I have
nothing to fear; I am part of a system that is good."
This is already an attitude, a sort of self-assertion.
Note, now, that it fulfils two of the conditions that are
favorable to habit-formation, namely, strong initiative
and strong satisfaction. Thus it is that the old doubts
are overcome. The habit of self-repression in the
presence of certain notions is replaced by a habit of
self-assertion. Henceforth, instead of postponing one's
selfhood or making it dependent upon a single branch
of its own activity (the logical), the self boldly asserts
itself as an integer, assuming in advance the ultimate
success of its particular enterprises.
The order of events here is sensation (of tension and
release), emotion (of peace or of joy), reorganization of
'G. A. Coe ''The Sources of the Mystical Revelation," Hibbert
Journal, January, 1908, pp. 366 ff.
' Ladd and Woodworth, Elements of Physiological Psychology (New
York, 191 1), pp. 586 f.
CONVERSION i6i
the self (including ideas of its relations to its world).
This ought not to seem strange to us, for it is simply the
opposite of well-recognized experiences in which physical
conditions induce worry, self -distrust, and dejection.
Thus it is that sensory factors may be one, or even a
chief, determining condition of religious conversion.
3. Instinct plays a part in conversions. Many
revivals are instances of gregariousness^ that is, of a
coming together because the mere presence of others
gives satisfaction. Then, disapproval from others pro-
duces distress, and approval produces satisfaction,
altogether apart from any judgment that one might
form on other grounds as to one's own conduct or
character. Thus the group standard passes over into
individual conviction and determination partly by an
instinctive route. Further, instinctive submission in the
presence of superiority is often here — submission to the
assertive personality of an evangelist, or to the church
as greater than the individual, or to the overpowering
greatness and goodness of God. Some persons take
instinctive pleasure in sinking their own will in one that
they regard as superior. A few years ago a revival song-
book set multitudes of persons singing :
O to be nothing, nothing!, \^
Only to lie at his feet,
A broken and emptied vessel^ \
For the Master's use made meet.
That the nonsense of the second couplet did not promptly
dawn upon the people is probably due in part to the
instinctive satisfaction of feeling utterly submissive.
Possibly the rather sharp contrast between the ^'once-
born" type and the ''twice-born" arises in part froni
t
162 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
individual differences with respect to ''mastery and
submission/' both of which are instinctive. The *' once-
born" may be those who instinctively tend more toward
mastery, the ''twice-born" those who tend toward sub-
mission. This hypothesis does not exclude but may be
combined with the hint already given that some sort
of physiological depression probably underlies any
\ persistent sense of helplessness.
What the convert regards as coming to himself is at
the same time a conscious adjustment to an objective
order of a social or at least quasi-social sort. He finds
his place in a system of duties; or he becomes more
sensitive toward his fellows (early Buddhist literature
offers an example); or he lays hold of a god who sym-
pathizes with men; or, at least, he fijids some law that
seems to secure the possibility of a satisfactory destiny
for both himself and his fellows. Thus his conversion
consists in taking a human point of view for himself and
his world; his self-realization is a realization of society.
Starbuck holds that in the group studied by him the
basal characteristic is a change from individualistic self-
centeredness to a social center for the self.
The impulsiveness and convincingness of this change
point back to parts of our instinctive social endowment.
Underneath the attitudes toward one another that we
designate as respect for human life, regard for the in-
terests of others, and affectionate regard are certain
ultimate tendencies, not only to take notice of other
individuals, but also to take their pleasures and pains as
our own. In the evolutionary order this kind of interest
in others makes its first clear appearance in the relation
of mother to child. But it is instinctive in both
CONVERSION 163
sexes.' When we behold a helpless or suffering individual,
especially one smaller or weaker than ourselves, we find
ourselves spontaneously taking his point of view and
desiring with him. This taking-the-other's-point-of-view- \
as-worth-while-for-us spreads outward from the parental
relation until it becomes the broadly human principle of
benevolence, respect for persons, and, finally, ideal jus- I
tice. Now, the conversion experience includes, all in all,
a movement in this direction. To come into communion
with a god of love, for example, is to take for one's self the
god's broadly human point of view. It is to give play to
our own parental instinct.
CJ^he fact, now well known, that adolescence is the
period of life in which evangelistic influences have their
maximum effectiveness, points to a connection between
adolescent conversions and the sexual instinct. The
connection is both indirect and direct. The physiological
change has an indirect effect because the general state
of restlessness or excitement induced by the intrusion of
a new (or largely new) set of organic sensations makes
it easy for youth to acquire new interests of almost any
kind. The sexual instinct plays a direct part also in
that it increases attention to persons (both one's self and
others), and in that it extends and deepens tender
emotion.^ Thus the instinct of sex joins with that of
^ On the nature and classification of instincts see E. L. Thorndike,
The Original Nature of Man (New York, 1913), especially chap. vii. A
brief summary of Thorndike's main conclusions will be found in his
Education (New York, 1912), chap. v. See also W. McDougall, An
Introduction to Social Psychology (Boston, 1909), especially pp. 60-81.
* It is true that sex attraction as such does not seem to include
regard for another's interests; nothing can be more ruthless than the
sex instinct, in some of its manifestations, at least. Yet it does not
1 64 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
parenthood in establishing in conversion a more social
attitude. This is the direct influence that adolescence
has upon abrupt conversions/
IIoiv does the delayed instinct of sex enter thus into
the texture of adolescent character? (a) Obscure, not
clearly localized sensations of a new order occur, {h) This
interferes with the habitual sense of self, which depends
in large measure upon a mass of common or unlocalized
sensations, (c) The strangeness of one's self, the experi-
ence of being jogged out of habitual adjustments, has as
its motor correlate restlessness and yearning, {d) Its idea-
generally exist "in and by itself" in the human species. The fixation
of attention upon another, the vivid realization of his presence as this
particular individual, which is characteristic of sex attraction, has an
important consequence. We individualize one another by Einfuhlung —
that is, by imaginative putting of one's self in another's place — so that we
reciprocally feel one another's satisfactions and discomforts. Now, sex
attraction, as well as parental instinct, strongly individualizes its object.
Therefore we may assume that sex makes a direct contribution to the
appreciation of benevolence and justice. Something very like the
parental attitude also appears between lovers — the attitude of protection,
intense response to every sign of pain, cuddling.
' Typical of the adolescent impulse to interpret existence as a whole
in human terms is Mary Antin's account of her first acquaintance with
the ocean at the age of about twelve: "So deeply did I feel the presence
of these things that the feeling became one of awe, both painful and
sweet, and stirring and warming, and deep and calm and grand I
was alone sometimes. I was aware of no human presence; I was con-
scious of only the sea and sky and something I did not understand.
And as I listened to its solemn voice, I felt as if I had found a friend, and
knew that I loved the ocean. It seemed as if it were within as well as
without, a part of myself; and I wondered how I had lived without it,
and if I could ever part with it." — The Promised Land (Boston, 1912),
p. 179. Tagore has recognized more clearly, perhaps, than any other
poet of religion the inner connection between human affection and the
attractiveness of God. The Crescent Moon (New York, 1913), which is
concerned with parental love; The Gardener (New York, 19 13), which
has conjugal love as its theme, and Gitanjali (London, 1913), which is
an offering of songs to God — these three are variations upon a single
theme.
CONVERSION 165
tional correlate is mystery. The strangeness of the self
spreads out over one's world. The world cannot mean
the same simply because that to which it has meaning is
different, {e) New pleasure is experienced in the mere
presence of persons of the opposite sex even though
reference to sexual union is completely excluded. The
sex interest, that is, expands into a social interest that
sustains itself merely as such. (/) New pleasure is expe-/
rienced also in the society of persons of one's own sex.'
Witness the gangs, sets, teams, clubs, that characterize
the period. The reason is that the changing sense of
self calls for material for self-interpretation. Further,
the strangeness of the self to itself makes social support
almost indispensable. Even a timid person can act
confidently as one of a group, {g) This new social self-
realization can be more or less deep, more or less expan-
sive, and it is almost certain to meet resistance from the
habitual narrower self. Two levels of life can thus
appear within the same life, two opposing directions of
desire, both grounded in instinct. The mystery of both
one's self and of one's world may, however, yield before
the experienced reality of society. The adolescent
doubter rarely doubts the validity of ethical principles
that formulate the rudiments of respect for persons.*
^ We must warn ourselves against ambiguity in discussions of "the"
adolescent. Discrimination is necessary between emotional strains
induced by our high-pressure modern life, by school conditions, by bad
habits, or by a particular religious environment, and the natural unfold*-
ing of adolescent interests in situations that provide wealth of experiences
without overstimulation. On the other hand, it must not be assumed
that we can find adolescent nature in situations that provide no wealth
of experience. That the social impulses of adolescence are largely
thwarted and misdirected in large sections of our population cannot
be doubted.
1 66 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
^ The reasons for the attraction of adolescents to
religion now become clear, (a) Religion commonly
presents itself as a fellowship — a congregation, a church,
a historic cause or party, (b) Religion commonly pre-
sents itself as fellowship with a superior being who has,
or can be induced to take, the human point of view.
In some of the higher religions direct communion with
such a god is held out as the privilege of the individual,
(c) In general, religion represents a contrast between
the ordinary or habitual and something deeper and
broader — a contrast closely like that between the adoles-
cent's narrower, habitual self and the broader self that
strives with it.
4. So much for the elements involved in conversion.
Under what characteristic laws, if any, do they here
combine? Premising that ''abrupt" is not a strictly
determinate conception, we may summarize the process
where it is most abrupt as follows:
First, the elements already noted (sensations, ideas,
motor tendencies, instinctive desires) are combined into
a new and satisfying whole by the process of suggestion.^
Conversion is promoted by anything that narrows atten-
tion to two contrasting levels of life, as the reiterations,
pleadings, and commands of a preacher; congregational
singing; the mere presence of an expectant congrega-
tion; community sentiment; private conversation
(personal evangelism) ; reflection and reading. Rhythm
plays an interesting role. From early times drumming,
hand-clapping, swaying of bodies, chanting, and dancing
have been used as means of inducing the type of hypnosis
popularly called trance. Entirely independent of the
^ A short exposition of suggestion will be found on pp. 120 f.
CONVERSION 167
fatigue effect produced when these exercises are greatly
prolonged is the tendency of rhythm, as of other repeti-
tions, to bring wandering attention back to one and the
same point. Here we get light upon the usual tactics
of the song-leader in revival meetings and also upon
the rhythmical character of revival melodies.'
But, secondly, only a part of the work of reorganiza-
tion is done thus suddenly. Another part, which is more
gradual, precedes the climax. Suggestion, the mere
narrowing of attention for a few minutes, does not
profoundly reverse one's likes and dislikes unless a
preparatory process has taken place. The convert him-
self may not be able to give any account of such a process;
his experience may seem to him like an explosion. Yet
we know that new points of view do mature, new atti-
tudes do take root, before their presence is clearly
recognized. One may see an object, and even react to
it, or reverse an opinion, or change one's attitude toward
a person without being able to recall the steps involved —
one wakes up to find that the deed is already done. This
is the sort of fact that necessitates some such term as
the subconscious. Reserving to a later chapter a general
exposition of the subconscious in religion, we note
merely that a maturing of this type underlies the
conversion phenomenon. It is what makes possible
^ Conversely, we get light upon the rhythmical utterance or sing-
song that characterizes many persons when they speak under what
they regard as inspiration. A Quaker preacher who in his preaching
commonly felt himself controlled by the Spirit confided to me that his
high sing-song seemed to come upon him; it even embarrassed and
humiliated him. Here the lack of variety is strictly parallel with the
loss of facial expression and the reduction of vocal emphasis when one
is approaching hypnosis.
1 68 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
depth of response to the suggestion that precipitates
the crisis.^
To immediate suggestion plus the subconscious we
must add, finally, a third law, that of habit-formation.
At the Water Street Mission in New York, for example,
it is not assumed that a down-and-out is really on his
feet as soon as a conversion climax has occurred. No;
his surroundings are looked after; he is helped to get
work; friends accompany him to and from work so that
he may be sure not to yield to the old saloon habit; he
is brought to the mission every night and made happy
there; he is set promptly at the task of helping other
down-and-outs. In short, he is given the experience of a
new external as well as internal world, and he is drilled
in definite social acts with pleasurable associations until
good conduct becomes habitual. Thus he continues to
build his new self and his new world after the climax,
just as it was partly built before. /Wherever converts
''stick" it will be found that habit-formation, particu-
larly through a new social fellowship, follows the con-
version crisis. Yet popular thought commonly attributes
the results of this habit-formation to the crisis itself.
\ There remain for analysis the functions of the con-
version experience. The convert experiences the change
as the attainment of "new," ''true," or *'real" life.
What does this mean ? Before answering, let us make
sure what the question is. It is not. Do we ourselves
regard the new life as higher than the old ? Functional
psychology neither approves nor disapproves the satis-
factions that it investigates. It seeks rather to discover
* S. H. Hadley is said to have remarked that the down-and-outs
converted at the Water Street Mission in New York are men who were
formerly under the influence of religion in their childhood homes.
CONVERSION 169
what it is in any situation that makes it satisfying to the
man who finds it so. To do this we must attend to the
points of view that men occupy in their likes and dislikes.
The existence of such points of view, which is obvious
enough, implies (a) satisfactions, (b) discrimination be-
tween satisfactions, (c) preference for certain satisfac-
tions as against others, and (d) at least a potential scale
of preferences. Our present concern is with these scales
of preferences or — since our definition of a value is ^'a
discriminated satisfaction taken as a mark of an object''
— with scales of values. Let it be repeated that our
question is not, Which scale is the best? but, What
scales are actually used ?
To say of a man that something is good from his
point of view is to say that he is acting, or tends to act,
as an integer. In human experience, as a matter of fact,
satisfactions are not merely accumulated. A man may
be dissatisfied because he enjoys something that he does
not approve. He may seek to acquire new capacities
for enjoyment, as when he trains himself in the apprecia-
tion of poetry or of music. The peculiarly human way
of dealing with satisfactions is to relate them both to
objects and to the self, and to judge both. It follows
that, when scales of values are concerned, we must see a
person's preferences through his own eyes or we shall
not see them at all.
If we assume in advance that the convert's satis-
factions conform to the scale that we ourselves prefer,
or that they conform to types, biological or other, that
take no account of the conversion experience itself, we
proceed by an a priori rather than empirical method.
In order to be objective and empirical, we must let
I70 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
converts tell us what values they experience; we must
inquire whether there is a consensus of testimony, and
if there is a consensus we must, in the absence of positive
disproof, accept this consensus as representing an actual
part of the order of nature.^
* The doctrine that nature has no preferences is not empirically
founded. It is either (a) a principle of method, in which case the doctrine
exists because it is itself preferred, or (b) a bit of a priori speculation.
There is good reason for ignoring preferences in certain parts of research,
but there is also the best of reason for recognizing them in other parts.
Whoever says that nature has no preferences, or that if they exist
science should ignore them, exhibits in his own. person a case of prefer-
ence that has scientific interest. For scientific method itself is an
expression of preferential functions — the functions of multiplying
objects of experience, of unifying them, and of communication. It
involves recognition of individuals by one another, each of whom agrees
(so to say), in consideration of the mutual benefits to be received, to
look through the others' eyes as well as his own. Nothing is a fact for
science until several persons, each from his own point of view, have
perceived it. The organic law of science might be formulated somewhat
as follows: "We the undersigned mutually agree that in the assemblies
and the publications of this society we \vill postpone all our other likes
and dislikes in order that we may indulge together our liking for analysis;
and in order that the judgments of each of us may attain to objectivity,
each of us agrees to listen respectfully to what every other member has
to say." We do not depart from scientific method, then, if we go on to
ask what are these postponed likes and dislikes, and also what is the
kind of value that each scientific man attributes to every other scientific
man. Let it be noted, too, that communication of points of view from
person to person is fundamental in every science.
The "psychologist's fallacy," which consists in attributing the ways
of one's own mind to the mind that one is studying, appears in a peculiar
form in some discussions of functions. For the assumption is made that
the biologist's or psychologist's point of view in the analysis of a given
satisf>'ing situation is the point of view of the situation itself, as if what
all men are really after, all the things that they can enjoy, are those that
fit into the chosen scheme of the investigator. It is often said that the
researcher must interrogate his facts. It would seem to be a rather
happy circumstance that some facts are able, in articulate language, to
answer questions about themselves!
CONVERSION 171
Postponing for a moment the points at which the
testimony of converts has been proved to be untrust-
worthy, let us see whether we can formulate any reason-
ably certain functions of the conversion experience.
1. Conversion certainly involves, not merely new
satisfactions measured upon an old scale, but also and
rather the adoption of a more satisfactory scale. There
are, then, various scales to which different degrees of
satisfaction attach, at least in these cases. Here a large
problem opens out, namely, whether these cases are
representative of any general law of satisfactions. Some
light on this question will appear in the next paragraphs.
2. Conversion is a step in the creation of a self — the
actual coming-to-be of a self. The language of the
parable of the Prodigal Son, "he came to himself," is
scientifically accurate. In conversion the pronoun ''my"
acquires meaning that it did not have before; mere
drifting, mere impulse, are checked; my conduct and
attitudes attach to me more consciously; I stand out
in a new way, judging myself and my world, and giving
the loyalty of articulate purpose to the cause with which
I identify myself. This achievement of a fresh self-
realization is generally a permanent gain, not merely a
momentary ebullition. From the testimony of Star-
buck's respondents it appears ''that the effect of con-
version is to bring with it a changed attitude toward
life which is fairly constant and permanent, although
the feelings fluctuate."^
3. Conversion is generally, perhaps always, a step
in the creation of society. The heightened realization
of the self involves the refusal of desires merely as mine.
'P. 361.
172 TIIE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
A distinction is made between a lower, illusory self and
a higher or valid self; and this validity appears to be
always a social self-assertion. Just as the scientifically
I valid proposition is the ''common to all" as against the
** particular to me," so the religiously valid self is the one
that reaches out into a fellowship, actual or imagined.*
The sense of emancipation is a sense of being where
.free selves are at home; the convert's new world has
I the standpoint of the convert himself; it is suffused
■with the self-enlarging, self-emancipating principle.
This is the case not merely in Christian conversions fol-
lowing upon the preaching of God as love, but in other
religions also. This is, no doubt, what should be expected
in view of the account that genetic psychology gives of
the rise of ego-consciousness, but it is of considerable
importance that we are able to witness the same social
principle at work precisely where the ego feels itself to
be most completely emancipated.
The early Buddhist legends exhibit the principle
rather remarkably. The Buddhist theology, in its
fundamental doctrine of the nature of evil and of sal-
vation— that suffering arises through desire, and is to
be overcome by extinguishing desire — has no trace of a
social conception of the ego or of salvation. For no
distinction is made between egoistic and social points
of view. Desire as such is represented as engendering
evil, and the evil engendered by desire is represented as
having its seat precisely where the desire is. Neverthe-
less, the conversion experience of both the Buddha and
his first disciples is represented as followed by a burning
I * It should be noted that the scientific "common to all" is, to a
/considerable extent, "common to" an imagined "all." That is, science,
(as well as religion, has its ideal society.
CONVERSION 173
desire to tell others and thus rescue them from their
suffering! That is, one kind of desire did remain, the
desire for mutual self-emancipation, but this desire,
instead of enslaving the individual, appears as taking
part in emancipating him.
4. There is no psychological dividing line in the
social self-realization of the convert between fellowship
'vdth men and fellowship with the divine. Conversion
is a faith-creating process, specifically social faith. The
new world of the self is a world of its own kind; it feels
itself in and into (einfuhlen) whatever it conceives.
Its values define its real objects. Thusjt is that con-
version not seldom makes real or brings near to the
individual what he has previously accepted merely as
instruction from others. Heretofore he had, to use
James's distinction, knowledge about God, but now he
has acquaintance.
The process here can easily be misinterpreted. The
convert does not come into his fellowship with God by .
inferring from the phenomenon of conversion to a per-
sonal cause of it. His experience of self-emancipation
is to him, per se, a satisfying social experience ; it is direct
acquaintance with an adequate socius. In the testi-
mony of converts there is a general consensus as to the
immediacy of this certainty. We, as psychologists,
noting that the language of each convert reproduces the
instruction that he has received from a particular reli-
gious communion, are certain that there is a mediate
element in what the convert feels as wholly immediate.
We know that in accordance with the law of suggestion
he experiences what he is told to expect. He may thus
become certain of doctrines that may or may not be
true. He may misjudge himself, thinking his motives
174 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
to be purer and simpler than they are, or that he is
firmly established when he is still weak and liable to fall.
But alongside of this mediate factor there is a factor of
immediacy also. Granted that his training has prepared
him for the crisis, and that conversion puts him under
the control of existing social standards and ideas of God,
the fact remains that conversion makes these things real
to the convert. Heretofore he had ''knowledge about"
them; now he has ''acquaintance with" them. The
world or God has meaning /6>r him and makes response
^ow. Here is no mere repetition of the past, for the
individual is a new and unique one, and this experience
as his is as fresh as the creation morn itself.
The recognition of this immediacy does not commit
us, as mere observers, to the affirmation that the con-
vert's sense of divine communion has ultimate validity.
Validity implies the possibility of a social judgment as
contrasted with the impressions of an individual. The
impressions of the convert are to be tested by actual
experiment, on the part of the many, with the conditions
for realizing a self and for realizing the presence of other
selves. Such experimentation is going on in the whole
of our social intercourse as well as in religious conversion
processes, so that the problem of validity becomes not
merely, Can the conversion experience be repeated?
but. What is the relation of the " self-and-5oaM5" experi-
ence of converts to the whole evolution of "self-and-
socius^' in the race? The point that we have now
reached is that religious conversion is, all in all, a
particular instance of the differentiation of the individual
consciousness, which is also social consciouness, the
beginnings of which were referred to in the last chapter.
CHAPTER XI
MENTAL TRAITS •¥ RELIGIOUS LEA»ERS
Of the common qualities of leadership, which are
found in religion as in other affairs, there is no occasion
to speak. But religious leaders, at least those who
attract most attention, have long been distinguished
from other men by what seem to be certain peculiar
traits. We shall now inquire what these traits are,
whether they are, in fact, peculiar, and why they influence
other men so powerfully.
First, however, it is advisable to discriminate be-
tween different types of religious leaders and of religious
leadership. Nothing is easier, or more speciously falla-
cious, than to characterize religious genius by a few
selected experiences that happen to fall within the range
of one's scientific specialty. If I am a specialist in
nervous diseases, I am bound to notice the frequency of
hallucination and other signs of nervous instability
among prominent religionists, and consequently I shall
be in danger of a narrow characterization of religious
leaders as neurotics. Medical men have not always
avoided this error. It is parallel to the attempt of cer-
tain writers to make sexual passion the fundamental
motive in religion. The frequency of sexual interest
and of neurotic symptoms is not to be denied, but rarely
does either of these suffice to characterize a man or
woman who attains great religious influence. Other
qualities are prominent and influential in the same men
I7S
176 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
and women, and, as we shall see, in much religious
leadership these things play little part or none at all.
There has been, in fact, an evolution of religious
leadership that is part and parcel of the evolution of
religion. Three broad types of leader are distinguish-
able, the shaman, the priest, and the prophet, and these
three reach the climax of their respective influence in
this historical order — the climax only, for evolution does
not separate things as a staircase separates different
levels by a vertical rise. Shamanism persists in all
religions, though not in all religious individuals, and
seeds and sprouts of late-maturing plants can be dis-
cerned early in the evolution. Further, the terms
''shaman," "priest," and ''prophet," as here used, should
not be taken as full and adequate description; they are
merely centers around which to gather bodies of related
facts.
I. The shaman. — Practically everywhere in early
religion we find religious specialists who correspond in
important ways to the persons among us who are called
"psychics." The shaman is supposed to learn and reveal
hidden things, such as the future, or the whereabouts of a
lost object, or the doer of a secret act, such as theft, and
to influence the mysterious forces, all by processes that
we recognize as subjective. A typical shamanistic pro-
cedure is the trance. By dancing continued to the point
of exhaustion, or by exhausting sweating in a sweat
lodge, or by mental numbing brought on by monotonous
music, prolonged torture, or the use of narcotic drugs, the
shaman gets himself out of his usual grooves, is shorn
of his habitual inhibitions, and passes into autohypnosis
or trance. This condition involves unresponsiveness to
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 177
the generality of stimuli, with focalized responsiveness
to some particular sort of stimuli. The shaman now
acts from suggestions, some of which, based upon tribal
traditions and upon previous experience of his own, he
took with him into the trance, and others of which are
derived from the immediate situation. His response to
these suggestions is likely to take the form of visions —
he sees the enemy, or the god, or the supposed culprit,
or the issue of the impending battle. Sometimes he
speaks automatically, that is, the impression of the mo-
ment passes directly into involuntary speech. To the
beholders, and largely to the shaman himself, all this
is the direct expression of mana or of some more definite
being, such as a spirit, by which he is '^ possessed."
According to the tribe's theory, the shaman is a
leader because of this super-something that is in him.
In reality his leadership is due to at least three factors:
First comes the impressiveness of the trance phenomenon
itself, and the fact that this individual experiences trance
more than his fellows. He is likely to have a special
aptitude for trances; that is, to be nervously unstable, a
neurotic. Certainly spontaneous trances in someone are
the necessary antecedent of the cultivation of trance
states. Yet, since most normal individuals can be
hypnotized, the automatisms of a given shaman may
have been induced entirely by training administered
by previous shamans. Nevertheless, it is safe to assume
that a neurotic tendency, if it is not too extreme, is a
help to religious influence at this stage of religious
evolution.
A second ground of shamanistic influence is success
in doing the thing that the people desire. Undoubtedly
178 THE rSVCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
shamans — and here we may include the oracles — are
sometimes wise. They are wise, not merely because they
know how to avoid issues, or surreptitiously to gather
information, or to give forth ambiguities that can be
interpreted in accordance with the event, but also be-
cause the abstracted mind sometimes gains in truth
even from its oversimplification. It seems clear that
the reducing of inhibitions, the dropping of things from
attention, not seldom makes the really important fact
seem important. Successful guesses at character, or
solutions of problems, or prediction, doubtless do thus
occur now and then, redounding to the glory of the
shaman, and overbalancing any number of weaker per-
formances or failures. And the shaman is sometimes
helped un\\attingly by others. If he scrutinizes the
faces of the whole assembled group in an effort to find
which one has committed a theft, the culprit will be
likely to wear a telltale facial expression. Reading ex-
cited faces is a well-developed art practiced by some
who pose among us as mind-readers. Again, the en-
couragement that he brings to the anxious, adding to
their actual power as well as comfort, is secure ground
for the shaman's influence. The mere prediction of
victory in battle might produce the courage to win it.
A third ground of the shaman's influence is wisdom
gathered from habitual dealing with public interests.
For he acts for the group, and therefore accustoms him-
self to men, to the graver problems, and to causes and
effects (however inadequately he may analyze them).
These are the foundations of the shaman's power in
his group. The cornerstone of the whole is automatisms
interpreted as intercourse with the superior powers.
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 179
The shaman himself shares this basal belief with his
group. Nevertheless, because he discovers that matters
can sometimes be helped along by mixing certain volun-
tary performances with the automatic, he becomes a
trickster as well as a "psychic." The case is parallel
v/ith that of some modern psychics who make a liveli-
hood by fortune-telling or by securing supposed com-
munications from the dead. If we detect such a person
committing a fraud, we are likely to suppose that he is
consciously fraudulent all the way through, whereas he
may still believe that "there's something in it" because
of the presence of a genuinely automatic factor to which
he knows not how to give any but a spiritistic interpre-
tation. What we call fraud is thus in part his way of
helping on what he believes to be genuine intercourse
with superior powers.
We have here the clue to some modern phenomena
in the sphere of religious leadership. Even the founders
of some of our newest cults exhibit traces of shamanistic
procedure. This is true of Joseph Smith, of Mrs. Eddy,
and of Mr. Dowie, though in unequal degree. Each of
these leaders mixed shrewd calculation with what gave
itself forth as inspiration, and none of them acknowl-
edged the mixture, but claimed superindividual authority
for the whole. The question is often asked whether they
must not therefore be regarded as, to this extent, con-
scious impostors. The extent and audacity of Joseph
Smith's inventions are amazing. Yet mental ability to
carry through his plots by his own unsupported designs
was not his. He was in all probability inwardly upborne
by what seemed to be a power beyond himself. His very
frauds were thereby, we may well suppose, sanctified in
i8o THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
his eyes. This inner support, in turn, gave to his acts
the force and sureness that made them impressive to the
people — his fellows took him at his word partly because
he believed it himself.- Mr. Dowie and Mrs. Eddy,
though each represented a type far removed from that
of Joseph Smith, experienced, nevertheless, a parallel
inner support for their respective inventions. It is this
that gives impressiveness to a certain oracular or magis-
terial tone that would otherwise appear as spiritual
impudence. But, as with shamanism, so with Mormon-
ism, Dowieism, and Christian Science: the spread of the
movement is due partly to the added fact that it met
real needs — it bore desirable fruit that the people could
experience for themselves. In all three instances tem-
poral blessings were achieved, either improved health
or improved economic conditions, and in all three there
were engendered inner strength and consciousness of
moral triumph.
2. The priest. — If the central item in the shaman's
function is to lay hold of fresh power by psychical means,
the corresponding item in priestly functions consists in
conserving by institutional means whatever has been
attained. This, too, is leadership, and it has a creative
aspect; though it is conservative rather than radical, it
is not mere petrifaction. The priest, seeing to it that
the ceremonies are duly observed; that sacred places,
times, objects, and persons are kept sacred; that the
traditions are accurately handed down from generation
to generation and ultimately committed to writing, not
only repeats the utility acts which the shaman originated,
but also makes an immeasurable contribution to the
organization of a firm society. Priesthoods train men
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS i8i
to the idea of law, even to law that enforces itself by
inner rather than outer force, as taboo, divine favor or
displeasure, and post-mortem rewards and penalties.
The priestly regime likewise trains men to act and to
feel together. Tribal consciousness and, at its begin-
nings, national consciousness are inseparable from the
circle of ideas and practices over which the priesthood
presides. Li his own way, then, the priest is a religious
leader, and his mental traits deserve attention.
Historically the shaman and the priest shade into
each other. Yet the shaman type yields in time to the
priestly type. For automatisms are not easily organiz-
able into a permanently controlled system. The tribe
must repeat again and again the acts that secure the
help of the superior powers, but fresh intercourse with
these powers by the way of ^'possession" cannot always
be guaranteed. Besides, early acts that appear to be
useful become hardened into custom, so that the cere-
mony tends to go on, whatever be the psychical outcome
of fresh resort to the unseen beings. The priestly mind,
accordingly, is the mind that observes times and seasons,
holds to exact forms of approaching the gods, systema-
tizes, creates orthodoxies, and finally sets up mental
kingdoms and empires that rival in real power the civil
and military authorities. Not self-abandonment to
fresh impulse, not intuitive certainties, but the logic of
consistency, with an ever-present assumption of the
validity of the past — this is priestliness. Hence, among
other things, the punctilious writing down of the exact
formula for the sacrifice, the effort to preserve the very
words of religious founders, the interpretation of national
history in terms of religious doctrine — in short, the birth
i82 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
of sacred literatures. Here, of course, is opportunity,
much used, for dead formalism, mechanical routine, and
lazy revenues (the priest's portion of the sacrifice, etc.),
yet all in all the priestly mind has shown upon occasion
aggression and resistance and organizing ability.
3. The prophet. — The term "prophet" is used in two
main senses. On the one hand it is made to cover all
of the more directly psychical, as distinguished from
priestly and ceremonial, methods of intercourse with
the gods. Thus the shamanistic performance of Israel's
bands of soothsayers, of Saul when he fell into a trance,
of Elisha when he called for music as a means to insight —
these on the one hand — and the ethical preaching of
Amos and the statesmanship of Isaiah, on the other hand,
are all called "prophecy." But at times prophecy means
specifically the experience that sets such men as Isaiah
and Amos apart from both the priests and the sooth-
saying types of so-called "prophets." In this restricted
sense the term will be used here. It points to the fact
that from time to time, in various religions, leaders have
arisen who have gone directly to the sources of religious
life, thus setting themselves in contrast with the priests
and the priestly system; it points also to a second fact
of the first importance, namely, that this going to the
sources, though it is continuous with shamanism, never-
theless transcends it, and contrasts with it not less
strongly than it contrasts with priestliness.
The most accessible and illuminating instances are
the great prophets of Israel. "I hate, I despise your
feasts, and I will take no delight in your solemn assem-
bhes," says Amos, speaking in the name of Jahwe.
*'Yea, though ye offer me your burnt offerings and meal
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 183
offerings, I will not accept them: neither will I regard
the peace offerings of your fat beasts. Take thou away
from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the
melody of thy viols" (Amos 5:21-23). Here is the
prophetic protest against the ceremonial or priestly con-
ception of Jahwe's dealings with Israel, a revulsion from
orthodox institutionalism toward the primal sources of
religious feeling. But this is less than half the story.
The spiritual lineage of Amos goes backward, in impor-
tant respects, toward shamanism. For he feels himself
to be the immediate mouthpiece of Jahwe; he experi-
ences a kind of possession. But the contrast with sha-
manism is as great as that with priestly institutionalism.
It is no return to shamanism that Amos desires. "Let
judgment roll down as waters, and righteousness as a
mighty stream" (5:24); ''Hear this, O ye that would
swallow up the needy, and cause the poor of the land
to fail, saying, When will the new moon be gone, that we
may sell com ? and the sabbath, that we may set forth
wheat ? making the ephah small, and the shekel great,
and dealing falsely with balances of deceit; that we may
buy the poor for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes,
and sell the refuse of the wheat" (8:4-6). Here at last
is religious leadership that, conceiving God predom-
inantly as ethical will, regards ethical conduct as the
service of God and the prophet's own ethical fervor as
divine inspiration. It is true that the great prophets
experienced dreams and visions; it is true that these
automatisms were interpreted as divine possession after
the manner of shamanism; but the complementary
truth is that a distinction was made between tme_and
false prophets upon the basis of the content of their
1 84 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
respective messages. The true prophet must speak
ethical truth without compromise. *'The prophet is a
fool, the man that hath the spirit is mad!" Hosea's
hearers seem to say, and he retorts, *'It is for the multi-
tude of thine iniquity, and because the enmity is great"
(Hos. 11:7).
Here is a transition point in religious leadership, the
rise of a fresh conception of the leader's intercourse with
the god. Inspiration or divine possession is now evidenced
by ethical fervor. This is too simple a statement, it is
true, to represent the whole historical situation. It
was a complex made up partly of shamanistic, in some
cases more or less priestly and nationalistic, assumptions.
But the idea that ethical communion with the divine
being is the essential religious experience did reach the
surface in this prophetic movement, and this is the dis-
tinctive mark of this most remarkable group of religious
leaders. That their proffered guidance was accepted
at the time in only a minor degree, the nation turning
rather with renewed devotion to priestly ceremonialism
and orthodoxy, does not detract from the claims of these
ethical prophets to a place in the world's list of its
greatest leaders. For the sacerdotalism that fastened
itself upon the people wore out, while the prophetic mes-
sage gained in power through the centuries. It was the
prophetic, not the priestly, element in Judaism that
attracted Jesus and formed his character and the basis
of his message; and Paul, in spite of his legalistic train-
ing, and in spite of a strong tendency to automatisms,
was conquered by it^
The career and the writings of Paul present an
extraordinary instance of the coexistence in one indi-
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 185
vidual of the qualities that underlie all three types of
leadership. Li the first place, he had a luxuriant experi-
ence of the sort of automatisms that might have made
him a great leader of the shamanistic type. He had
visions, fell into trances, spoke and wrote under conscious
inspiration, spoke in ''tongues" abundantly (an auto-
matic phenomenon that will be described in the next
chapter). But, in the second place, there was much of
the priest in him, both by reason of his training as a
strict Pharisee and by reason of the natural qualities
of his mind. A maker of distinctions, a systematizer, a
lover of precedent and of consistency, an organizer, a
ruler of his followers — think how all this, added to
the whole body of assumptions involved in his train-
ing as a Pharisee, fitted him to be the originator of a
rigid priesthood. Yet both the shamanistic and the
priestly tendencies within him were resisted and trans-
cended, though not at all extirpated, by the influence
upon him of the prophetic spirit of Jesus. Paul's
immortal ode on love is a direct and specific com-
parison of the values of the shamanistic and the pro-
phetic principles respectively. He is dealing with the
extreme, disorderly automatisms of the circle at Corinth.
He expresses a wish that all the Corinthian Christians
might speak in tongues (I Cor. 14:5). He thanks God
that he himself speaks in tongues more even than any-
one there (14:18). He believes, with shamanism, that
this experience is actually a divine taking possession
of one's vocal organs, yet, unlike shamanism, he is
ready to judge it by its fruits. As far as it leads to
disorder, it is to be condemned, and anyhow, he exclaims,
*'Li the church I had rather speak five words with my
1 86 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
understanding, that I might instruct others also, than
ten thousand words in a tongue" (14:19)! Further, he
prefers ''prophecy," or inspirational speech in the lan-
guage of the people. He prefers it because it can be
understood, and also because it can he controlled by the
speaker (14:1-33). Without completely reconciling
these various supposed sorts of direct intercourse with
God, Paul actually attains the notion of sitting in ethical
judgment upon anything that offers itself as a diving
message. Process is to be judged by content and tend-
ency. In principle this asserts that true communion
with God is had in our ethical impulses, judgments,
decisions, and actions. He summarizes his position on
another occasion thus: "Quench not the Spirit; despise
not prophesyings [the automatic]; scrutinize all things;
hold fast that which is good; abstain from every kind
of evil" (I Thess. 5:19-21). This is the setting of his
ode on love. He contrasts love with the whole wonder-
awakening group of automatisms, and even with knowl-
edge, dear as knowledge is to his extraordinary intellect,
and leaves us with this ultimate principle : The supreme
and normative experience of God is ethical love.^
The fundamental trait of our third t>'pe of religious
leader, then, is a broad and intense sociality that tran-
scends mere institutionalism because it individualizes
men as objects of love. The leader is now, in a high ethical
sense, the lover, and he is able to lead because he loves,
and therein represents God. This is the open secret of
Jesus' influence upon men. The records of his life are
* By ethical love I mean the broader social will — broader, that is,
than conjugal fondness, parental regard, or the partiality of a narrow
friendship.
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 187
too meager to enable us to speak in much detail of his
mental traits, and the critical questions that still gather
around the Gospels involve, to some extent, the inter-
pretation of his mind and of his attitudes. Nevertheless,
it can be said with confidence that he represents a
reaction against the sacerdotal conception of divine
communion, and that, though he appears to have experi-
enced some automatisms that he interpreted as special
divine impartations, these were not the staple of his
reliance either for himself or for others. That is, of
shamanism there are only minor traces even in the
records, which are themselves interpretations and not
portraits, and sacerdotalism is directly opposed. That
he was a wonder-worker, a healer of diseases by what we
recognize as suggestion, does not indicate that he
occupied the standpoint that I have called shamanism.
He healed the people because of his overwhelming sym-
pathy, not as a means of dominating them. How he
wrought his cures was obviously insignificant to him,
compared with the joyous fact that the people were
lifted out of their distresses. He was not a shaman,
but a servant of the people.
Even if criticism should prove that he held to an
extreme catastrophic view of the coming of the Kingdom;
even if we should be obliged to believe that he was
ultimately a disillusioned idealist (that is, that he ex-
pected to be accepted during his earthly lifetime as the
promised Messiah), what has been said still holds true
of his mental traits, and it contains the explanation of
his power over men. His simple trust in a Father who
understands us and brings good to pass even through
seeming ill; his equally simple valuation of human life,
1 88 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
as if ungrudging, unsparing helpfulness were the most
natural thing in the world; his penetrating conceptions
of right and wrong, as if he simply gazed upon the thing
he talked about; a certain moral irresistibility because
he reduces the problems of conduct to simple issues of
ethical love — these are the grounds of his influence. In
some important respects his influence resembles that of
Lincoln. Jesus had the same homespun feeling fop
*' folks," the same appreciation of friendship, correspond-
ing directness of perception and picturesqueness of
speech, quiet courage, a more than full measure of
patient endurance, something even of the same humor.
This is the sort of leadership that describes itself in the
old saying, "We love him because he first loved us."
These examples, though they are drawn from a single
I stream of religious tradition, are representative of reli-
\gious leadership as a whole. There are types of leader-
ship, as there are grades of culture. It is a narrow view
that thinks to explain the influence of Paul, of Jesus, of
the Buddha, or of Mohammed by saying that each was
more or less neurotic, or even epileptic, and that the
people took his abnormalities for divine possession.
In two of these cases at least the neurotic hypothesis
rests on slight ground. That Jesus is said to have had a
vision or two, and the Buddha a sudden life-enlightening
conversion, by no means proves them neurotic in any
useful sense of this term. Such experiences come to
minds that function so capably that only under the
exigencies of some overworked theory can they be called
*' abnormal." To characterize as neurotic any mind that
experiences a well-marked automatism is to make the
term '^ neurotic" scientifically useless. The ultimate
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 189
test of mental morbidity, whether of the extreme sorts,
called "imbecility" and ''insanity," or of the milder sorts,
called ''neurotic," is one's ability to fulfil one's functions
as a member of society. Neurasthenia, for example, is
to be classed as a mental disorder, not because it involves
a mental process that is peculiar to neurasthenics, but
because certain processes that are common to all men
are here present in so excessive or one-sided a way as
obviously to interfere with the carrying on of life's
business in co-operation with others. Neither Jesus nor
the Buddha was made weak or inefficient by automatisms
that he may have experienced; neither trafficked in
them after the manner of the shaman; neither relied
upon them as the basis of his certainty of the principles
that he taught, but each rested the authority of his
teachings either upon analysis of life or else upon the
practical self-evidence of basal ethical ideals; neither was
separated from men by any mental peculiarity, but each
was drawn to men and drew men to him by compas-
sionate helpfulness. Finally, though each was a dissenter
from the existing social-religious order, each dissented,
especially Jesus, in the interest of a wider and deeper
sociality. That the shamanistic features added by tra-
dition to the picture of each of these prophets, and the
so-to-say "rabbinical" doctrines that offered themselves
as the historical story had influence with succeeding
generations, is undeniable. Antagonistic elements mix
in any evolutionary process. But the specific ground
of the personal influence involved, the reason why tra-
dition selected these particular men as first among the
sons of men, cannot have been either a shamanistic or a
priestly element in the men themselves, but rather the
1 90 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
element of ethical prophecy, the fresh resort to new and
ethically higher sources of religious experience.
Signs of neurotic mental make-up are far more
abundant in Paul and Mohammed. Mohammed's
visions and auditions were numerous and apparently
vivid. A true shamanistic touch appears, moreover,
when he has visions that seem as if made to order for
the obvious purpose of carrying his point in certam
disputes. That these automatisms helped to give him
sanctity and authority in the eyes of the people need
not be doubted. The remaining question is whether
the messages that he uttered had a prophetic character,
and, if so, what part they had in making Mohammed
the great leader that he became. His general capacity
for vigor and persistence in action is sufficiently wit-
nessed by the way in which he organized his followers
and led them to victory against great opposition. What
is more significant is that he was a religious and social
reformer. His message, seen in the light of contem-
porary religious crudity and social unintegration, was of
the prophetic type. It was to a relatively exalted con-
ception of God that he called men, and to certain pro-
gressive, though limited, notions of social duty. These,
rather than the automatic form that his originality took,
are his distinguishing marks. There were ten thousand
men who could have visions to one who could conceive
such thoughts, but it was this one to whom the people
clave.
Our study of what makes one a leader brings us, of
course, to a consideration of what it is that the people
desire, or at least are ready to follow. That grounds of
religious leadership evolve, as we have now seen, implies
MENTAL TRAITS OF RELIGIOUS LEADERS 191
that parallel changes occur in the springs of action in the
whole religious body. Here opens the wide problem of
wherein mental evolution consists. In what sense, if
any, does human nature remain the same, and in what
sense does it move? Postponing this question to sub-
sequent chapters, let us close the examination of the
elements of religious leadership by a word concerning
the more obvious relations between the leaders and the
led. It is obvious that religious evolution is a movement
in which both the leaders and the led are carried along.
The notions, once seriously held, that religion was
largely invented and imposed upon the people by priest-
craft or statecraft, are, as we now see, so unhistorical
as to be preposterous. A leader does not manufacture
religion any more than a gardener makes a rose. In
religion as in floriculture there is a fundamental, spon-
taneous process which is guided more or less toward
specific products by individual action.
To be more specific, there are three sorts of thing that
religious leaders may do. First, a leader may embody,
focalize, and render effective an already germinating
standpoint of the people by bringing it to conscious
definition. He makes them see what it is that they
already want, or he guides them in a particular procedure
for obtaining what they want. The revealing of men
to themselves is what gives such apparent self -evidence
to the greatest prophetic messages, and this is also one
ground of the impression that God himself speaks
through the prophet. Secondly, a leader may bring
victory to one of two or more competing attitudes,
policies, or beliefs of society. He may do it by superior
definition, argument, and emotional appeal; or by
192 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
organizing a party; or by presenting some apparently
supernatural sanction, whether from tradition and prece-
dent, or from some fresh divine interposition. Thirdly,
a leader may be thus not only a lens through which light
already shining from some large portion of the popula-
tion is brought to a focus, but also the one through whom
a particular ray enters the social complex. Originality
in the full sense of insight that has not before existed
in the race is implied, of course, in the general progress
of knowledge. Each item of this progress begins with
some individual who sees something that his predecessors
did not see. Similarly, ethical progress in any direction
is initiated by some individual or individuals whose
satisfactions and dissatisfactions are different from those
of other persons. This is ethical originality, which
becomes creativeness whenever it effectively organizes
and propagates itself. How far a particular genius
focuses existing light and how far he emits an original
ray is generally hard to make out, but the fact of such
original radiation of light, and the other fact of great
differences in the amount and color of light radiated by
different individuals must be recognized. The religious
genius, like other geniuses, is always in a true sense a
product of his time and of his people, though he is more
than a mere product thereof. Granted a genuine mental
evolution, together with genuine differences between
individuals, the way is open for a reasonable recognition
of originality in any degree. The degree of it in a par-
ticular case has to be determined, as well as may be, by
historical study of the entire situation.
CHAPTER XII
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS
In an earlier chapter reference was made to the fact
that certain attitudes that seem to introspection to be
entirely new are nevertheless the result of an unrecognized
ripening process. There are, in fact, multitudes of experi-
ences in which an apparently ready-made mental product
makes its appearance, giving an impression that, though
it is ''within me," it is not altogether ''mine." This
*' something more" yields the general problem of the
subconscious.
Religious experiences that involve this "something
more" readily lend themselves to the following pre-
liminary classification:
1. Visions and voices that seem to the one who has
them to embody or convey information, as of the divine
presence, the divine will, or the future.
2. Impressions that something is true, as that a cer-
tain person is or is not sincere ("discerning of spirits");
that a certain event is to take place; that this or that
is one's duty; that God is personally present, though
he is invisible and inaudible; that he has a certain
attitude toward one (as "condemnation" and "witness
of the Spirit"); or that this or that is the correct
interpretation of a passage of Scripture.
3. Involuntary muscular reactions of many sorts
that give an impression that one's body is being partly
or wholly controlled by a will other than one's own. A
193
194 TIIE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
mmistcr who participated in the great revival in Ken-
tucky in 1 80 1 gives the following classification of cases
that fell under his observation : the falling exercise; the
jerks; the dancing exercise; the barking exercise (grunts
in connection with jerks); the laughing exercise; the
running exercise; and the singing exercise.^ ''Getting
the power" seems to have been a popular designation
in some parts of the country for extreme loss of muscular
control, manifested by falling and lying prone for a
period. In one direction these phenomena reach a climax
in ''speaking in tongues," which is involuntary move-
ment of the speech organs through which they form
sounds, sometimes articulate syllables, supposed by the
subject to express meanings in a tongue that he has
never learned. Sometimes, in our day as in New Testa-
ment times, "another interprets," that is, gives in the
language of the assembly the supposed meaning of that
which has been spoken "in a tongue." The interpreter
of tongues obviously follows impressions in the region
of ideas, so that his experience falls under the second
classification, and is parallel with that of the "inspira-
tional speakers" who appear at meetings of spiritualists.
Just as the vocal apparatus may come under this appar-
ently foreign control, so may the apparatus for writing,
as happens with many mediums. On the other hand,
some writing mediums say that they control their hands
in the usual way, but that the ideas are given whole and
not "thought out."^ Thus, the sort of internal dialogue
' The Biography oj Elder Barton Warren Stone, Written by Himself
(Cincinnati, 1847).
'Quoting Montgeron, La Verite des Miracles (1737), Marie and
Vallon point out that the Jansenists were sometimes able, in one and
the same discourse, to discriminate three degrees of inspiration: (i) ideas
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 195
in which we do our ordinary thinking, which is recognized
as an inner talking to one's self, may be displaced by an
inner dialogue in which one or both of the conversers
seem to be other than one's self.^ The ''inner voice" or
voices, too, may take the aspect of actual sounds instead
of a give and take of ideas merely, in which case we have
an audition (see i).
4. In addition to these three sorts of rather well-
defined reaction there are inner realizations of a more
general or even vague kind that seem likewise to the
subject of them to be ''something more" than the
''mine." As many an adolescent has suddenly dis-
covered an inexpressible meaning in such familiar sights
as the starry sky, or a forest, or the sunset afterglow, so
a state of elation or of depression has often seemed to
religious persons to be a communicated insight, not
merely a mood. The case of anesthetic revelation
reported in the chapter on "Conversion" presents
merely an extreme instance of the practically universal
objectifying of the affective qualities of our experience.
Even the general urge of life that makes men take the
side of hope rather than of despair, and to trust that
the world is more rational than it seems from the angle
take hold of the speaker in a manner that he feels to be supernatural;
(2) though at first he uses his own language to express them, there
comes a time when the expressions themselves are internally dictated to
him; (3) finally, the vocal apparatus speaks involuntarily and without
any apparent previous thought (A. Marie et Ch. Vallon, "Des Psychoses
religieuses," Archives de Neurologie, II, No. 12, 429).
^ A small boy was heard to pray as follows: "Now I got a favor to
ask you, and you sure to do it: Take the goodest care you can of M.
and N. Yes, I will! For Jesus' sake, Amen." The "Yes, I will,"
uttered in stentorian tones, was undoubtedly the child's dramatic
participation in the supposed response of God.
196 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
of our partial experience, is taken by many as the
utterance "within us" of an ultimate truth.
What, now, is the problem that psychology has to
face in such facts ? That a problem arises here at all is
because much experience, to say the least, is given as
the experience of individual selves. Even if we should
become convinced that mind-stufi exists beyond and
between the focal points called selves, or that sensations
and desires could float about as isolated psychic states,
we should still have to take individual selves into account,
regarding this experience as belonging to A, while that
belongs to B, and sooner or later asking how far A's
and B's possessions respectively extend. It is important
to note that the possessive "my" stands for a phase of
experience as it is given. It is a datum, not a derivative
through analysis or through association. We can, in-
deed, pull apart the items that we call mine, as my
clothes, my body, and my pains and pleasures. But
we cannot arrive at a "mine" by the reverse process of
adding together items which to start with are merely
"this's" and not already "my's." Each "my" is a
unique datum, each self is an individual.
But it does not follow that selves are isolated and
mutually exclusive atoms. Whether or not any item
in my mental life is exclusively or wholly mine is not
determined by saying that it certainly is mine. Joint
ownership is a possible conception. As the same um-
brella may shield two persons from rain, so one brain
might conceivably be "mine" to more than one self.
Moreover, several selves might have the very same
thing — as sun or moon — as "my" object, and the very
same end in view as "my" end.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 197
As a matter of fact, no atomic exclusiveness anywhere
appears. My own *'my," along with my birth, is not a
matter of my own devising; it arises
Out of the deep>
Where all that was to be, in all that was,
Whirl'd for a million aeons through the vast
Waste dawn of multitudinous — eddying light.
— ^Tennyson, De Profundis.
Moreover, this rising ''out of the deep" is not merely a
single event at the dawn of my consciousness; every
pulse of my self has the same character. The ''mine,''
that is to say, is always more than mine, even a part of
the vast ongoing that some call nature and others God.
My most private experiences, those most intimate to me,
are thus, in some sense, overindividual as well as indi-
vidual. If I try to think of myself in a purely numerical
way as a discrete unit, the result is the abstract notion
of unity, not this self of mine experiencmg this and that.
All "my" "this's" and "that's" occur as parts of a
wider whole. The actual, concrete "my" is thus con-
junct, in its inmost nature, with the "more than mine."
A dividing line, on one side of which is the "mine" and
that only, and on the other side of which is all else,
simply does not exist.
The problem of what constitutes individuality is
further complicated by the fact that different individuals
know one another as "present." When I am challenged
to say what I mean by your presence, my first impulse
is to measure the inches that separate us. But this
throws little light upon what it is for you to be present.
At most it names a condition under which this experi-
ence arises, the experience itself being some sort of
198 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
conjunction of *'my's." Just as a moment ago we noted
the immediacy of nature in our consciousness of the
*' my," so here we come upon the fact of social immediacy.
We shall have to deal with it more at length in a sub-
sequent chapter. But at this point we must note at
least this: that the *'my" is falsely construed whenever
it is thought of as having only external relations to the
^'thy." Atomistic notions of ''I" and "thou," as if
each were inclosed within an impenetrable wall, do not
describe our social experience. We are more intimate to
one another by far. To the analysis of this intimacy
genetic psychology has made two contributions. It has
shown that the *'my" does not arise in child conscious-
ness before the ''thy," but coincidently with it, and that
the "my" construes itself throughout by reference to
"thy's." Comparison of mine and thine, and give and
take between me and thee, are included in the stuff of
which my "me" consists. That is, social communion
is the very experience that gives the "me" any meaning
/ at all. Any actual, concrete "my" is already a "my-
thy." Thus the individual self is conjunct, not only with
nature, but also with society.
Clearly, then, we cannot escape the "something
more" that is within and yet not merely mine. What
we must do with it is to seek ever-closer definition of
its, or their, ways. To this end our first task with
respect to any wonder-awakening "something more"
is to establish, as far as we can, identity of process
between it and ordinary psychic events. Only thus
shall we learn whether the subconscious has any laws
peculiar to itself, and, if so, what they are. If we should
conclude that it has no peculiar laws, the effect would
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 199
not be to explain away any phenomenon, but rather to
necessitate a more than usually rigorous analysis of our
ordinary life.
Let us ask, then, first of all, whether the sorts of
phenomena that were catalogued at the beginning of
this chapter are limited to religious subject-matter or
religious motives. The answer is a decided negative.
Visions and voices that seem to be veracious, and are
sometimes proved to be so, occur in any sphere of life.
Convincing impressions, particularly as to persons, are
common and useful even in business. So, also, involun-
tary muscular reactions that seem to express knowledge
may concern any subject-matter. We need not resort
to mediums for instances. Thus a young woman, upon
being asked the most important question that a man
can put to a woman, started to give the favorable reply
that she supposed was dictated by both heart and
judgment, but was astonished to hear herself say the
exact opposite of what, as she relates in a manuscript
in my possession, "I thought I was saying." But she
records that ^'Once spoken — astonished as I was — the
words stood, and I held to them as the days and weeks
went by." It turned out that on the road that she
meant to travel, but was thus prevented from traveling,
sorrow lurked. The man was not what she had supposed.
She was rescued, in fact, by this unexpected use of her
vocal apparatus. She herself had no doubt that it was
somebody's knowledge that uttered itself thus.
That the inspiration process in religion is in no sense
separate or peculiar will be clear to anyone who will
examine literary and other artistic inspirations and then
note the parallel ways in which new ideas arise in the
200 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
common life. Thus oratory now and then exhibits the
phenomenon of ideas seeming to control the speaker rather
than the speaker his ideas. Henry Ward Beecher said:
There are times when it is not I that is talking; when I am
caught up and carried away so that I know not whether I am in
the body or out of the body; when I think things in the pulpit
that I could never think in the study; and when I have feelings
that are so different from any that belong to the lower or normal
condition that I can neither regulate them nor understand them.
I see things and I hear sounds, and seem, if not in the seventh
heaven, yet in a condition that leads me to apprehend what Paul
said, that he heard things that it was not possible for a man
to utter.'
Poetic composition is another fruitful example.
From Bryant, who claimed no inspiration, yet admitted
that his thoughts sometimes seemed to be hardly his
own,^ to Goethe, who believed that genuine creative
work is always a gift from above, there are all grades
of conviction that one's ideas are given rather than
achieved. Here are Goethe's own words :
All productivity of the highest kind, every important idea,
every great thought which is followed by fruit and has conse-
quences, is in no one's control, and is elevated above all earthly
power. Such things men receive as unexpected gifts from above.
In such cases man is often to be regarded as a tool of a higher
world-government, as a vessel found worthy to receive the divine
influence.3
Emerson says:
It is a secret which every intellectual man quickly learns,
that beyond the energy of his possessed and conscious intellect
* Beecher' s Patriotic Addresses, edited by J. R. Howard (New York,
18S7), p. 140.
^ Bigelow's William Cullen Bryant, p. 153.
3 Otto Harnack, Goethe in der Epoche seiner Vollendung, 3. Aufl.
(Leipzig, 1905), p. 32; cf. pp. 143, 160.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 201
he is capable of a new energy (as of an intellect doubled upon
itself), by abandonment to the nature of things."^
The frequency with which poets take poetic invention
as a theme for a poem is rather remarkable in itself, but
still more significant is the unanimity with which they
represent the poet's mind as an instrument upon which
** something more" plays. What we call most original
with them they regard as given to them.
Yet, as Emerson remarks, all are poets to a greater
or less degree, and, as Holmes points out, every asso-
ciation of ideas is a case of something wrought in us
rather than by us.* The subconscious, whatever it is,
is surely an everyday affair. Thus, there ^'pops into
my head" the solution of a problem that has puzzled me.
My memory testifies that the last time I thought about
the question I had no answer for it. But now the com-
plete answer is present, with all its parts fitted together,
just as if I had found them one by one and built them
into a designed whole. Or to take an instance from the
realm of volition : whereas yesterday I was pulled hither
and thither by conflicting desires with respect to a cer-
tain matter, this morning, after a night's rest, my will is
at peace with itself. Some of the things that I craved
I no longer desire at all, and I now desire some things to
which I was antagonistic or indifferent. A third ordi-
nary sort of experience is the adjustment of conduct to
conditions the existence of which we do not seem to
^ Essay on "The Poet," in Essays, Second Series (Boston, 1898),
p. 30-
' Among the best popular descriptions of literary invention are
those of Oliver Wendell Holmes in The A utocrat of the Breakfast Table
(Riverside Press, 1891), p. 191, and Pages from an Old Volume of Life
(Riverside Press, 1891), pp. 283 ff.
202 THE rSVCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
know. Here is an instance that was recorded by the
subject at the time of its occurrence:
I have just been writing several New Year's greetings, dating
each at the bottom, "December 31, 1911." Just as I wrote this
date on one of them I had a feeh'ng that I had not written it
correctly on the preceding one, and that I had probably written
"11" instead of "31." This proved to be the case, but I was
not sure until I looked to see.
Here the process of correcting the error was started
without apparent knowledge that the error existed.
It is therefore impossible to give a psychological
account of the subconscious in religion without some
attempt to weigh the general theories of the subconscious
as such. The nature of the problem will be somewhat
clarified, possibly, if we note that the subconscious is not
a fact of observation but wholly an inference. That the
notion arises at all is because memory and introspection
are baffled. One of the clearest examples is this: The
well-known illusion of length produced by converging
lines is produced also when invisible shadows are sub-
stituted for certain of the lines. Here we infer that
sofnething like perception has occurred, although the
subject can give no account of it whatever.^
Three types of theory exist: (i) The neural theory,
which holds that all deliverances called subconscious are
due to restimulation of brain tracts that have been
organized in a particular way through previous experi-
ences of the individual. According to this view, there is
no subconscious elaboration or ripening, but only plain
reproduction. (2) The dissociation theory, which, start-
' K. Dunlap, "The Effect of Imperceptible Shadows on the Judg-
ment of Distance," Psychological Review, VII, 435.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 203
ing with the fact that the field of attention includes a
penumbra as well as a focus, holds that the penumbral
items of experience can be combined and elaborated
while remaining within the penumbra, and thus, when
the focus of attention shifts to them, can appear as
ready made. (3) The theory of a detached subconscious-
ness. This phrase was devised, I believe, by a persistent
critic of the theory, the late Professor Pierce. It covers
all views that assert that each of us has a *' double" or
secondary self, or an understratum of psychic existence,
possessed of powers and character of its own that out-
run and are separate from the ordinary. Here belongs the
notion, widespread of late, that God is present to us as
this substratum of our self or as an obscure second self.
Whatever may be said of the third theory, the first
and the second certainly contain at least a part of the
truth. Let us begin with the neural theory. It insists
that inspirations, however new they seem to be, are in
fact reproductions in the same sense in which the mate-
rials used in ordinary thought-processes are reproduc-
tions. Here, even if we reserve our judgment as to what
the brain finally is, we fijid a true analysis of such facts
as these : Many a man supposes that his words are new
and original when in fact he is quoting or paraphrasing
what he has heard or read. Thus it is that words from a
language that one has never learned, but only heard
casually, are sometimes spoken. An unlettered old
Scotch woman came to her pastor declaring that she
had a message from the Lord. Thereupon she delivered
in English, a tongue not ordinarily at her command, a
truly eloquent passage about the Dissenters. Her
ordinary self was not capable of such thinking or of
204 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
such diction. Inquiry proved that as a young woman
she had been housemaid to an eloquent minister of
English speech who had a way of rehearsing his sermons
aloud at home, and whose sentiments concerning the
Dissenters were those that the woman supposed that
she was delivering from the Lord.' Even if we should be
obliged to hold, as I think we must, that newness or
originality (whatever this is) belongs to some sub-
conscious deliverances in the same sense in which it
belongs to ordinary thinking, the main mass, at least,
of the ideas that are attributed to the subconscious
arrive at the focus of attention by the ordinary route.
This is the reason why none but those who study and
practice poetry get poetic inspirations that count. Only
a musician has the sort of inspiration that musicians
recognize. Mathematical solutions come by inspiration
to none but mathematicians.^ One must first be familiar
with mechanical devices before one can invent new ones.
Just so, those whom religion counts as prophets arise
within religion, and they employ in their prophecies
both traditional ideas and the results of their life-
experience.
But the dissociation theory, which accepts the notion
of subconscious elaboration and therefore newness, can-
not be dispensed with. Something of the nature of
fresh perception, and organization of the fresh percept
into an idea-system, may take place so far from the focus
of attention that, when the focus shifts toward it, the
* This case was communicated to me by my colleague, Professor
G. A. Johnston Ross, to whom the old woman brought the message.
' Sir William Rowan Hamilton's account of his discovery of the
method of the quaternions will be found in the North British Review,
XLV, 57.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 205
product seems to be wholly new and at that moment
injected into consciousness. A homely example of
penumbral perception is as follows: I ''awake to the
fact'' that my telephone bell, which is in another room,
has been ringing for some time, though I cannot tell
when it began to ring. Similarly, I may "awake to the
fact" that I have a formed opinion on a certain matter,
or a formed attitude toward a certain person. Most of
our opinions and prejudices are, in fact, built up casually,
that is, in a region of dim attention. Hence it is that we
are so much more certain that our views are true than
why they are true. One may be a shrewd judge of
men, and yet flounder when reasons for a judgment are
demanded.
Our own thoughts may thus come to us as not ours.
They simply ''pop into our heads," surprising us by
their appropriateness ; or they may appear as an insistent
emotional restraint upon what we regard as our opinions
or our attitudes; or they may appear as inner speech, or,
finally, as fully sensory presences — visions or voices, for
which the psychological term is "hallucination."^ Thus
it is that a "sense of duty" restrains; that a "sense of
divine condemnation" oppresses; that "assurance" or
"witness of the Spirit," and certainty that one is being
divinely guided, arise. Back of the individual realiza-
tion there are elements of religious tradition which the
* That is, sensation through stimulus of a brain center from within
the brain itself instead of through a nerve current initiated at a peripheral
sense organ. Central stimulation may be accomplished by narrowing
attention upon a mental image. Hence, in dreams, in hypnosis, in
emotionally tense situations, or in any situation in which attention is
narrowed and inhibiting ideas are absent, the mild stimulation involved
in having a mental image may be raised to the intensity involved in
sense-perception.
2o6 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
individual acquires in the usual way and then gives back
to himself as not his own. It is not improbable that the
young lady whose lips rejected a suitor whom she in-
tended to accept had already accumulated a body of
congruous but not clearly defined impressions unfavor-
able to him, so that an opinion-forming process had
been going on in the ordinary manner. If need for
immediate action had not arisen, the opinion might have
matured without a hint of mystery or surprise. Here
is an important clue to the wisdom of oracles and sooth-
sayers.^ Not less is it a clue to the wisdom of the great
prophets, and to the surprise that they felt when the
burden of prophesying fell upon them. The prophet's
message reflects the prophet's interests; it employs the
materials that religious tradition and his own past oiler;
it is worked up as other convictions are worked up,
though the steps may be obscure to the prophet himself,
so that he disclaims authorship altogether.
It is true, as Browning says, that —
There are flashes struck from midnights, there are
fire-flames noondays kindle,
Whereby piled-up honors perish, whereby swollen
ambitions dwindle;
While just this or that poor impulse, which for once
had play unstitled.
Seems the sole work of a lifetime that away the rest
had trifled.
— Christina.
^ Cotton IMather, having interrogated certain fortune-tellers as to
how they got the ideas that they gave forth, received the answer that
"When they told Fortunes, they would pretend the Rules of Chiromancy
and the like Ignorant Sciences, but indeed they had no Rule (they said)
but this, The things were then Darted into their minds. Darted! Ye
Wretches; By whom, I pray? Surely by none but the Devils." —
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 207
It is true, likewise, that now and then what seemed to
be a fair structure of moral purpose suddenly tumbles
into ruin. Yet these moral self-revelations or reversals
are rarely if ever a mere explosion of a previously inactive
impulse, but rather a coming into the foreground of what
had been growing in the background by repeated but
forgotten reactions. Thus it is that converts now and
again find themselves on the side of religion without
knowing how they got there.
The third theory, that of a detached subconscious-
ness, appeals to the popular mind more than it does to
psychology. It has got its vogue largely by heaping up
supposed marvels instead of patiently taking them to
pieces. The medical mind, too, with its traditional
^'disease entities," and with imperative motive for im-
mediate action, sometimes finds it convenient to hypos-
tasize mental abnormalities.^ To persons who are
emotionally inclined toward occultism, the notion of a
detached subconsciousness is more comforting than any
doctrine of mental continuity can be. Likewise, religious
thinkers who reluctantly yield the physical world to
natural law find it possible to make a last stand for
supematuralism by referring to supposed divine com-
munications delivered in the mysterious twilight of the
Cotton Mather, The Wonders of the Invisible World (reprint, London,
1862), p. 20. The process here is similar to that of all thought. One
fixes attention upon a topic, and ideas simply come. The marvel, if
there is ground for it at all, rests, not in the process, but in the useable-
ness of the product.
* And then dogmatize about them! It is noteworthy, however,
that Morton Prince, when he finally faces this problem, declares that
there is entire continuity between the conscious, the "co-conscious,"
and the "unconscious," See The Unconscious (New York, 19 14).
2o8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
subconscious. Indeed, the doctrine of a detached sub-
consciousness reproduces in refmed form the ancient
religious notion of possession.'
It behooves us to be humble as well as incredulous in
the presence of such widespread, persistent impressions.
Time and again they have been found to have ''some-
thing in them," after rational criticism had declared
them to be delusions or frauds. The range of perception
is certainly far wider than the psychology of fifty years
ago was ready to admit. There is something in witch-
craft, in clairvoyance, in mediumship, that is worthy of
careful scientific analysis. To declare unthinkable the
possession of one individual consciousness by another, or
the use of one person's muscles by another person, would
certainly be rash. The mental life is a complicated
intermeshing that has the prima facie look of a tangle.
Just which thread is which and just what constitutes a
thread are problems. If psychology could wholly ignore
^ That any Christian theologian should regard it as a gain for
religion when men look for God in the dim, outlying regions of con-
sciousness rather than at the focal points called *'I" and "thou," is
rather surprising. If there is one thing that distinguishes Christian
thought from all other theologies, it is the extraordinary value that
has been ascribed to the individual ever since Jesus declared that one
person outweighs the whole non-personal world. Yet not a few Chris-
tian writers of our day find the focus of religious experience in the self's
continuity with nature rather than in the self's interaction with society.
Certain details of this theological situation I have discussed in "Religion
and the Subconscious," American Journal of Theology, XIII (1909),
337-49. To the theological publications there referred to should be
added the subsequently published works of Professor W. Sanday, in
which he suggests that God was in Christ as his subconsciousness. These
works are: Christologies, Ancient and Modern (Oxford University Press,
19 10), and Personality in Christ and in Ourselves (Oxford University
Press, 191 1).
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 209
psychic individuality; if what we have to deal with were
separate states which combine merely in the sense of
touching one another at their surfaces, as marbles in a
bag, or bricks in a wall, then there would be no problem
of the subconscious. But since our mental life is given
largely as intercourse between individuals, we have to
face questions that concern the nature of such inter-
course, including the question as to how we identify
another individual as present.
Two considerations that are urged in favor of the
doctrine of a detached subconsciousness deserve atten-
tion. First, the '^ something more" sometimes exhibits
high organization. Connected discourse flows from the
pen of some automatic writers who afterward declare
that they have no memory of having written anything.
In cases designated as alternating personality the phys-
ical organism, through speech and conduct, expresses
now one coherent set of ideas and attitudes^ now another,
the two being as different as those of two ordinary mem-
bers of society. Secondly, the "something more" is
believed to be an effective source of knowledge, of wis-
dom, of artistic excellence, of moral reinforcement.
The second consideration is palpably based upon
picked facts. The shallow repetition, the misinformation
and misguidance, the ignorance and stupidity that pro-
ceed from the same source, must be weighed against the
relatively few happy hits. This statement is true of
religious inspirations as it is of spiritism and occultism
generally. It is never difficult to secure the authority of
inspiration for anything that is believed, desired, or
feared, and any sort of stupidity can be thus sanctified.
Mohammed's ability to secure inspirations that assisted
2IO THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
his desires is well known/ All in all, the farther back
we go toward periods confessedly of ignorance and delu-
sion the more clear-cut is the impression of the divinity
as revealing himself by the detached route. In short,
the products of the religious subconscious have multi-
tudinous marks of the primary personalities with which
they have been associated. What we are obviously
dealing with here is the whole human welter of things
wise and things foolish, things known and things guessed
or hoped for, things good, bad, and indifferent. It is
probably our very selves that we give back to ourselves
when we think we are possessed.
The facts of multiple personality do strongly suggest
a detached subconsciousness. Yet even here there is
no such complete break as is popularly supposed. The
secondary personality depends upon and uses the mental
acquisitions of the primary — uses its language, has its
understanding of common sights and sounds, has its
memories as its own. Hence, even if the primary per-
* Guillaume Monod (b. 1800, d. 1896), announcing himself as
Christ, the redeemer of the world, gathered about himself a sect that
looked upon him as a revealer. When some of his predictions failed of
literal fulfilment, he saved his claim by pointing out that biblical pre-
dictions failed in the same sense. Similarly, he found biblical parallels
for his lack of omniscience, for the fact of his human ancestry, his
mortality, and even for a period of insanity. See G. Revault d'Allonnes,
Psychologic d'une Religion (Paris, 1908). Among the writings produced
in the interest of what I venture to call "psychic" theology is a book by
H. C. Stanton that bears the following suggestive title: Telepathy of the
Celestial World. ("Psychic Phenomena here but Foreshadowings of our
transcendent Faculties hereafter. Evidences from Psychology and
Scripture that the Celestials can instantaneously and freely communicate
across distance indefinitely great") (New York, 1913). Chap, iii argues
that the method of communication among the three persons of the god-
head is telepathy.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 211
sonality were totally unable to recall experiences of the
secondary, nevertheless the usual sort of psychic indi-
viduality is here in large measure. But inability to
recall the secondary has been exaggerated. There are
apparently all degrees of memory lapse, not just one
characteristic and complete sort. The popular notion
that h}^notized subjects upon being wakened have no
memory of what has occurred during hypnosis is errone-
ous. Sometimes there is full recall, sometimes partial
recall, sometimes apparently complete amnesia. Even
a subject who declares that he cannot recall anything is
sometimes, at least, mistaken.^ The sundering, in short,
is best interpreted as a phenomenon of attention and
memory. It is a dissociated individual consciousness
with which we are dealing, not two individual conscious-
nesses related by a subconscious bond.
There is no manner of doubt that painstaking analy-
sis of particular cases of the subconscious in religion has
tended with great regularity to transfer more and more
of the mysterious "other" to the account of the ''mine"
or of the ordinary "not mine."^ The particular content
of the inspiration and often the very form of the seizure
* To such a subject I said, "Try hard to remember! Try!" To
which he replied, "I heard something." "What did you hear? Try
to remember!" I said. "I heard music," he answered. Further ques-
tions that gave no suggestions but only helped to hold attention to the
problem elicited a complete account of the hypnotic hallucination.
Here, then, was a subject whose first, positive declaration seemed to
indicate an utter break, whereas the ordinary- bridge between one's
present and one's own past was there. There was the full appearance,
but not the reality, of a detached consciousness.
^ Occasionally something Hke a crucial experiment is made, as when
certain tongue-speakers, believing that their gift prepared them to
preach the Gospel in non-Christian lands without preliminary study
212 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
are parts of some tradition, or group movement, or
individual history, that are reproduced and worked up
by the individual himself in precisely the same sense in
which he reproduces and works up the things that he
more readily recognizes as his own.
The significance of this conclusion for our general
conception of religious consciousness is as follows:
Individual self-consciousness, as we have noted, includes
within itself, even as such, a reference on the one hand
to nature, on the other hand to society. Out of the
relative vagueness of infancy the self grows by defining
itself more sharply in both directions. In the terms of
natural law I recognize a connection, even continuity,
between my very self and my muscles, my brain, my
food, the weather, external nature as a whole. On the
other hand, in terms of ethical regard I recognize con-
nection, even continuity, between my very self and
other selves. Now, the general tendency of religion has
been to interpret what we have come to call ''nature"
in terms of other selves, or, as the case may be, another
self. Yet the evidence, namely, cases of supposed ''pos-
session" and the like, has been undermined by the
increasing definition of our nature-ward connections.
The progress of the natural sciences has involved a
progressive dislodgment of anthropomorphisms of the
^'possession" type, until at last the science of psychology
threatens, to say the least, to give the coup de grace to
the whole idea of "possession."
of the native languages, actually undertook such a preaching mission.
They had a rude disillusionment. See F. G. Henke "The Gift of
Tongues and Related Phenomena at the Present Day," American
Journal of Theology, XIII (1909), 205 f.
RELIGION AND THE SUBCONSCIOUS 213
Yet man is fundamentally social, and religion is,
all in all, his most considerable attempt to express this
side of his nature. There is a certain social insistence
even in the idea of ''possession" and in anthropo-
morphism as a whole. At some points, however, social
insistence focalizes at the opposite pole, namely, where
selves are most clearly individual and most clearly
related to one another — where human wills clash, and
problems of righteousness and mercy arise. The most
potent single influence in this direction, the life and
teachings of Jesus, sprang directly out of religion under
the pressure of adversity. It was the manward bond,
not the natureward bond, that controlled his thinking.
This ethical tendency has been reinforced in our Western
world by the pressure of the sciences against other
things upon which religion had relied. Christians find
themselves more and more obliged to fall back upon
their ancient doctrine that "He that abide th in love
abide th in God, and God abide th in him." That is,
religious experience tends to focalize itself where indi-
viduality is most pronounced, not at its obscure outer
edges; where self-control is at its maximum, not its
minimum; where the issues are those of society as a
deliberative (or potentially deliberative) body.
True, our very selves are enmeshed in the mechanism
of nature as well as in other selves. The growth of
culture makes men more and more acutely conscious of
this bi-polarity, more certain of a deep contrast between
the ethical regard for persons by which we define our-
selves as members of society and the impersonal dia-
grams by means of which the sciences describe the order
of nature — an order that is within each of us as well as
214 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
round about us. The more poignantly we realize this
cleft within our very selfhood the more does it appear
that the problem of social living does of itself lead on
to the question of a possible unity or reconciliation
between the natural and the social. To this problem
our discussion of the subconscious contributes a single
item, to wit: There is no probability that the cleft can
be filled up or bridged over by the h^-pothesis of beings
or processes intermediate between individual selves and
nature, or by psychic processes of a subsocial sort.
CHAPTER XIII
THE RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES
That the notion of evolution applies to all human
experience, religious experience included, has been as-
sumed in the preceding chapters as a matter of course.
Some particular applications of this assumption must
now be examined. Since any general law is a description
of observed facts, we are not to assume that laws of
evolution based exclusively upon experience other than
the religious must be adequate to express also the facts
of the evolution of religion. Rather, we must first
observe the facts, and then ask in what sense or manner
an evolution here occurs.
The distinction between mental structure and mental
function leads, in fact, to a peculiar and neglected prob-
lem concerning the evolution of the human mind. If we
were to think of this evolution in an exclusively struc-
tural sense, we might figure the totality of mental
process as the movement of a set of blocks with which a
child is playing. At first the blocks are merely shuffled
about; then simple structures appear, such as one block
placed upon another; afterward there are more com-
plicated structures, in which one part corresponds to or
depends upon another, as towers, houses, and bridges.
From a purely structural standpoint these results, one
and all, consist in growingly complex rearrangements of
blocks, each of which has a predetermined size and shape.
Now, it is true that in the most elaborate human mind
215
2i6 THE rSYCIlOLOGY OF RELIGION
we can discern the very elements that appear in primitive
human reactions and in our animal ancestors, such as
sensations of the various kinds, and instinctive tenden-
cies to action, with their correlative satisfactions and
dissatisfactions.
This point of view gives rise to the doctrine that,
just as the child's blocks are unchangeable, so human
nature is everywhere and always the same. Note,
however, that this doctrine, in its most common appli-
cation, concerns human motives. Underneath our most
civilized and ideal undertakings, it is said, are the old,
fundamental desires that we share with the savage and
with the brute. But this statement involves a shift
from structure to function, or else confusion between
the two standpoints. Most often it is confusion that
we meet in declarations of the unchangeability of human
nature. For the assertion that developed mind likes
and dislikes the very same objects that primitive mind
likes and dislikes would be prima facie false — we are too
obviously endeavoring to make ourselves unlike savages
in matters of taste!
How, then, is it that we who pride ourselves on our
unlikeness to the savage nevertheless assert that our
nature is identical with his ? The most common way is
this: We invent the notion of generalized desires, saying
that in spite of specific differences there is generic iden-
tity, and then we identify these generalia with the
specific instinctive desires that first appear in evolution.
Thus it is that the fundamental and all-inclusive motives
are said to be those of nutrition and sex. Here we first
look for the truly real, just as many mediaeval philoso-
phers did, in the general or class notion; but we then
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 217
proceed to identify this *' truly real" with a particular
instance of it. We pick out these two instincts for this
honor because we are under the influence of a popular
evolutionism that naively regards the early members of
an evolutionary series as somehow more significant than
the later members.
We fall into this logical quagmire partly because we
do not clearly distinguish between the evolution of
structure and the evolution of function. We may prop-
erly speak of an evolution of mental functions because
preferences actually change. Human development does
not consist merely in finding new varieties of food with
which to satisfy primordial appetites, but also in achiev-
ing new wants, genuinely new wants. The possibility of
classifying a new want under some general notion that
includes bid wants does not in the least imply that the
new is not really different from the old. Such classifica-
tions, however, do suggest the possibility of finding laws
of functional change.^
^ Freud's psycho-analysis, when it undertakes to dissect the mental
life of ordinarily healthy individuals, appears to assume that the real
motive is always the crudest that the situation permits us to suspect, the
one most nearly corresponding to savage or animal or pre-moral conduct.
As Morton Prince has pointed out {The Unconscious, pp. 214 fif.), where
any one of several possible motives may be present, Freud picks out
one on the basis of theory alone and declares it to be the actual one.
This opens the way to amazingly arbitrary interpretations of conduct.
Why did I forget my umbrella when I left my physician's office ? Be-
cause I had a secret wish, all unknown to myself, to remain and to return
soon {Psycho pathology of Everyday Life [New York, 19 14], p. 239, note).
Why did I hand the beggar a gold piece when I intended to give him
only a copper coin? This was not mere carelessness or preoccupation;
no, unknown to myself I wished to perform an act of sacrifice to mollify
fate or avert evil {ibid., p. 192)! Upon such interpretations there is no
check whatever, once the point of view and the method are accepted;
2i8 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
The proposition that human nature changes, or that
desires and motives become in the strictest sense different
from those of our ancestors — the proposition, in short,
that human functions evolve — meets another obstacle
in a habit that grew up when the doctrine of evolution
had to win its way by debate. A moment's reflection
upon the notion of evolution will show that it implies
change as well as continuity, and that change is not
accessory to continuity but as fundamental, as real, as
continuity itself. Yet change has received far less
attention. The opponents of Darwinism, though they
did not accept the idea of universal movement in nature,
were entirely certain of immense differences, which were
construed as breaks. In the early days the argument
for evolution had as a chief task to prove that these
apparent breaks are not breaks after all. The great
point to be established was continuity of life. When
Darwin undertook in The Descent of Man to show that
the human mind is derived, along with the body, from
animal ancestors, he addressed himself to likenesses be-
tween the human and the subhuman mind. To fill in the
apparent gaps and thus demonstrate continuity became
the distinguishing enterprise of evolutionary psychology.
Theological prejudice, pride of species, and actual de-
fects of data all had to be overcome. Thus it is that
''mental evolution" came to be habitually thought of
as *' mental continuity," whereas difference and change,
there is nothing here to distinguish psychology from psychological
mythology. Many Freudian analyses may be, as a matter of fact,
correct; help may be brought to disordered minds by means of analyses
both correct and incorrect. The point is that the system carmot dis-
criminate, by means of its own principles, between actual motives and
fancied ones.
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 219
which are just as fundamental, have remained in a sort
of hazy background. We know far better what we have
in common with brutes and savages than what it is that
separates us from them.
The most obvious continuities in mental evolution
are those of structure. By taking to pieces even as
exalted a mental product as a poem or a mathematical
discovery we can prove that it contains primitive ele-
ments. What more natural, then, than to think of
minds as differing simply in degrees of complication
among elements that, like a child's blocks, are unchange-
able ? But, even apart from difficulties inherent in the
notion of mental ''elements," there are reasons why an
exclusively structural view of mental evolution cannot
be sufficient. For changes have to be thought of in
some sort of dynamic terms. Mental changes imply,
prima facie, some doctrine of mental dynamics. This
prima facie necessity is reinforced by considerations that
concern the influence of mind in the struggle for existence
and for better existence. If mind is a favorable variation
in the total vital process it is because mind, as such, does
something and is going somewhere — it has specific func-
tions of its own. What happens depends in some measure
upon what is desired.
As the clearest continuities in mental evolution are
those of structure, so the clearest changes are those of
function. On the functional side, too, there is continuity;
our desires have much in common with earlier orders of
life. Yet desires change; there is an evolution of func-
tions. If this is denied by the doctrine that human
nature is always the same, the denial rests upon con-
fusion of problems or upon inadequacy of data. The
2 20 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
man who utters this doctrine would regard it as a horrible
fate if his own capacity for desiring and enjoying were
to be limited for the rest of his life to that of a savage.
A scientiiic challenge of the popular doctrine of the
fixity of human nature has come from at least three
writers. In an article already referred to Love joy shows
that, as a matter of fact, self-consciousness brings new
desires. Henry Rutgers Marshall, examining the as-
sumption that, since war is an expression of human
nature, we must expect the indefinite recurrence of
tragedies like that which now shakes the world, argues
that desires have already changed in humanitarian direc-
tions to such a degree that the doctrine of the unchange-
ability of human nature is simply contrary to fact.*
Thorndike's minute analysis of the original tendencies
of human nature reveals not only this and that readiness
to respond to a particular stimulus, but also tendencies
to deal with the response itself.^ In this dealing with
his own responses man reconstructs his wants and
acquires a new nature. Thorndike's statement of this
point is as follows:
The original tendencies of man have not been right, are not
right, and probably never will be right. By them alone few of
the best wants in human life would have been felt, and fewer
still satisfied Original nature has achieved what goodness
the world knows as a state achieves order — by killing, confining,
or reforming some of its elements. It progresses, not by laissez-
faire, but by changing the environment in which it operates and
by renewedly changing itself in each generation. Man is now
as civilized, rational, and human as he is because man in the past
has changed things into shapes more satisfying, and changed
' War and the Ideal of Peace (New York, 19 15).
' Original Nature of Man (New York, 1913), p. 170.
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 221
parts of his own nature into traits more satisfying, to man as a
whole. Man is thus eternally altering himself to suit himself.
His nature is not right in his own eyes. Only one thing in it,
indeed, is unreservedly good, the power to make it better.'
Mental functions evolve, then, and the tendency to
functional as well as structural evolution is a part of
man's original nature. This phase of evolution is, on the
one hand, mind's increasing discovery of what it wants
to do, and therefore of what mind really is. On the other
hand, this discovery goes forward through conflict with
what we are. Purposes,, as contrasted with impulses,
and the increasing organization of life through ideas,
are achievements. They require the redirection of old
desires, and redirection involves resistance. You can-
not make a river grind wheat until you check the cur-
rent in so hie measure. Human nature, then, is not
merely a current that flows by reason of the law of
gravity; it has also the peculiar property of resisting
and redirecting its own flow. If, now, we could deter-
mine what is resisted, and what is the direction of these
redirections, we should thereby formulate laws of func-
tional evolution. In the nature of the case such laws
could not be deduced by analysis of primitive mind
alone; the whole cultural history of mankind also would
have to be surveyed.^
' Pp. 281 f.
' Possibly the question will be raised whether my use of the terms
"evolution" and "development" is accurate. Should not both terms
be restricted to structural changes? And is not "growth" the proper
term for what I have called evolution of functions ? In reply I would
point out the following facts: (i) The idea and the term "function" play
such an extensive part in biology that we may reasonably doubt whether
anybody would be satisfied by a description of evolutionary changes in
purely structural terms. Functions, as biologists see them, certainly
22 2 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
The bearing of all this upon the psychology of religion
is direct. For the points at which the sharpest conflicts
occur between new functions and old are the points at
which religious consciousness is most acute. Here the
religious experience itself is a revaluation of values, a
reconstruction of life's enterprise, a change in desire and
in the ends of conduct. Consider the evolutionary sig-
nificance of prophetism of the ethical type. The prophet
calls upon the people to like what they do not like, and
in the long run he makes them do it. His own generation
evolve. (2) The inclusion of mental functions within the concept of
evolution was accomplished long ago in the recognition of mind as a
favorable variation. (3) Whether mental functions, thus included in
the concept of evolution, are all of a kind, or whether there are several
kinds; and if there are several, whether they all appear at a single point
(remaining thereafter a constant) or whether they appear successively —
these questions must be determined by empirical inquiry. (4) Such
inquiry must include among its data the manifestations of mind in the
cultural history of man. To stop where biolog>' leaves off would be an
arbitrary procedure, and it would settle important questions by an
a priori rather than an empirical method. (5) The evolutionary process
might conceivably be or become self-guiding in part or in whole. The
human species may yet deliberately control human reproduction so as
to select, by thought analysis, the variations that are to be perpetuated
and accumulated. In such a case a new desire would appear, a new
mental function which would in some measure displace natural selection.
A eugenist who employs argument as a means of producing a better
species should be the last person to question the proposition that mental
functions change, and that the term "evolution" appUes in the strictest
sense to such changes. (6) It follows that the cultural heritage of the
race may be more than an accumulation of instruments organized and
directed by merely primordial impulses. As a matter of fact, education
aims, as Thorndike points out, "to make men want the right things
We have to make use of nature, to co-operate with each other, and to
improve ourselves" {Education [New York, 1912], p. 11). Education is
always selective. It never seeks to transmit the whole present social
purpose, but only certain parts of it that are regarded as worthy of being
strengthened as against other parts. Therefore the cultural history of
the race is not a record of "growth" merely, but also of changes in the
directions taken by the whole racial movement. The appropriate
designation for such changes seems to be "the evolution of functions."
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 223
may stone him, but a later one builds him a monument.
The prophetic spirit, in both the leader and the led, is
the human spirit attempting the hard thing where the
easy thing might seem to suffice. In the Jewish-
Christian form prophetism ''takes trouble" about the
oppressed, when this means loss of profits. Men are
attracted, in spite of themselves, toward a vision of
brotherhood that will take away many a hard-won
social advantage. They accept a social-ethical thought
of God that causes discomfort to those who seriously
entertain it, for it makes them condemn themselves.
But men must like even this; else would they not build
monuments to the prophets!
Our discussion of religious groups and of religious
leadership shows that in much religion the prophetic
spirit is not clearly in evidence. Yet the extent of it is
by no means small. Where is there an instance of a
religious leader whom the world calls great who has
achieved his influence with the people by maintaining
existing standards, much less by lowering them ? Cer-
tainly Zarathustra, Gautama, Jesus, and Mohammed
were reformers of standards. Every one of them took
the harder road, every one of them was attractive to
men because of the very thing that made the road hard.'
^ A fine example of the process may be found in the earliest Gathas
or hymns of Zoroastrianism. Zarathustra the prophet feels himself
called to deliver to the people ("the kine") a message which he realizes
will go against their inclinations. The content of this message brings
together the following ideas: economic needs; protection from enemies;
the sin of shirking work; the sin of lying; free choice between good and
evil, and the determination of destiny by such choices; the duty of
joining with the god of light and truth, Ahura Mazda, in his contest
with Ahriman, the spirit of evil; dear recognition that this contest be-
tween good and evil exists also within ourselves; the ultimate overthrow
2 24 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
An oft-repeated phenomenon of the prophetic conscious-
ness is shrinking in the presence of an overwhelming
task.' But afterward the prophet is sustained by the
very greatness of his cause.
At points like these mental evolution is not motion
in the line of least resistance; it is the evocation of
resistance; it is the creation of problems and of difficul-
ties— it is the clearest sort of creative evolution.*
of Ahriman and the triumph of the good. Here we behold ethical
idealism growing out of the soil of daily labor — idealism that requires
self-conquest and preference for the hard task, yes, participation in an
undertaking of cosmic import. See Sacred Books of the East, XXXI, 1-90.
^ "Ah, Lord Jahwe! behold, I know not how to speak; for I am a
child," pleads Jeremiah (Jer. 1:6), and Isaiah cries, "Woe is me! for I
am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the
midst of a people of unclean lips" (Isa. 6:5).
^ To a rather surprising extent the founders of minor religions and
of sects, as well as the great founders and prophets, get their influence
with the people by giving them something harder to do. Alongside of
insistence upon a particular dogma, form of worship, or mode of ecclesi-
astical government, even alongside of desire for health, or for wealth,
or for social recognition and power, we find self-denial, ethical austerity,
a fine growth of gentleness and of mercy that cost self-discipline. A
good recent example is John Alexander Dowie. He was a healer, a
dogmatist, a shrewd organizer of a great economic enterprise. Yet
I have heard him preach ethical standards with definiteness and power
such as I have rarely witnessed in the sermons of other preachers. It
was apparently the aspiring, self-overcoming factors in his movement
that gave it a chief part of its power with people.
A similar remark applies to Mrs. Eddy, though with modifications.
To the question. Why do so many persons follow Christian Science?
the usual answer is that desire for health is the essential motive power
of the whole movement. Another motive, no doubt, is desire for peace of
mind in a restless age. But discipleship requires also a sort of daring, a
letting go of old supports (whether drugs or public sentiment), and no
little self-discipline. It is almost inconceivable that Mrs. Eddy could
have attained her remarkable influence by her healings and her mental
anod>Ties alone. There had to be the self-overcoming element also.
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 225
The obverse of the prophetic spirit is the sense of sin
in the stricter meaning of this term, that is, disapproval
of one's self in the light of a law or of a divine command
that one freely approves. Paul's classical description
represents it as disapproval of and struggle against the
very thing that one likes. This should be distinguished
from the so-called ^' sense of sin" that consists essentially
in discomfort in the presence of something that one wants
to escape. In Paul's case the sinner desires to cling to
the very standard that causes the distress.
One sometimes hears the statement that the sense
of sin is a universal mark of religion. This is not true
unless "sin" be taken very broadly, as is done in trans-
lations of -early religious literature that use this term for
such things as offending an arbitrary god whom one
scarcely loves or admires or approves at all. The
offense called sin may even be accidental. The term
''sin" is used, likewise, to name violations of a cere-
monial code, as by entering a holy place, or by touching
a tabooed object. Here the ''sense of sin" is little more
than fear of approaching calamity, and "repentance"
is a sort of running to cover. The worth- whileness of
the divine will or of the law that makes the trouble is
scarcely considered at all, but rather avoidance of the
trouble.
Yet even these crude fears, by virtue of their an-
thropomorphism, their sympathy with the offended
spirit or god, contain the germ of a more exalted experi-
ence of sin and repentance. It is remarkable to see
the sinner exalting the moral character of the offended
divinity, and then taking his side, as in the Fifty-first
Psalm. Here is actual desire that the god's point of
2 26 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
view, which condemns and gives pain, should prevaiL
Then comes a realization that human nature requires
reconstruction. This idea, already present in the great
psalm of penitence, reaches its classical expression in
the cry of Paul, ''What I hate, that I do
Wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me out of
this body of death ?" Theoretical interest in this
phenomenon turned, unfortunately, to the problem of
the origin and the mode of transmission of "original
sin." Men fought over the relation of it to Adam, but
they failed to see that human nature's recognition of its
own defects, wherever this recognition occurs, is part
of a reconstructive process that has already set in, a
y ' part of the evolution of mental functions.
In our day the sense of sin has become, in an appre-
ciable degree, a realization on the part of individuals
that they participate in a social order that is in large
measure unjust. Looking backward to Jesus' ideal of a
loving society — a divine-human family — and then at the
ways in which contemporary society prevents men from
learning to love one another, and at the actual exploita-
tion of men, women, and children — body and soul — for
profit, many a Christian has come to realize that salva-
tion cannot consist for any of us in establishing a private
relation of harmony with God. Our sinfulness is con-
joint, co-operative, and our salvation accordingly must
be wrought out in a reconstruction of society. We are
in the act of achieving a social conscience by revaluation
of our values.
A little way back a hint was given that by comparing
new wants with old we might conceivably discover laws
of the functional evolution of mind. Certainly some of
RELIGIOUS REVALUATION OF VALUES 227
the differences between the wants of civilized men and
those of savages can be defined. Aesthetic wants, for
example, have disengaged themselves from the primitive
utilities that gave them their first sustenance. Likewise,
desire for knowledge has been enfranchised, for learning
does not have to prove its usefulness. We express this
by saying that beauty and truth are valuable in them-
selves. This is as much as to say that over and above
appetite, above all that is unreflectively instinctive, we
have acquired wants that utter themselves in free
contemplation, reflection, and judgment. This is what
makes us persons — this achieving of some freedom
from our impulsive selves which is also a demand for
new and larger self-realizations. Men are most clearly
conscious of the process in the form of ethical conflict
and achievement — the overcoming of hatred and of
indifference toward one another, and the displacement
of compulsion by reflective loyalty and love.
Here are traces of a law of the functional evolution of
mind. The relation of religion to it is most intimate.
The connecting thread between primitive religion and
the religions that are counted as developed is the
anthropomorphism that begins by peopling everything
with friends and enemies, and culminates in faith that
at the heart of things, as at our hearts, there is regard
for persons. Therefore our preliminary description of
the religious consciousness as the effort to complete,
unify, and conserve our values may now be rendered
more precise by noting that, though this effort takes
many forms, even conflicting forms, there is a charac-
teristically religious way of choosing between them.
Religion is, indeed, insistence upon having enough of
228 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
what is desired, but it is also criticism of desires. Revalu-
ation of values, it is true, is not equally present every-
where in religion, nor does revaluation anywhere advance
with even pace. Yet this is the function that character-
izes the confessedly great turning-points of religious
consciousness in individuals and in groups, and the
direction of this revaluation, its central tendency, is
toward the placing of increased value upon persons.
''What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole
world, and lose his own life ?'' The reverse side of this \
valuation of persons is valuation of society, which is the '
organized regard of persons for one another.
The conclusion, thus far, is this: Mental functions
are in process of evolution. The law of this evolution
is that wants are reintegrated in terms of personal-social
self-realization. This law is most acutely revealed in
the religious revaluation of values that is character-
istic of prophecy, the sense of sin, the attribution of
ethical character to God, the hope of life after death, and
faith in the possibility of a fully socialized society.
CHAPTER XIV
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY
We have taken as the most significant mark in
religion — at least the most interesting for us — a certain
aspect, tendency, and process of values and valuations.
When we speak of this as religious experience we assume
that here, as in other types of experience, some sort of
reality reveals itself as present, that some phase of the
real world Is here and now becoming defined. Religion
is realization.
This proposition brings us to a new set of problems.
What they are will become clear if we reckon first of all
with a misunderstanding. The standpoint of function
or value is supposed by some persons to reduce the whole
of religious experience to mere subjectivity. ''When
you make the essence of this experience desire, attitude-
taking, enterprise, values," the objector says in sub-
stance, ''you make it appear that the reality of any
object — divine beings, for example — is a matter of reli-
gious indifference, whereas interest in the objectively
real lies at the heart of religion." It must be confessed
that functions and values have been handled by some
writers in such a manner as to give prima facie ground
for this objection. It does not hold, however, against
the value standpoint as such, but only against a particu-
lar interpretation of it.
If reality were discovered and defined altogether by
some non-valuational process — as, for instance, by a
229
230 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
supposed ''pure" reason or by a supposed "pure"
empirical science — and if religion were merely a con-
sciousness of getting along with realities thus known,
merely a set of satisfactions arising in situations ante-
cedently given, then, indeed, religious self-realization
would be a subjective shadow or epiphenomenon — what-
ever this may be. But no one who is familiar with the
main lines of psychological progress needs to be told
that any such notion of the cognitive process is archaic.
Psychology knows no "pure" reason and no "pure"
science. Intellectualism, whether a priori or empirical,
has been replaced by dynamic views of the whole mental
life. Mind in its actuality is interest, satisfaction-
dissatisfaction, desire, action, enterprise, as well as idea,
memory, judgment, and thought system. Neither mere
facts nor mere values are found among our data. On
the idea side every datum includes attention, which is
selective. Thinking includes a "will-to-think." Obser-
vation attends to "this-rather-than-that," and "takes-it-
as-so-and-so." On the other hand, we have no such
value datum as "satisfaction-in-general" or "as-such."
A value is a discriminated satisfaction taken as a mark of
an object. Thus, on the one hand, cognition is no mere
mirroring of the "is-ness" of things, and, on the other
hand, the inner world of desire and action does not whirl
upon a merely subjective axis. Desire, attitude- taking,
and enterprise, whether religious or other, are at the
same time idea, thought-organization, and discovery of
the real. For reasons of convenience we abstract now
one aspect of mind, now another, as the idea aspect
(intellect) and the action aspect (will); but if we then
go on to treat any such aspect as if it were a thing, or
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 231
even as if it were a datum rather than a derivative from
a datum, we begin at once to move in a fog.
This dynamic conception of mind, necessitated by
analysis of particular processes, is reinforced by more
general considerations that are involved in the evolu-
tionary, natural-history point of view. Mind lies for
us wholly within the objectively real world-order called
Nature — not partly within and partly without. Mental
process is process of the real in relation to the real. This
we may safely take as an axiom of present-day science,
even though the implications of the axiom be not yet
fully defined.^
^Our hesitation with regard to this point — for the sciences are
nowhere more cautious — is not due to lack of affirmative grounds for
regarding mind as a real part of nature dynamically considered, but to
foresight of difificulties in applying the notion. We are cautious about a
possible return toward animism, for instance. Nevertheless, the most
complete and penetrating critique of the mind-body relation thus far
vouchsafed — W. McDougall's. Body and Mind (New York, 1913) —
accepts the doctrine of real interaction. Biolog>' hesitates to admit
among the real factors in evolution anything not involved in the sim-
plest possible notion of living body, but at the same time the obvious
continuity of biology and psychology acts as a constant pressure toward
the inclusion of mind within biological dynamics. The general situation
may be described as follows: first, the hypothesis that getting what we
want is in no sense due to the fact that we want it is so rash that scarcely
anybody is willing to adopt it; secondly, we have a science of ps}'chology
that is objective in the same sense as other sciences (that is, it is based
upon observations and experiments that can be repeated and thus be-
come a common possession); thirdly, the facts with which psychology
deals are obviously continuous, in some sense or other, \vith the facts
of other sciences, especially the biological sciences; fourthly, psychology
is increasing our control of nature in many directions, as in education,
therapeutics, and even business; fifthly, we are increasingly aware of
the historical significance of social experience. But, finally, we do not
see how to relate any imponderable psychical realities to our supposedly
closed and self-conserving physical system, and, besides, we fear a
return to speculative and imaginative interpretations of experience.
On the whole, however, mind takes its place in our scientific conceptions
of nature, leaving us the task of working out details as best we may.
232 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Adding to this axiom what has already been said
concerning the relation between facts and values, we
shall now take mind as the name of a real ongoing, a
real doing, that is attaining to definition of both itself
and its world. It reaches this twofold definition in one
and the same process. Self-realization and world-
^\ realization are correlative phases of the same experience.
The question — so often puzzling to students — of how
we get from our own minds to objective reality is to be
answered by denying the presupposition of the ques-
tioner. The mind lives, moves, and has its being within
reality; it is reality. What it moves from in the progress
of knowledge is not mere subjectivity, but reality in-
definitely or confusedly aware of itself and its environ-
ment, and what it moves toward is clearer definition of
both, with corresponding focalization of functions.
This general conception of mind applies to religious
functions exactly as to others. Like commerce, govern-
ment, or education, religion is a process in which the
real produces definition of itself. Each of these phases
of life is enterprise and discovery in one; each uses
ideas derived from all sorts of sources, but in using them
modifies them; and, just as each draws from many
sources, so each contributes widely in turn. This is
obviously the case in regard to early society, where
religion is inextricably intertwined with ceremony, myth,
industry, social organization, and ethical standards.
A parallel relation appears in the historical connection
between theology and philosophy, and between religion
and morals. Religion is never merely an ''aside"; it is
a "live issue"; and the liveness of it is manifested, not
merely in those who are recognized as devotees, but also
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 233
in culture generally — in the literature, the plastic arts,
the wo rid- view, the moral ideals, of a people. One cannot
write a truly realistic history of mind without recognizing
the religious enterprise as a fundamental factor therein.
If at the present moment the work of discovery seems
to be a monopoly of the sciences, the reason is not that
any actual monopoly exists, but only that attention
for the moment happens, because of certain historical
incidents, to be focused upon scientific processes and
products. Mind as a whole is enterprise, and enterprise
is discovery. The sciences are a part of this enterprise,
and they do experimentally uncover fresh data; but
they also accept, and work within, data uncovered by
interests other than scientific. Valuational changes that
are going on even in this day of ours are transforming
the very foundations of much scientific thought. For
the real world of the modern man is nature plus society, ^
and society is discovering itself, not chiefly through the
scientific enterprise, but in other ways. The conditions
of modern life — industrial, civic, educational — have
caused us to feel the presence of one another in new and
acute ways. Again and again, when we have assumed
that the mechanism of an enterprise included all its
essential factors, we have found ourselves checked by
the personal element- Pausing to analyze this personal
element in order to control it, we have come to value
persons in a new way, whereupon the enterprise has
changed its character. For example, we decide to apply
efficiency tests in a factory. At the outset we assume
that labor is simply so much power to be directed, and
we think of it as continuous with the power of our steam
engines. But sooner or later we discover that *' labor''
234 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
means persons who must be reckoned with as something
other than a part of the machinery. Humanitarian
ideas then seep into the ledger and the b'dance sheet.
If at first we justify humanitarianism in business on the
ground of selfish profit-seeking, later we become ashamed
of this narrowness; we feel a presence greater than the
data of our fiscal calculations, and through this feeling
the horizon of our enterprise, and therefore the horizon
of our real world, moves outward.
The modern recognition of persons, which is dis-
covery, affects our thinking in ways as profound as they
are subtle. We have a new interest in certain facts — ^nay,
that we discover them as facts at all is because interest
runs that way. Points of view are shifted toward social
values in whole ranges of investigation — in history,
economics, psychology, general logic, or theory of the
sciences, for example. Hence whole bodies of particular
discoveries are suffused by an antecedent sense of reality
which arises in our social valuations, our fresh regard
for others.
Let us not conceal this factor in discovery by mis-
construing the significance of ''points of view," as, for
instance, the social. They are general determinants of
the sphere or phase of reality with which a particular
science deals. When, for example, the sciences under-
take to analyze experience from the point of view of
phenomena only, they take the perceptual process as real.
A generation ago many a man of science dreamed that
by defining the sphere of the natural and physical
sciences as phenomena in contrast to reality we should
at last escape the entanglements of metaphysics. But
phenomenalism in science does not escape the problem
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 235
of the real; rather, it makes acute the question of what
we mean by a perceptual process really occurring. So
the growth of social "points of view" in the sciences
connotes a movement in our sense of reality; it means
that a new recognition of persons is finding scientific
ways of expressing and of feeding itself. Thus a fresh
feeling of social values blends with the special sciences
in the discovery of man.
It is thus that religion is discovery. It does not,
indeed, establish any body of doctrine that is immune
to the ordinary norms of judgment; rather, it is a root
that goes on living when criticism withers our systems
of doctrine. Religion survives religious doctrines because
the adventure of life is large, and because in its very
largeness as adventure it is an original acquaintance
with the real. This assertion rests for the most part
upon general considerations, just stated, concerning the
nature of mind. But we must not stop with anything
so general. We must go on to answer two questions of
an entirely specific sort: What kind or phase of reality
is coming to light in the religious consciousness ? and,
What is this "coming to light" that is so different from
rational criticism ? In other words, what is the content,
and what the process, of religious realization ? The
second of these questions will occupy the next chapter.
We have seen that all sorts of wants appear as
religious at some time or other, but we have seen also
that religion is a law of mental evolution, in accordance
with which wants tend to be reintegrated in terms of
personal-social self-realization. This reintegration, we
shall now see, is the discovery of society. In the strict
sense of the term, "society" means, not any and every
\
y
236 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
aggregation of individuals, not mutual dependence as
such, but consciousness of one another as individuals
having worth in themselves because having experi-
ences of their own. Society is a reciprocal attribution
of value to *'I's" and *'thou's"; it is a matter of per-
sons. Now, in all strictness and literalness, persons
are a gradual discovery in the course of human history.
At the totemic level, the bond that men feel uniting
the group is bodied forth to thought as an animal,
a plant, or other object that to us is non-human. The
totem object is sacred, has value in itself, but no
like value is attributed to men. The ceremony is per-
formed with a punctiliousness that is genuinely con-
scientious, yet conscience requires no similar respect for
the feelings of one's fellows. Instinctive affection of
parent for child is here, of course, and gregariousness or
pleasure in the presence of others. These are partly
offset, however, by what seems from our point of view
to be extreme callousness, not only toward strangers,
but even toward one's own flesh and blood. As to
rudimentary social organizations, we have seen that
though men *'hang together" in groups that have some
firmness, the cohesive principle is not feeling for the
worth of the individuals who compose the group. ^ The
sacredness of life, the rights of man, the immeasurable
worth of the individual, are ideas not yet achieved,
though the instinctive energy for this achievement be
present. Such convictions arise — are now in our day
arising — in and through fresh feelings that accompany
growing and changing contacts of men with one
another.
*See p. 125.
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 237
The gradualness of the discovery of man by man is
often concealed from us by the tools with which we
study the past. Such terms as ^'person," '' individual,""
*' family/' ^'society/' "co-operation," which derive their
connotation from our relatively advanced life, have to
be used to describe a period to which such connotations
do not apply. It is a mistake to assume that even as
instinctive a thing as parental affection is the same at
all stages of human evolution. It cannot be the same
if parental notions of children's capacities change, as we
know they have changed. In social evolution, not only
does the range of acquaintance and of co-operation
increase, but what men are to one another — the very
concept of man — likewise changes. To revert to a
typical fact already mentioned, the change from tribal
to national organization included revision of the notion
of justice, which is the notion of man. In the figure of
the ideal monarch, and in that of the national god, we
behold a fresh step in men's discovery of one another.
The anthropomorphism of early thought, and the
dissolution of it by criticism, are sometimes interpreted
as a movement from a personal to an impersonal point
of view. But this is less than half the truth. The
earliest worship is not directed to personal gods. Mana
is not an individual at all; early spirits are as un-
stable as mists that appear to gather from nowhere
and to disperse into emptiness; even when a divine
name first becomes a firm possession, it signifies no
firmly organized divine personality, but rather some-
thing that may be on occasion a man, a sacrificial animal,
a great spirit, a nature-power. The personal god, the
correlative of personal as distinguished from institutional
238 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
religion, is a late arrivaL Men must think of themselves
as persons if they are to have a personal god, and they
think of themselves as persons only when they both
individualize one another and think of the other's
experience as having value in itself. Only a personal
god, we may say, is fully anthropomorphic. In this
sense the movement of religion, in most areas, has been
toward rather than away from anthropomorphism.
Wherever such a god is worshiped, there the discovery
of human persons and of human society is well advanced.
It is true that religious institutions have practiced
toward persons all manner of cruelty, repression, and
disrespect. But the severest condemnation therefor
springs from the lips of prophets who speak for a personal
god. Such prophets feel that spiritual values — that is,
persons — are values from no mere angle of approach, or
particular position in time, but in some final, eternal,
and cosmic sense.
It is true, also, that religious thought in one great
branch of the race has issued in the doctrine of an
impersonal ground of the world. How, it may be asked,
can this prominent fact of religious evolution be recon-
ciled with the identification, just now made, of the inner
principle of religion with that of the discovery of persons ?
For answer, four facts and phases of the situation in
India may be noted: First, her religious philosophies
do not define the popular religion. The people worship
gods who have definite characteristics, good and bad.
Secondly, the motive of these philosophies does grow
out of an increasing sense of personality — the mind
thrown back upon itself by the pain and mystery of life.
The reason why a solution of the problem was sought
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 239
in an impersonal absolute, with the practical corollary
of the extinction of personality, is that the social sig-
nificance of persons was missed at the outset. Society,
and society only, is the sphere of personal self-realization.
When, therefore, the Brahmin thinks to discover the
real world by introversion, ignoring the social reality
that is immediately before him, he excludes from his
data the only experience that can sustain his sense of
his own reality. Philosophical Brahmanism and Bud-
dhism are less a development of religion than a sort of
self-suffocation. Thirdly, it is the Brahmin's non-social
point of view that leads to his doctrine of maya, which
asserts that the whole finite world is an illusion. As
social participation in one another's experiences is the
only corrective for dreams, so also it is the only sure
bridge between the abstracta of reflection and the con-
crete world-order. Knowledge is co-operation. Science
knows no private fact, no unshared truth. It is in
society that real objectivity arises and has its meaning.
Where there are no social purposes to be achieved, there
no stable meanings exist. Does our Western world
realize how closely its superior objectivity of mind,
which makes possible its success in research, is bound
up with our occidental sense of the reality of persons ?
Fourthly, no doubt India's backwardness in practical
matters that concern co-operation and social justice is
due in part to the fact that her thinkers, from whom
social leadership might have been expected, have com-
mitted themselves to a non-social view of individual
experience.
In view of these four considerations, we shall not be
indulging in arbitrary or subjective criticism if we con-
240 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
elude that the whole situation as respects philosophical
Brahniinism and Buddhism presents an arrest rather
than anything that is typical of religion as such. All
in all, the evolution of religion is to be witnessed where
social integration is proceeding, most of all where custom
is becoming reflective loyalty, where loyalty is coming
to understand itself as love (which particularizes indi-
viduals), and where love asserts itself as demand for
justice (which is the recognition of persons as finalities
for thought and action). Religion is the discovery of
persons.
Those who say that the present social movement is
essentially religious are following the only adequate clue
to the repentance-and-conversion process that has set
in on so large a scale. Yet some distinctions are in order.
It will not do to identify all sociality with religion — for
instance, sociality so instinctive or so mechanized as not
to feel the reality of persons. Further, the very point
of religion at a given historical period may lie in the
opposition of a fuller toward a less full realization of
society. At the present moment in the western world
the glow of religion is found in our sociality chiefly when
it becomes radical, so radical as to accept the principle
of justice as unqualifiedly valid. Social wholeness or
health, under unqualified justice, requires that the utmost
value that individuals attribute to one another shall be
realizable by them. There are, to be sure, social enter-
prises of great worth that properly ignore the question,
What would satisfy the reciprocal good-will of men
toward one another? But this is precisely the sort of
question that religion insists upon facing. As a result
it finds itself in the profoundest discontent with things
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 241
as they are. The discovery by Christians that to love
enough we must he just, and the corresponding trans-
formation in their thought of God, leads on toward
most radical demands. Justice cannot measure welfare
by averages; it cannot forget, as science often must,
the individual in the general. A fully socialized religion,
which is none other than religion, is therefore the most
dangerous thing in the world for institutionalism and
for rights that attained their full growth in some period
already past. By a natural spiritual gravitation our
most radical social groups, as far as they are conscious
of a positive human goal, tend to recognize their emo-
tions as religious. For religion, to quote an old prayer-
meeting phrase, '^ laughs at impossibilities, and cries,
*It shall be done!'" It refuses to take human nature
as a static Idatum eternally resistant to social ideals, but
insists upon the possibility of fundamental changes, and
sets us the task of building a new race, a regenerate race !
It goes so far as to face the apparent defeat of life by
natural processes that entail defect, weakness, and death,
and it insists that this, too, is a problem of justice in
the radical sense. Religion becomes so ultra-radical in
its sociality as to raise the question whether there is
justice in the cosmic order itself, and to undertake social
enterprises of cosmic scope, such as the promotion of a
universal democracy of God.
Our discussion has treated the evolution of faith in
divine beings as all one with the discovery of human
persons. This treatment is necessitated, not by any
supposed logical implications of human selfhood, but
by the forms actually taken by the historically grow-
ing social self-realization. At the totemic level men's
242 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
realization of one another as constituting a social unit
is per se consciousness of, or faith in, a real totem. Tribal
and national gods, likewise, are no mere addenda to the
social objects; rather, in god-ideas the tribe or nation
articulates its own social insistency. Stated in abstract
form, faith in divine beings is social valuation asserting
itself as objectively valid, that is, as not mere wish but
also as law or movement of reality.
So it is with our present most open-eyed social
idealism. It knows itself to be more than a subjective
preference; it is the fulfilment of a destiny; it is the
working out of some cosmic principle through our prefer-
ences. Duty is for us not a mere imposition of the mass
will upon the individual ; it is reality in the large making
itself felt in the parts.' Intense devotion to the social
welfare takes the form, without any addition to itself,
of reverence, self-realization through unreserved self-
giving, and desire that all men should reach this same
height of realization. Society at this, its highest, would
be no mere aggregate of arbitrary preferences, but
escape from the arbitrary into law, escape from the
seeming into the real.^ This feeling of a cause that has
us as its agent leads spontaneously to the use of religious
phraseology. If the approach is through the notion of
moral law, we get such terms as ''ethical religion" and
* "Morality, truly interpreted, does bring man into contact with
the final nature of things." The law of duty "is not made, and cannot
be changed by God or man; it belongs to the nature of things." See
W. M. Salter, Ethical Religion (London, 1900), pp. 84 f.; cf. F. Adler,
The Religion of Duty (New York, 1909), and Life and Destiny (New
York, 1903).
'Cf. G. Haw, "The Rehgious Revival in the Labour Movement,"
Eihhert Journal, XII, 382-99.
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY 243
the *' religion of duty."^ If the approach is through a
keen sense of men as worthful objects, the term becomes
the '^rehgion of humanity."^ If the emphasis is upon
society as completely organized upon the principle of
justice, we hear of the ''religion of democracy/'^ If the
social impulse attaches itself to the idea of production,
the command, ''Be a producer,'' may assert itself as
religious.'* In short, the modem social movement, where
it is most reflective, is religion, and as such it is also
discovery of the real as against the seeming.^
As we have already noticed, this does not imply
that there are two separate and independent kinds of
* See references in the second preceding note. In an argument ad-
dressed to ethical societies against gi\ ing up the term "religion," the late
W. L. Sheldon said: "We hold to the assurance that in spite of all the
necessary transformations that may occur in human emotions, in forms
of worship, or in- beliefs about the supernatural, we can retain the
hallowed associations we have had with this phrase. It is not right
that we should consent that the deepest feelings connected with it
should be regarded as belonging to any particular creed or body of men.
If we surrender this word we are liable to be driven to surrender the
feelings connected with it Religion implies the surrender of
one's will to ideal or sacred principles which are to him the expression
of the true destiny or worth of the human soul." — Ethical Addresses,
First Series (Philadelphia, 1895), pp. 47 f., 62.
' E.g., E. H. Griggs, The New Humanism (New York, 1904), chap. x.
3 C. Zueblin, The Religion of a Democrat (New York, 1908).
<T. N. Carver, The Religion Worth Having (Boston, 1912).
5 The authors named in the last six notes are only a few of those
who reveal this characteristic tendency of present social thinking.
Other typical names are as follows: Stanton Coit, "The Humanity of
God," International Journal of Ethics, XVI, No. 4 (July, 1906), 424-29;
H. D. Lloyd, Man the Social Creator (New York, 1906); G. Spiller,
Faith in Man: the Religion of the Twentieth Century (London, 1908);
H. Jones, The Working Faith of the Social Reformer and Other Essays
(London, 19 10).
244 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
discovery, the scientific and the religious. The two pro-
cedures are continuous without being identicaL The
sciences are a part of the total adjustment process which
in its totality is discovery. We are discovering ourselves,
in short, through the reintegration of our wants, scien-
tific and other, in terms of personal-social self-realization.
And this is religion.
It will be asked, perhaps, whether we are discussing
religion as a whole or only at its best. Have we not
idealized it ? Is not most religion, after all, institutional-
ism, traditionalism, conformity ? Does it not commonly
reinforce the ''powers that be" in their resistance to
change ? Has it not given the authority of supposedly
supernatural sanctions to what is natural, temporary,
even arbitrary? Are not these alleged discoveries of
persons and of society simply instances in which religion
has drifted with a general historical current? Has
religion, then, contributed anything at all to discovery?
These questions deserve an answer; they deserve it most
of all because they call attention to historical facts.
What is needed is to get the facts into perspective.
When this is accomplished we shall see that the whole
evolution of mind is discovery, and that the defects just
mentioned inhere in the whole discovery process, whether
religious or scientific. The history of science, as well as
that of religion, discloses a long series of blunders based
upon the assumption of finality for that which is partial
and temporary. There have been scientific as well as
religious orthodoxies, with their mistaken assumption of
authority, their suppression of dissent, their loan of
power to unprogressive institutions. Moreover, what
the sciences of today mean by science, just as what our
RELIGION AS DISCOVERY ^45
discussion has taken as religion, is no mere average of
past performances. In both cases we understand our-
selves, not by a mere summation of instances, but rather
by noting a characteristic tendency. Such a tendency
may be resisted; in a particular instance it may be
suppressed. Science resists science just as religion resists
religion. But each has its prophets who break through
the resistance, and in doing so reveal the deeper nature
of the enterprise. In neither case can it be said that we
merely drift with a historical current; rather we press
forward in an adventure, retrieving our own errors, and
entering fresh territory.
The conclusion is that social valuation is of itself
recognition of the real; that the evolution of social
valuations is a progressive discovery of persons as reals;
that intense valuation of persons, when it becomes
reflective, tends to define itself in terms of a cosmic
reality that has social character. What we have here
is nothing less than a law of mental integration. Mind
gets itself in hand — focalizing dispersed attention, or-
ganizing impulsive activities, and realizing a meaning
in the whole — by a social process. This process is at
once the valuation and the discovery of persons.'
' By an entirely different route, E. Murisier arrives at the conclusion
that religion furnishes the chief organizing idea (idie dircctrice) for the
evolution of personaUty. See Les Maladies du sentiment religieux (Paris,
1909)1 PP- 69-72.
CHAPTER XV
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY
By all odds the most baffling item of experience is the
fact that persons are present to one another and have
experiences in common. It is baffling, that is, as soon
as philosophy or science attempts to construe it, however
luminous it may seem to be until such attempts begin.
Metaphysics throughout its history has found the uni-
versal easier to handle than the particular, especially
easier than the individual. Usually, too, the philosopher
and his disciple converse together (by means of voice or
print) concerning various objects of thought — unity and
plurality, substance and attribute, time, space, matter,
soul — without ever noting that philosophy is conversa-
tion, that every bit of philosophic thought is a mutual
possession, and that such mutuality might conceivably
be a quaHfier of every particular philosophic doctrine.
Just so psychology, keeping its eyes upon states of
mind and laws of mind, and assuming that there are
individual minds to which these laws apply, has rarely
taken into account the fact that these minds converse
with one another. Psychology itself depends upon con-
versation between individuals; it is conversation. It
assumes that psychologists can be mutually present to
one another, and that an experimenter and his subject
can be present to each other. No one, I think, has
ventured to construe the "presence" of a laboratory
subject in terms solely of inches apart; there is always
246
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 247
the additional fact of communication, or of having
meanings in common. Usually this having in common is
of the essence of the experiment, as in giving directions
to the subject, asking him questions, and having him
record what happens. But what is meant by or implied
in the notion of individual minds or persons who are
present to one another and have experience in common
is about the last thing that psychology inquires into.
There are good reasons for this reticence, such as
the danger of entanglement in metaphysical speculations
about the soul. There is, too, an abundance of other
problems that await solution. But underneath this
reticence lies also the sheer inapplicability of the methods
of structural analysis, which are the dominant methods.
Purely structural psychology construes experience re-
gardless of experiencmg a.nd of experiencer^. It knows
no Smith or Jones, but only idea-of-Smith and idea-of-
Jones. Nevertheless, in the concreteness of our experi-
ence as psychologists, we are not *'ideas-of " this or that,
but Smiths and Joneses, experiencers. Our psychology,
being ours, is an experiencing, and since it is conversation
it is an experiencing in common.
A social presupposition — the real existence of a com-
munity of individual experiencers — is present in all
science indeed, just as it is in the world of buying and
selling. And it remains a presupposition. It is not a
hypothesis that requires to be tested, but a pre-condition
of having any hypotheses at all and of testing them.
For a scientific hypothesis is (among other things) self-
restraint in view of a possible social judgment upon the
matter in question. The verification of a hypothesis is
the attainment of a proposition that can assert itself as
248 TirE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
a social judgment. That which makes any proposition
scientific, as opposed to mere opinion, is the rigor with
which the conditions of social participation have been
observed. These conditions include stimulus alike to
individual self-expression and to a realization that some
possible common meaning, precisely because it is com-
mon, expresses one's own most focalized self.'
To this extent science, as well as religion, is a social
affair. Not seldom this phase of the scientific conscious-
ness comes to the foreground, as when during the present
war scientific men assert that they have a fellowship with
one another that even the acid of national enmity cannot
corrode. Here — in the social aspect of knowledge — is
the chief clue to the reverence, the elevation, the obvious
religiousness, that appear in so many of the greater men
of science precisely in their devotion to science itself.
*' Science," said Huxley,
seems to me to teach in the highest and strongest manner the
great truth which is embodied in the Christian conception of
entire surrender to the will of God. Sit down before fact as a
little child, be prepared to give up every preconceived notion,
follow humbly wherever and to whatever abysses nature leads,
or you shall learn nothing. I have only begun to learn content
and peace of mind since I have resolved at all risks to do this.^
Further, just as in prophetic religion we find acute
consciousness of human society bursting into coriscious-
ness of God, so the scientific consciousness occasionally
prophesies. Huxley is an instance. He says:
In these moments of self-questioning, when one does not lie
even to one's self, I feel that I can say that it is not so [that his
intellectual work is done for honor from men] — that the real
* Cf. the description of deliberative religious groups, pp. 131 ff.
' Life and Letters (2 vols., New York, 1900), I, 235.
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 249
pleasure, the true sphere, lies in the feeling of self-development — in
the sense of power and of growing oneness with the great spirit
of abstract truth.'
Thus, immanent within all scientific reasons for
things (mediated knowledge) there is social immediacy —
the experience of a multiplicity that is also unity of
individuals precisely where one's own individuality is
focalized by the demand for critical judgments. The
social immediacy of science is not an isolated thing. It
is continuous with the ethical consciousness of being
bound with others of one's own kind under a common
law. Here, too, the individual, checked in his desires
and compelled to scrutinize them, realizes that the ideal
common will is his very own will; and just as the scien-
tific mind now and then feels reverential awe toward
the spirit of truth, so ethical law often becomes envisaged
as a single will that is somehow also our own several wills.
The same sort of movement appears in aesthetic experi-
ence. Social participation is a vital presumption of art,
and the emancipation of the individual that is achieved
in aesthetic contemplation is emancipation into a state
much like communion.
All this social immediacy is continuous, too, with
what we have found to be most remarkable in religion,
namely, the resolution of strains and crises, which make
self-consciousness acute, by spontaneous recognition of
the experience as a shared one, a social experience.
Religion is or includes so many things that only with
caution should one venture to say that this or that
is its chief distinction. Nevertheless, the perennial
tendency of religion to anthropomorphize the world,
« Op. cit., I, 75.
250 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
peopling it with spirits and gods; likewise its tend-
ency to sum up and represent social organization, social
purpose, and social protest in such beings; finally,
the constant springing of faith in some large social
meaning within the lesser social meanings, and the
springing of this faith directly out of valuations without
waiting for rational verification — all this justifies the
theory that what keeps religion alive is this : that human
experience is an individuating process, a struggle to be
individual, unique, an *'I"; but the experience of being
an individual is per se an experience of other individuals.
I say an ''experience " of others for the same reason that
I speak of the ''experience" of being an individual. Both
phases of experience simply arrive; they are not derived,
and they are as inexpugnable as any other data. Thus,
all our mediated knowledge rests upon — is made possible
and meaningful by — social immediacy, which is common
to science, art, morals, and religion.
Here is a root that lives on and on, ever germinat-
ing afresh when old usages and even sanctities are
cut to the ground. Religion repeatedly recalls atten-
tion from mediation that may seem to be self-sufficient
to its ground in social immediacy. This recall takes
many forms. The occasions of social excitement, such
as hunger and war, that yield the characteristic rites
of early religion have their focus in this question:
What is to become of us? Religion as an expression
of political unity means, Remember one another! On
the ethical-prophetic level, religion says, Value per-
sons above all else. The repentant prodigal "comes
to himself." Reflective religion, striving to find some
wholeness in the fragments of experience (hence the
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 251
term recollection as used in devotional literature), cul-
minates in its answer to the question, What is the
meaning and value of life ? That is, cui bono — to whom
is it good ? When men immerse themselves in a multi-
plicity of pleasures or in an accumulation of economic
goods, religion asks. Have you found, or lost, yourself ?
If ever art, imagining itself to exist ''for its own sake,'^
invites us to enjoy regardless of consequences, religion
asks whether anything can be beautiful that tends to a
disorganized, ugly, or unsocial self. When science or
philosophy offers as the truly objective world a system of
merely mediated items, or mere content abstracted from
experiencing, religion offsets the chill of such a world
by the warmth and self-evidence of personal relations.
After all, science is our reaction; the experience that
makes science empirical is our experience; the objective
world is our world, and there is no way to assert its ob-
jectivity without recognizing the multiplicity of per-
sons who have it as their common world. This social
immediacy within all mediation makes it forever im-
possible for science to supplant religion.
But we are not at the end of our problem when we
have merely recognized social immediacy as the warp
of our experience. There is a woof also. You and I are
in process; we are parts of the very same system con-
cerning which our illusions arise. We are born and we
die, we come and we go, are present and absent. How
many of "us" are there? Who knows? And how do
we assure ourselves that a second or third or nth
experiencer is at all, or of what sort he is ? Nay, how
am I, caught in the time-process, immediate even to
myself ?
252 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Evidently we are mediated to one another as well as
immediate, and each of us is both immediate and medi-
ated to himself. I am self-conscious by an utterly
original act, yet I find out only gradually and partially,
by observation and inference, and with much self-
deception, what this self of mine is. Just so, with equal
originality, my self-consciousness is all one with con-
sciousness of others like myself — my self-consciousness is
social consciousness. Yet only by much putting of two
and two together do I secure any working acquaintance
with my socii. This intermingling of mediacy and imme-
diacy, the presence of both at exactly the same point, may
be paradoxical, but if so the paradox is in reality itself. If,
then, we proceed to scrutinize a little more closely the
psychology of social immediacy, our task will be, not to
reduce one side of the paradox to the other, but only
to indicate the main conditions under which the presence
of another is realized, and the relation of these conditions
to religion.
Let us begin with the self. Under what conditions
do I experience myself as immediately present, and what
help, if any, do our psychological categories give toward
construing this ''presence"? Are the conditions of
introspection, for instance, favorable, and is the self an
object of introspective perception ? Professor Calkins
has painstakingly pointed out that much experimental
introspection expresses itself in such phrases as ''I
remember that I attended to the shape of the cube";
"I immediately experienced the feeling of familiar";
"I said to myself "' But notice that the pur-
* M. W. Calkins, "The Self in Scientific Psychology," American
Journal of Psychology ^ XXVI (1915), 495-524.
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 253
pose of the experiments would not be interfered with in
the slightest if the phrases were changed to: *'the shape
of the cube was clearly seen to be so and so ''; ^' A feeling
of familiar occurred immediately ''; ^'Verbal images so
and so occurred." Notice, further, that the self of each
introspector was in every instance presupposed in
the experiment itself, presupposed by both the ex-
perimenter and his subject. When the subject uses
*'I" in the description of his introspections, he gives
back this presupposition without addition or subtraction.
Nobody's knowledge of personal selves as present was
strengthened by the experiments, nOr is it credible that
Professor Calkins' certainty of these selves would be
less than it is at present if no reference to a self had
appeared in any of the introspective records. Finally,
what is the attitude of the introspector if not that of
postponing all self-assertion, of abstracting from the
likes and dislikes, the approvals and condemnations,
the co-operations and antagonisms — in fact, the whole
social reference of the self, wherein lies the tang of
selfhood ?
This brings us to the heart of the matter. Whenever
we try to fixate an individual as a mere particular, it
mocks us for our pains. ''Here you will find me," it
promises, but it adds, ''You found me before you com-
menced to hunt for me, and you didn't find a mere me
but an W5." The very first coming to myself "out of
the deep" was a coming of loves and hates; considered
as discovery, it was discovery of mutuality. The focali-
zation into individuality is cross-focalization.
Society, consequently, whether it includes men only
or men and God, is not an aggregate of individuals any
254 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
more than the self is an aggregate of states. We do not
obtain one another by adding together units that are
originally separate or self-subsistent, but by progressive
differentiation within what is given as mutual presence
of individuals to one another. The ancient puzzle,
''How do I know that other minds exist ?" has led many
a thinker into a trap by its assumption that one can know
one's self without reference to other minds. No one
ever did get his knowledge of the existence of his neigh-
bors by first knowing his own existence and then finding
a way outward. The ego phase and the alter phase of
experience grow up together and reciprocally. Further,
the differentiations of the at first indefinite ego-alter into
a world of definitely-named persons are only secondarily
inductive inferences. First comes love or hate, which
focuses attention and provides the conditions for sub-
sequent renewal of the interest that underlies every
recognition of another's identity. Your identity is alto-
gether dependent upon the loves and hates borne to you.
Indeed, only the things that we can love and hate have
any identity at all. An atom or an ion has no more
identity than the letter A.
These remarks apply equally to my knowledge of
my own existence. As we have already seen, I do not
observe myself as merely there, like a museum specimen
in a glass jar. Introspection fails to find me precisely
because it is disinterested. It is only from an interested
standpoint that the ''mine" has meaning at all. I find
myself by being a friend to myself.
Those who first assume that one can know one's self
without any social reference are driven to guesses and
paralogisms in order to make our belief in the existence
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 255
of others seem reasonable. Attempted proofs are bound
to fail because they refer each case — say, a body making
certain motions — to a presupposed class-notion ''mind/'
whereas the question at issue is what right we have to
any such class notion at all. The crux of the matter is a
double experiencing of the same object, as in any case of
co-operation or of conflict. How can I from my experi-
ence of the object infer in another a coincident experience
of it ? Back of inferences as to the presence or absence of
other experiencers, there must be,, obviously, some such
datum as mutuality or communion. There is no getting
behind the conviction that the experience of a particular
object may be a dual or multiple experience and may
include knowledge that it is multiple.^
' I have been able to collect eight kinds of answer to the question,
"How do I know that other minds exist ?" (i) "I touch, see, and hear
my fellows." To this a query is applicable: "Do you touch a second
experience of touching ? " (2) "I know other minds by analog>' between
the motions of my own body, which I know to be associated with con-
sciousness, and the observed motions of other like bodies." So F. H.
Bradley, Appearance and Reality (London 1893), p. 255. The position
of Leuba, as stated in "Religion and the Discovery of Truth," Journal
of Philosophy, IX (1912), 406-11, is as follows: "Human beings are
objects of sense to me: I touch, see, hear, them. They behave exactly
as I do and respond obviously to my presence. These beings meet
every scientific test of my belief that they think and feel as I do."
Here three different theories seem to be mixed together: (a) a naive
theory of perception; (6) a theor>' of analogy; (c) a theory of verification
of a h>'pothesis by experiment. It would be interesting if Professor
Leuba would indicate the nature of the scientific evidence that he
himself thinks and feels, and then analyze the logic of the experiment
that seems to him to prove that others think and feel as he does. The
supposed analog}', which uses bodies as the bridge between minds,
breaks upon the fact that all the bodies in question, my own and the
others, are content of my experience and also content of yours. A body
could not be a bridge between these two experiences unless it were first
disengaged from both of them. In my knowledge of any other mind,
256 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
The difTerentiation of the primordial sociality of our
experience into sharply focalized '*I's" and "thou's" takes
place primarily, I have said, by the way of loving and
hating. An interesting side light upon this fact may be
found in the parallel growth of the scientific movement
and the social movement. Since the middle of the last
century the natural and physical sciences have been
successful as never before in constructing and applying
the notion of an all-inclusive, impersonal nature. We
ourselves have been made to appear as parts of a system
that offers no shadow of justification for our partiality
then, there is no intermediate link that belongs to neither of the minds;
I simply duplicate the experiencing of everything that could conceivably
serve as a link. (3) My knowledge of the nervous system somehow
brings me closer to the knowledge that another mind exists. So H. R.
Marshall, Consciousftess (New York, 1909), pp. 1735. Karl Pearson
suggests that if I could connect your brain and mine by a commissure
of nerve substance, I should then have a direct sense impression of your
consciousness (Grammar of Science, 3d ed., Part I [London, 191 1],
pp. 48-50). But would I then know yoz^ as experiencing ? If not how
does Pearson's suggestion help? (4) The bridge between my mind
and my neighbor's is not physical but spiritual. Through prior knowl-
edge of God I have a category that I can use in the interpretation of
sense data. So W. E. Hocking, The Meaning of God, etc. (New Haven,
191 2), pp. 297-300. (5) My knowledge of the existence of other persons
is a postulate of my life as a moral person (Fichte). (6) My knowledge
of other minds is merely an instance of the universal method of the
mind in outrunning the data of experience in the interest of subjective
needs. So G. M. Stratton Psychology of the Religious Life (London,
191 1), pp. 364 ff. (7) My knowledge of other minds is direct and intui-
tive; minds are continuous with one another; bodies do not come
between. So J. E. Boodin, "Individual and Social Minds," Journal of
Philosophy, X (1913), 169-80. (8) I know other minds by being in
some degree or sense the very thing that I know: "Individuals may be
included within other individuals" (J. Royce, The World and the Indi-
vidual, II [New York, 1901], 238; see also pp. 168-74). Boodin (op. cit.,
pp. 174 ff.) also holds that minds overlap.
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 257
for certain parts of nature as against others, and for
certain natural processes, such as love, as against other
natural processes, such as selfishness. The standpoint
of the natural and physical sciences, taken by itself alone,
implies, as an inclusive finality, the non-individual, the
impersonal, the regardless. But precisely at the bloom
period of these sciences the social movement, with its
vast sensitiveness for humanity and for the individual,
also arose with insistency and with no little power.
What, now, is the relation between these parallel move-
ments ? The natural and physical sciences have not
furnished fresh motives for loving, but they have opened
fresh opportunity for it in the increase of human inter-
course, and men have simply seized the opportunity.
The fact seems to be that we love just because
we can!
The immediacy of our social consciousness, that is
to say, is not a static aspect of it, but dynamic. It is
pressure toward further acquaintance, toward increasing
recognition of myself in others and of others in myself.
This dynamic principle of human nature appears in
religion as follows: Its spirits and gods have been real
to men because of the inner pressure to love and hate,
but chiefly, as with human society, because of the inner
pressure to idealize or love. These superior beings are
differentiations of the immediate social consciousness by
the ordinary method. Similarly, the decline of faith in
any of them has followed the same law. As science
never discovers an individual, so it never of itself dispels
a social illusion. We outgrow the crude gods of our
ancestors because we require greater scope for our loves
and hates, particularly our loves. The prophets are
258 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
zealous to make the character of God appear admirable.
Xenophanes (about 500 b.c.) says:
^Mortals fancy gods are born, and wear clothes, and have
voice and form like themselves. Yet if oxen and lions had hands,
and could paint with their hands, and fashion images as men do,
they would make the pictures and images of their gods in their
own likeness; horses would make them like horses, oxen like oxen.
Ethiopians make their gods black and snub-nosed; Thracians
give theirs blue eyes and red hair. Homer and Hesiod have
ascribed to the gods all deeds that are a shame and a disgrace
among men: thieving, adultery, fraud.
In opposition to all this, Xenophanes declares:
There is one god, supreme among gods and men; resembling
mortals neither in form nor in mind. The whole of him sees, the
whole of him thinks, the whole of him hears. Without toil he rules
all things by the power of his mind. And he stays always in the
same place, nor moves at all, for it is not seemly that he wander
about, now here, now there.^
Similarly, but with more fire, a Hebrew prophet describes
in most humorous fashion the attitudes and the incon-
sistencies of idol-worshipers:
The smith maketh an axe, and worketh in the coals, and
fashioneth it with hammers, and worketh it with his strong arm:
yea, he is hungry, and his strength faileth ; he drinketh no water,
and is faint. The carpenter stretcheth out a line; he marketh
it out with a pencil; he shapeth it with planes and he marketh
it out with the compasses, and shapeth it after the figure of a
man, according to the beauty of a man, to dwell in a house. He
heweth him down cedars, and taketh the holm-tree and the oak,
and strengtheneth for himself one among the trees of the forest;
he planteth a fir-tree, and the rain doth nourish it. Then shall
it be for a man to bum; and he taketh thereof, and warmeth
* Bakewell's translation in his Source Book in Ancient Philosophy
(New York, 1907), pp. 8 f.
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 259
himself; yea, he kindleth it, and baketh bread; yea, he maketh a
god, and worshippeth it ; he maketh it a graven image, and falleth
down thereto. He burneth part thereof in the fire; with part
thereof he eateth flesh; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied; yea,
he warmeth himself, and saith, Aha, I am warm, I have seen the
fire: and the residue thereof he maketh a god, even his graven
image; he falleth down unto it and worshippeth, and prayeth
unto it, and saith. Deliver |me; for thou art my god. They
know not, neither do they consider: for he hath shut their eyes,
that they cannot see; and their hearts that they cannot under-
stand. And none calleth to mind, neither is there knowledge nor
understanding to say, I have burned part of it in the fire; yea,
also I have baked bread upon the coals thereof; I have roasted
flesh and eaten it ; and shall I make the residue thereof an abom-
ination ? shall I fall down to the stock of a tree ? He feedeth on
ashes; a deceived heart hath turned him aside; and he cannot
deUver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie in my right hand ?^
It is the same immediate social dynamic that consti-
tutes the basis of the Christian's experience of the God
of love. Precisely as acquaintance between lovers is
idealization — yes, as all acquaintance is constituted by
the outward pressure of the social dynamic that consti-
tutes us individuals — so a great love is the only conceiv-
able mode of discovering the Christian God, or of being
discovered by him. The Christian does not first find
God, and afterward love him. Rather, repeated exercise
in loving one another and in overcoming hate and indif-
ference (exercise that starts on the instinctive plane) at
last fixes attention upon the love motif itself, and we
take an approving attitude toward it, an attitude exactly
parallel with that which we take toward one another.
An ancient Christian writer says: ''He that loveth not
his brother whom he hath seen cannot love God whom
* Isa. 44:12-20.
26o THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
he hath not seen," and ^'No man hath beheld God at
any time: if we love one another, God abideth in us";
and yet again, *'Let us love one another: for love is of
God; and everyone that loveth is begotten of God, and
knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God;
for God is love." That is, the self -manifestation of God
to us is precisely in this love that we experience toward
one another, so that our communion with him lies in the
attitude that we take toward the social motive itself.
To say that we fall in love with loving should not
seem too paradoxical, especially in a world in which
artists fall in love with beauty and thinkers fall in love
with consistency. In any case, it is a fact. Jesus,
gathering into one the intimate affection of Jewish family
life, the prophetic appreciation of social righteousness,
and sympathy for the needy life around him, found in
this experience himself and the Father, and by his own
steady living in this ''love way" he helped his followers
also to the unreserved love that is their experience of God.
To take as a personal presence this outgoing, social,
or common will that is within us involves no process
that is not already practiced in ordinary social inter-
course.^ My neighbor is present to me, not independent
• ^ H. A. Overstreet ("God as the Common Will," Hihbert Journal,
XIII, 155-74) thinks that reUgion is being transformed into devotion
to the common will. He regards this will on grounds that are not
specified as impersonal. Yet he makes it an object of affectionate
devotion. He is on doubtful ground when he supposes that men do as
a matter of fact devote themselves thus to such abstractions as "laws,"
"truth," or "the spirit of" something. Certainly the parallel that he
gives — the transfer of political devotion from kings to democracy —
hardly illustrates his point since devotion to democracy is above all
things a deeper recognition of personality as defining the sphere and
ground of devotion.
RELIGION AS SOCIAL IMMEDIACY 261
of, but by virtue of, the love that I bear to him. My
certainty of him is inseparable from my will-to-have-and-
to-be-a-neighbor. This, of course, is not inference or
proof in the case of either my neighbor or God, but
the positing of a premise. Formal logic is at liberty to
treat it as pure assumption. Nor is this anything strange
or exceptional. *' States of consciousness themselves,"
says James, *'are not verifiable facts. "^ Because these
matters are assumptions, they will never be verified, but
only repeated. The Christian will never see God any
more than he will see the neighbor. The beatific vision,
if it should ever be realized, would be naught else than
a society wholly controlled by love. God would still be,
just as he is now, the common will in which each indi-
vidual will reahzes itself.
But the conditions for repeating the assumption of
both neighbor and God may grow more or less favorable.
In general, it is by indulging social impulses belonging
to our original nature that acquaintance with others
grows firm. Conversely, by suppressing these impulses,
or by allowing them to atrophy through lack of exercise,
we first stratify society, assuming that the many are
not as we are, and then, having narrowed the range of
our affection to our ''set," we proceed to curb affection
itself. It is perfectly possible for us thus to depersonalize
our world. We can go on with such depersonalization
until our fellows seem to be little more than things. On
the other hand, by exercising social impulses, by forming,
criticizing, and re-forming social purposes, by sharing
in the joys and the woes of others, and by self-sacrifice
for the neighbor, we can focahze and intensify our
^Psychology (Briefer Course), p. 467.
262 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
consciousness of social reals. We can intensify it until our
real world is pre-eminently the world of persons. With
the growth of intense devotion to the neighbor whom
we have seen — one's own devotion, and the devotion of
others — it becomes easier and easier to believe in God.
Jesus' life of simple, unreserved neighborly love does,
in truth, directly beget faith in a loving God, and this
is the tendency of every similar life. Thus in and through
the choice of others' good as our own, which may also
be called the identification of our will with theirs, the
real existence of a common will, and even the personality
of it, become convictions. This conviction is the experi-
ence of an adequate object for love. It may take the
form of adoration, or of friendship, or of rescue from a
divided will, or of release from fears and strength to
meet the ills of life. But whatever form it takes, what
happens is the recognition of the common or social will
as God in us, and this ''recognition" is a getting ac-
quainted that corresponds in process with the finding
of any friend.
CHAPTER XVI
MYSTICISM
The social immediacy of which the last chapter treats
is not to be forthwith identified with mystical experience
or mystical theory. One obvious reason for caution is
lack of preciseness in the term "mysticism." It is, in
fact, used in so many senses that one might wish, in the
interest of science and of religion alike, that it could be
blotted out from memory, so that we might be compelled
to devise different terms for different things. Here is a
partial list of the ways in which it is used:
''Mysticism" means a great variety of religious experiences
and practices. They range all the way from a savage's experience
of "demon possession" to the trance state that Brahmanism
represents as contentless absorption in the One.
"Mysticism" means the spontaneous or traditional interpre-
tations put upon these experiences by the persons who have them.
These interpretations always involve a psychological or quasi -
psychological statement of what happens.
"Mysticism" means a doctrine of intuitive or immediate
knowledge of God.
"Mysticism" means the metaphysical doctrine that only the
One is real, and that we know reality only as we rid the mind of
the phenomenal, the finite, and the individual, which are mere
appearance or illusion.
"Mysticism" means religious internality of one sort or
another (such as Christian love) as contrasted with ceremonialism,
dogmatism, and external good works.
"Mysticism" means supernatural intervention in the natural
order. The "mystical theology" of Catholic writers has this
denotation.
263
264 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
" ^Mysticism " means what is popularly called superstition,
that is, belief in spirits, or in magic, or in astrology, or in other
hidden powers.
Without arguing for any exclusive use of this many-
sided term, I shall first show that there is, as a matter of
fact, a historically and psychologically coherent series
of experiences to some or all of which the term "mys-
tical" is commonly applied. I shall then examine from
the structural standpoint the traditional accounts of
mystical processes given by mystics themselves. The
functional aspects of certain of these processes will then
be noticed, and, finally, a question will be raised as to
their relation to social immediacy.
The problem of mysticism, as far as psychology is
concerned, arises from the fact that we partially, but
only partially, foresee and control our bodily and mental
changes. What we do that is habitual, familiar, or
foreseen we call our ow^n. But if my hand writes some-
thing that I have no recollection of intending to write,
or possibly something that I have no recollection of
having written, we call such writing automatic. So,
also, we have automatic speech. Similarly, if I seem
to hear the voice of a person who is not within hearing
distance, or to see someone whose body is certainly far
away, psychology calls the experience hallucination or
mental automatism. The term "automatic" applies
also to ideas or thought structures that unexpectedly
dart into consciousness. The association of ideas is thus
always at least partly automatic.
When primitive men experienced loss of self-control
through drug intoxication or through any of the trance-
inducing processes already described as the basis of
MYSTICISM 265
shamanism, the only possible interpretation was "pos-
session"— that somebody else was controlling the
muscles and even the thoughts. When visions and
auditions occurred the only possible view was that this
was actual seeing and hearing. Out of such mental and
bodily automatisms grew spiritistic practices — methods
for securing visions, or for getting information by way
of impressions, or for inducing spirits to do various kinds
of work. Modern spiritism lives and moves in the same
general sphere. Wherever it is not fraudulent, as it is
in materializing seances, it has to do with such phe-
nomena as automatic writing and speech, and with
visions, auditions, and mental impressions which,
whether they are veridical or not, fall under the general
notion of the automatic. What distinguishes intelligent
spiritism, such as exists among members of the Society
for Psychic Research, is the view that the presence of
spirits is evidenced, not in the automatic as such, how-
ever strange it may be, but rather in the critically sifted
content of the automatic deHverances.
From spiritism, whether primitive or modern, to
what the various religions have called inspirations, there
is entire continuity in point of psychical process, and
even in historical development. Saul consulting the
medium at En-Dor; Saul meeting a band of raving
prophets, and going into a trance; Saul troubled by an
evil spirit which departed when David played the harp ;
the ''hand of Jahwe" coming upon Elisha so that he
prophesied when the minstrel played; the visions and
overwhelming convictions of the great prophets — these
are excerpts from a single historical series. If the term
"inspiration" points to process as distinguished from
266 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
content, then inspiration is common to spiritism and to
prophetism. More than this: it exists in the Christian
churches today as sense of guidance or of illumination, as
assurance or witness of the Spirit, and as a sense of the
presence of God or of Christ.
From inspirations to religious ecstasy also the passage
is continuous. The man who is merely inspired keeps up
more or less discriminative thought, but the saint who
is *'rapt" in God is supposed to let his thought activity
cease in order that he may be filled with God only.
Extreme mystics assert that a state is finally reached in
which self -consciousness with its distinction of "I" and
''thou" lapses, and God is all. This, which is ecstasy,
is obviously just the maximum of ''possession." Psy-
chologically it is the automatic at its highest conceivable
extreme. There is, then, psychological continuity be-
tween shamanism and the heights of mystical rapture.
That there is historical continuity also will appear when
we notice, in a subsequent paragraph, the peculiar
relation of India to the whole mystical movement. The
interrelations here involved between many sorts of
experience, theory, and practice may be exhibited in
the form of a tabular view, as shown on p. 267.
This, in very brief, is the genealogy of mysticism.
The affinities here noted do not, however, exclude
oppositions. Just as chemistry opposes the alchemy
out of which it has sprung, so a mystic may abhor
spiritism. The great prophets of Israel flouted the
shamanistic prophets. Catholic writers of the present
day condemn all dabbling with the "occult." Yet the
great prophets did not deny actual inspiration to the
shamanism that they condemned, and the Catholic
MYSTICISM
267
condemnation of spiritistic practices rests on the pre-
cise ground that they bring one under the influence
A SURVEY OF THE MYSTICAL
Experience
Supposed Source
Deliberate Practice
The primitive root of the
whole:
Automatic experiences
interpreted as posses-
-
sion
Spiritism^ ancient and mod-
Attempts to control spir-
dern:
its or to communicate
with them:
Spirits seen, heard, "felt,"
Spirits
Shamanism
etc.; spiritism proper
Mediumship of various
shading into clairvoy-
kinds
ance, premonitions, etc.
Inspirations:
Attempts to realize the
The experience of the seer;
God or gods gen-
god on special occa-
sense of guidance or of
erally conceived
sions or for special
illumination; assurance
as transcendent
ends:
or witness of the Spirit;
Oracles
sense of divine com-
Some forms of revival-
munion; "sense of pres-
ism
ence"; "anesthetic
Holiness movements
revelation"; "cosmic
and allied practices
consciousness"
Divine Healing
Transsubstantiation
Form: Partial abeyance
Method: surrender or
of self-control in men-
quiescence of will,
tal functions; occasion-
suggestion (largely
ally loss of muscular
social)
control also
Content: somewhat spe-
cific ideas which seem
to be self-evidently true
The supreme mystical state:
Attempts to realize God
Ecstasy
God — tendency
as the All:
Supposed form: complete
toward panthe-
Yoga practices
absortion or loss of
istic conception
The Christian via neg-
personality
ativa
Christian Science and
New Thought
Supposed content: either
Method: narrowing of
zero or infinity
attention and auto-
(These are only limiting
suggestion
notions)
268 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
of malign supernatural powers — ''demons" in the evil
sense.
Nor does this genealogy indicate of itself the possible
value of mystical practices or the possible truth of mys-
tical theology. An evolving order of any kind, as civil
government or the natural sciences, is bound to contain
in itself at the same time some things that we are moving
toward and others that we are moving away from. Un-
mixed values and unclouded insight we never have; we
never quite arrive; we never are altogether quit of our
past. The question of values and of truth, therefore,
always requires us to weigh various elements in relation
to the movement both from and toward. Rejection of
spiritism as illusory and injurious, consequently, would
not of necessity carry with it condemnation of every-
thing that has growTi out of spiritism. Developed mys-
ticism may be different in important respects from its
own ancestors. We shall see, in fact, that the elements
with which we have to deal, particularly in Christian
mysticism, are complex and of varying values.
A structural account of mysticism requires considera-
tion of the following items in reports that one or another
mystic gives of his experiences:
1. Sense perception of objects not physically present,
as Christ, the Virgin, heaven, and hell.
2. Systematized control (not mere isolated reflexes
or associations), that seems not to be self-control, of
muscles or of thought.
3. What James calls ''noetic quality," and others
///' call illumination. It seems to the one who has it to be
direct certainty, in the more developed mysticism an
intellectual "seeing" without the intellectual processes
MYSTICISM 269
of reasoning or proof. Other names for it are intuition
and immediate knowledge. The objects of it are said
to be God, or his loving disposition, or his attitude toward
the mystic, or some doctrine, as the relation of Jesus to
the Father. Now and then a Christian mystic is con-
vinced that he has such immediate knowledge of each
of the persons of the Trinity.
4. At the climax of mystical attainment, which is
described as union with God so intimate that self-
consciousness vanishes, the feeling tone is said to be
utterly satisfying. This is ecstasy. Even the less
extreme experiences are generally reported as bringing
rehef from the ills of ordinary existence. Yet some of
the great mystics, particularly (perhaps exclusively)
Christians, report states of terrible depression.
5. A remarkable feature of the situation is that,
though mystics as a rule are fond of describing the
mystical experience, and though they have produced a
large literature of the inner life, they commonly declare
that what they have experienced is indescribable.
Visions and auditions, which are describable, they look
upon as inferior. Indeed, beyond all apparent sense
perception, even beyond all thought that moves in
mental images, they find, they say, a higher, more
illuminating experience. This they declare to be in-
effable. Such declarations are so common that James
makes inefif ability one of his four marks of mysticism.
From the declaration that something wonderful has
happened, which cannot be described, some interesting
consequences flow: (a) the mystic resorts to symboHc
language; he uses terms of sense perception — sights,
sounds, odors, touches — to express what he regards as
270 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
completely supersensible; (b) he employs the boldest
paradoxes: God is a luminous darkness; the mystic's
experience is a sweet pain, or a most active passivity;
(c) the non-mystical investigator of mysticism is argued
with, and yet assured that he cannot know because he
lacks the experience out of which the mystic draws his
certainty. Thus the mystic pleads his case in the court
of discursive reason, yet denies the jurisdiction of the
court. In order to remedy this inconsistency a tendency
arises again and again to assert that mystical experience
is universal, commonplace. At the present moment
this attempt makes large use of the notion of the sub-
conscious, and we are assured that what has heretofore
treated science as an inferior instrument of the mind is
itself becoming a matter of scientific knowledge.
6. Wherever mysticism is a systematic practice, the
/ procedure contains certain common elements. The first
is the withdrawal of attention from the activities and
^ sense stimuli of the common life. The second is extraor-
dinary concentration of attention upon some particular
object. We have already seen how the shaman employs
such processes. They reappear, in refined form, in the
higher religions. The Buddhist, or Brahmin, or Chris-
tian mystic does not necessarily resort to any intoxi-
cating, numbing, or fatiguing process, but he does
systematize the fixation of attention technically called
''contemplation." This term, as used in mystical litera-
ture, does not signify investigation, or discriminative
thought that compares one thing with another. It is
not analysis. It is not an effort to know anything new,
but simply fixation of attention upon something already
regarded as real and important. In Christian mysticism
MYSTICISM 271
the common objects of contemplatioQ are God and
Christ; in Brahmanism, the pantheos Brahma; in Bud-
dhism, the extinction of desire. More or less elaborate
directions are given to neophytes as to how to proceed,
and the stages of the process are carefully set forth. In
oriental mysticism there are directions as to how to sit,
how to control the breath, how to exclude the distractions
of sense, what to say to one's self. The various subjective
phenomena that ensue are also described with minuteness
and with sufficient objectivity to enable a psychologist to
recognize connections and laws that are familiar to him.^
In Christian mysticism less attention is given to mere
psychological mechanics, and more attention to idea
contents. Oriental mysticism as a whole is a mind-
emptying process; Christian mysticism professes to be
and in a large measure is, a mind-filling process. This
is necessitated by the fact that the Christian God has a
particular character, is assumed to have revealed him-
self in a particular way, and requires of the devotee
active virtues. This distinction between oriental and
Christian mysticism will occupy our attention later. At
present it is sufficient to point out that the two are
alike in the two points stated at the beginning of this
paragraph.
7. What James calls the passivity of the mystic is a
corollary of what has just been said. In the sense of
bodily repose, and in the sense of unresponsiveness to
ordinary incitements, passivity does mark the typical
' See, particularly, C. A. F. Rhys-Davids, Buddhist Psychology
(London, 19 14). This is not, as its title might lead one to suppose, a
psychological analysis of Buddhist practices, but an exposition of the
early Buddhist analysis of Buddhist mystical practices.
272 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
mystical technique. That is, the concentration of atten-
tion that it requires is a narrowing of attention, a retire-
ment from enterprises and problems. But the control
thus required has to be achieved by effort and practice,
and the holding of the mind at just the right point is, in
a sense, intense activity. Hence it comes to pass that
both passivity and activity are attributed by mystical
writers to the same mental state. This point is impor-
tant for estimating the significance of the mystic's behef
that his impressions are infused and that his whole being
is possessed by God to the utter exclusion of self.
8. Wherever this general mystical technique is
practiced, there mystical doctrines of a certain generic
type are taught. The illusory character of sense experi-
ence; the exalted being of God (even beyond all predi-
cates, as contrasted with a definite divine purpose);
finite individuahty a concealment rather than a reveal-
ment of the real, and attainment to reality, illumination,
and bliss by absorption of the finite individual into
God — these, with many variants, are the themes or the
presuppositions of the mystical theory.
These are the facts and the items of testimony that
require placement in our general scheme of mental
elements and processes. The first of these facts falls
under the general head of hallucination. As to the
second fact — systematized automatic control — little need
be said beyond what is contained in the chapter on
"Rehgion and the Subconscious. '^ The present appli-
cation of what is there said is as follows : What seems to
immediate consciousness to be the very opposite of self-
control may be the product of self-control previously
achieved, or of habitual acts previously performed. Now
MYSTICISM 273
and then the typewriting machine with which I am
writing these words seems to run itself; the control
seems not to be resident in my mind, but elsewhere — the
keys almost seem to attract my fingers. Yet this result
is strictly my achievement through practice. To deter-
mine the nature of the control in the case of a mystical
experience we must look, similarly, for possible traces
of former activities. A mere impression that one is not
the author of the ideas that stream into one's mind is
not sufficient evidence as to the fact. We must consider,
also, facts like these: poetic inspirations come, in any-
thing like finished form, only to persons who have read
poetry, studied it, and attempted to produce it; mathe-
matical inspirations come to mathematicians only;
musical inspirations come to musicians only. The
mystical insights of any religion are obviously colored
by the teaching that the mystic has already received —
every rehgion confirms itself through its mystics. The
Christian mystic feels that Christ or the Virgin Mary
is present; a Mohammedan mystic never. Each mys-
tical religionist brings back from his contemplation the
sort of ideas that he took into it.
This is the general situation. It tends to refute the
theory that the mystic is ever released from the influence
of his own past, ever lifted out of the historical current
of religious life into a non-historical revelation. The
Brahmin enjoys communion with a single divine being
that has marks of India upon him ; the orthodox Catholic
with plural divine beings that have the orthodox stamp.
Each mystic takes a socially produced idea as his
starting-point, and by contemplation makes it seem to
be something more than an idea, even a real presence.
2 74 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Therefore his experience can never be exhaustively
described in terms of a private relation to God.
The psychological process whereby the sense of real
presence is produced is clearly marked in mystical litera-
ture. The management of attention in the manner
already indicated under 6 above is precisely the process
of suggestion, for a general description of which see p. 1 20.
In the more extreme cases the mystic produces full self-
hypnosis. He is then in what is called trance, a term
without precise bounds, but indicative, when used of
religious states, of a near approach to mono-ideism, or
attention upon something without discrimination or
change. If a mystic were completely absorbed into a
divinity without attributes, subsequent memory would
not enable him to say into what he had been absorbed.
Unio mystica in the sense of consciousness of absolute
oneness without duality is therefore only a limiting
notion; it is not an experience. When it is testified to
as actually occurring, what is offered us is an interpre-
tation (by means of intellectual tools already at hand)
of a gap in experience or (more probably) of an emotion
that had slight objective reference of its own. In the
latter case, the certainty, yet vagueness, of the something
there is parallel to our occasional certainty upon awaken-
ing from sleep that we have had pleasant or unpleasant
dreams, though we cannot say with what they were con-
cerned.
From the generic agreements mentioned under 8
recent writers have drawn an argument for the truth or
objectivity of mystical intuition. Just as all astronomers
who are equipped with telescopes can see the rings of
Saturn, so it is held that the mystics, the experts of all
MYSTICISM 275
religions, perceive intuitively an all-encompassing spir-
itual world. Why this generic agreement exists will
claim attention in a moment. But first let us avoid
exaggerating the agreement. The mystic's certainty,
which he regards as immediacy, covers the points at
which he differs from his fellow-mystics, as well as the
points that he holds in common with them. The differ-
ences in type are deeply significant. The Protestant
mystic, to begin with, differs from the Catholic. For,
whereas the latter accepts dogma as completed and all-
sufficient, with nothing to be added, the former looks
for fresh insights into the Bible and for particular guid-
ance such as the church has never given. Nor does
Protestantism encourage or often produce ecstasy or unio
mystica in the classical or Catholic sense. Again, Chris-
tian mysticism as a whole is markedly different from
that of India, as different as the Father and Christ are
from. Brahma. Now, when we consider that immediate
knowledge is claimed by the mystics of each of these
contradictory faiths, the supposed consensus of mys-
ticism reduces itself to agreement in regard to a few
picked items. Obviously, mystical intuition is not
self-consistent, self-sustaining, nor self-correcting.
The generic similarities are found chiefly in the
extreme mystics who employ the technique known as
the via negativa already referred to under 6. The essen-
tials are the negation of human interests, or the emptying
of the mind, and the prolonged fixation of attention upon
a single object or word. The resulting movement toward
and into autohypnosis, which is indeed common to the
mystics of different religions, can be shown with a
high degree of probability to be the real source of the
276 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
agreements in question. Let us begin with the sense
of illumination or ''noetic quality." Doubts disappear
simply because attention is turned utterly away from
the material by which doubt defines itself. Something
parallel happens in the self-evident certainties of dreams.
Similarly, one may experience illumination in yielding
to the spell of a public speaker who employs suggestion
skilfully. The illumination of the mystic's trance, in
short, is the usual h}^notic self-identification with a
situation that lacks shadows because attention has been
directed away from them.
The mystic bliss has a similar explanation. Relaxa-
tion of muscles, and removal of mental inhibitions, both
of which are involved in the *'way," tend of themselves
to yield satisfaction. The same comfort of relaxation
sometimes accompanies, as we have seen, the use of
narcotic drugs. Here also there arises a sense of freedom
and of joy. Now, such drugs not only had a large place
in the early development of mysticism, but they appear
in the hterature of today as adding evidence to the
general argument for the validity of mysticism.^ If we
add to this general psychophysical condition the sug-
gestive influence of the tradition of happiness attained
through trance, we shall have all the explanation that
the mystical rapture requires.
But a directly opposite phenomenon appears among
the Christian mystics — periods of terrible depression,
darkness, apparent abandonment by God. This, as far
as I am able to discover, never occurs in Indian mys-
ticism, nor do I know of any writer who has explained
* See pp. 158-61. See also James, The Varieties of Religious
Experience, Index, s.v. "Drunkenness" and "Ether."
MYSTICISM 277
this remarkable disparity within the via negativa. Yet
the explanation lies near the surface. The Indian mystic
consistently seeks to empty his mind, for he looks for
absorption into an absolute that is without predicates.
But the Christian mystic inconsistently seeks both to
empty his mind and to fill it; to lose himself in a divine
abyss, and yet to apprehend God in the historical figure
of Christ; to forget himself, and yet to remember that
he is a sinner; to yield himself to passive bliss, and yet to
obey the behests of active love; to enjoy individualistic
spiritual luxury, and yet to follow the Christ who sacri-
ficed and suffered. A tradition in which the supreme
manifestation of the divine being is a crucifixion fur-
nishes a background exceedingly different from that of
the Indian mystic or the Mohammedan. The mental
image of the crucifixion acts as a direct suggestion of
distress. Further, the ethical elements in the Christian
sense of sin, elements different emotionally from the
Indian consciousness of finitude and multipHcity, tend
to focus contrasts and oppositions which the Brahmin
escapes by turning attention the other way. The Chris-
tian mystic, finally, has been taught to care for his own
soul, to regard it as important even in the sight of God ;
so that here again attention turns to problems of moral
status, to particular acts and dispositions, and even to
emotional ups and downs.
Comparison of reHgious trances with our knowledge
of suggestion yields still another explanatory item. Paul
had an experience that led him to think that he might
have been for a time ''out of the body." Theosophists
declare that they have direct experimental evidence that
the soul can be separated from its fleshly habitation and
278 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
return to it. Such statements undoubtedly spring from
actually experienced changes in bodily sensibility.
Functional anesthesia occurs again and again in hyp-
notic experiments. An arm or a hand may be to its
possessor as if it were not, or it may seem strange, as, for
example, without weight. Dental and other operations
have now and then been performed under suggestive
anesthesia so complete that the subject is unable after-
ward to recall any experience of pain. The basal fact
here is a shifting or retractation of attention with respect
to the mass of organic and other sensations upon which
our habitual sense of the body rests. Such retractation
underlies the remarkable anesthesias of hysterical
patients also.^ Still more profound alterations occur
in other mental diseases, as when the body seems to be
at some distance from the owner of it. Here, too, the
basis is an interference with the usual mass of body
sensations.^
With these general factors mingle, in many instances,
influential circumstances of the individual's own psycho-
physical constitution or incidental condition. Nervous
instabihty, whether inherited or induced, as we have
already seen, favors automatisms. Or shall we say that
when the automatic, which is omnipresent in all of us, is
excessive in any individual, we call him unstable ? Thus
a close relation may be found to exist, in individual cases,
between mystical religion on the one hand, and hysteria,
or epilepsy, or delusional insanity on the other.
' Paul Janet, The Major Symptoms of Hysteria, Lecture VIII (New
York, 1907),
^I have discussed some of these points still further in "The
Sources of the Mystical Revelation," Hibbert Journal (January, 1908),
PP- 359-72.
MYSTICISM 279
On the other hand, an incidental psychophysical
condition may be a determining circumstance, as fatigue,
hunger, or sexual longing. The general mechanism by
which sexual longing influences religious states has been V
described in our discussion of adolescent conversions.
It is now necessary to add that the extraordinarily fre-
quent and circumstantial use of marriage as a symbol
of the soul's relation to God or Christ can hardly be a
mere accident of figurative language. Celibacy is un-
doubtedly a factor. Restless hearts have found in
divine communion a companionship that serves as a
substitute for that of husband and wife. Similarly,
adoration of the mental image of the infant Jesus has
furnished outlet for parental instinct that lacks the
ordinary discharge. Therefore, in the analysis of mys-
tical testimony three groups of factors must be taken
into account: (i) The most general factor is the im-
pressions produced by conditions that favor automa-
tisms, and especially those that lead toward self-hypnosis.
(2) Next comes the influence of the particular religion or
sect in which the mystic has his setting. (3) Finally,
individual dift'erences in original endowment or in
induced psychophysical condition.
So much for the structure of experiences called
mystical. The functional aspects must now be noticed.
The matter is complicated because both the historical
range of the facts and the individual variations are great.
Nevertheless, functions can be discriminated, though
they fuse with one another at the edges.
I. Taken as a whole, mystical experience focalizes
in an individual some existing social idea or standard,
and by thus focalizing it reimpresses it upon the group.
28o THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
At first sight one would say that the highly individual
and private character of mystical contemplation must
produce variation and social dissent. On the other hand,
one might infer that the surrender of self-control in favor
of automatic control would lead toward the reinstate-
ment of pre-moral, instinctive modes of behavior. In
fact, neither of these results is prominent. Rather, the
mystic, putting himself under the influence of tradition,
reinforces its power. Except in occasional instances he
is a scrupulous observer of conventional morality. As
to intellectual variation, the most noteworthy fact is
that the great Christian mystics are found in the church
that exacts the strictest conformity.
2. On the other hand, the ''Now I know for myself"
is extremely satisfying to the individual who has it, even
regardless of its particular content. In this respect
mysticism is not at all peculiar. To accumulate, or-
ganize, and communicate experience is fundamental in
the functions of the human mind. To behold what is
beyond the mountaias, to lift the veil of life's mystery,
to see the invisible divinity — this of itself produces
elation. Mysticism fasciaates men partly because it
produces, more largely because it promises, this exqui-
sitely satisfying sense of individual selfhood.
3. The tradition of a mystical self-realization is most
attractive to persons who suffer from a sense of *' divided
self." This term points to profound or recurrent strains
like these: a struggle, that one cannot bring to a victori-
ous conclusion, against sinful desires, with consequent
deep sense of personal un worthiness and helplessness;
profound distaste for the usual pleasures of life, with in-
ability to find a substitute for them; restlessness and a
MYSTICISM 281
feeling of life's emptiness that arise from lack of exercise
of the sexual and social instincts, or from lack of occupa-
tion adequate to one's intellectual or executive powers;
changeability of mood, with self-criticism for incon-
stancy; persistent doubts, with insistent but vain
protest against uncertainty. If we call all this ''insta-
bility," we must understand by this term not only
inherited nervous weakness, but also induced nervous
depressions, and the sorts of habit that may make
neurasthenic one who might be normal. All the mental
strains just enumerated may find relief in mystical
practices. The divided self may become unified, a com-
manding certainty displacing doubt, a focus for the
emotional life being established, a central purpose being
substituted for discordant impulses, and executive
steadiness being achieved. These results are not uni-
form in kind or degree, of course, yet on the whole the
tendency of mysticism is toward serenity, poise, and an
organized will.^ The mystic seems to himself to have
sailed from a tempestuous sea into a sheltered harbor,
or to have awakened from a troubled dream, or to have
attained control of paralyzed organs. This result appears
to depend comparatively little upon the specific content
of the doctrine upon which the devotee fixes his con-
templation. Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi, Catholic, Christian
Scientist, nature-mystic — all show a generically similar
unification of a divided self.
4. The inclusion of religious inspirations in our survey
of the mystical, and the obvious similarity in point of
process between these and other inspirations, as those
of poets and artists, raise the question whether one
* On this point, see particularly DelacroLx.
282 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
function of mysticism, after all, is not discovery. To
say that mystics merely give back as personal exj^erience
the doctrines that they have received is surely not the
whole truth, though it is a major part of it. Originality
or mental invention appears in the prophets of Israel
and in Gautama as surely as in Goethe, who was certain,
as we have seen, of his own inspiration. Further, the
characteristic mystical doctrines arose in the first place
through experience, and not the experience through the
doctrines. In one respect, namely, reduction of dis-
tractions and a moderate degree of muscular relaxation,
mystical practices are favorable to thinking, just as
quiet in an auditorium helps to make a symphony
intelligible. It is rather surprising, in fact, that mys-
ticism has not made more varied contributions to the
world's thought. Still more notable is the fact that the
most certainly original prophecy is that which contains
the largest, not the smallest, amount of self-controlled
discrimination (see p. i86); precisely as the more valu-
able poetic inspirations come to those who practice
poetical composition with critical self-judgment. On
the whole, it does not appear that mysticism has any
special method of mental invention or any special tool
of discovery. Its hold upon mankind lies rather in its
practical efficiency in soothing troubled emotions, in
steadying the will, and in conserving what has already
been approved.
But it is said that the central ^laim of mysticism is
direct acquaintance with God, and that the sort of
immediacy thus claimed is involved also in all our
acquaintance with one another. This identification of
mystical doctrine with the doctrine of social immediacy
MYSTICISM 283
is possible, however, only by ignoring certain sharp
differences. It is not in India but within the Christian
religion, which is fundamentally social, that this defense
of mysticism arises. But the argument ignores certain
basal elements in the Christian attitude, such as its
appreciation of personality and its ascription of immeas-
urable worth to the individual. The love that is the
fulfilling of the law individualizes both the lover and
the loved. The unity that it requires is not the extinc-
tion of differences. It is rather a determination that
what is other than myself and different from me shall
have permanent validity for me. If unio mystica in the
classical sense should really occur, it would involve the
extinction of the reciprocity — whether between man and
man or between man and God — that is of the essence
of any social immediacy that the Christian religion can
recognize.
The practice of the via negativa by the great Christian
mystics, and their doctrine of union with God, contain
as a matter of fact two unreconcilable elements. In the
great prophets of Israel we behold a burst of emphasis
upon the individual person. Jahwe is no longer repre-
sented as dealing with Israelites en bloc, but his com-
mands and his condemnations for sin search out men
one by one. Here is a movement, not toward, but away
from absorption of the individual in the general. This
individualizing of values reached its climax in Jesus,
who taught that the Divine Father notices the fall of a
sparrow, and numbers the very hairs of our heads.
Compare this with unio mystica, in which supposably
nothing in particular is noticed. Great is the contrast
between the happiness of trusting a Father who thus
I iV
N.
284 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
values our individuality and the rapture of transcending
all awareness of ''I and thou."
In the Christian mystics called great the Indian
denial of the value of the individual mingles inconsist-
ently with the Christian doctrine of active love. Indian
mysticism, with its doctrine of absorption, came into
Christianity chiefly through neo-Platonism, and specifi-
cally through the writings of an unknown philosophical
theologian of perhaps the fifth century who came to be
mistakenly identified with Dionysius the Areopagite
(hence the present name, Pseudo-Dionysius). These
writings, translated into Latin by Johannes Scotus
Erigena in the ninth century, exercised an important
influence upon piety as well as upon speculation. They
furnished a thread of doctrine, reaching through the
generation, upon which mystical practices from both
Christian and non-Christian sources could be strung.
Hence the paradoxes of what is called Christian mysti-
cism. Orthodox trinitarianism exists in the same mind
side by side with a monism that is scarcely distinguish-
able from pantheism. Christian love is identified with
an experience of "union" in which the distinction be-
tween lover and loved is supposed to be annihilated.
Active regard for humanity is associated with the via
negativa, which aims to get away from one's fellows into
a purely individual bliss. That the practice of such
mysticism did in many cases reinforce Christian love in the
active, outgoing sense, is not due to the Indian element
that was present, but to the persistence of standards
that had come down from the prophets and from Jesus.
As far, then, as mysticism connotes the type of
procedure that Christianity borrowed from India, mys-
MYSTICISM 285
tical experience is not only not identical with social
immediacy, but the two are diametrically opposed to
each other. Social immediacy, the recognition of
another as present, notices and fixates differences within
a unity, and demands active attitudes with reference
to the other. On the contrary, the negative way, at
the moments when it is most completely represented,
involves turning away from the neighbor whom one
has seen, away from the whole sphere in which love
can act.
CHAPTER XVII
THE FUTURE LIFE AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM
Belief in life beyond death is not a single belief based
upon a single set of motives and considerations, but
several different sorts of belief that arise in different
ways. In the first place, instinctive avoidance of things
that cause death is not at all the same as desire for the
continuance of personal life. In the next place, the
notion that one's double lingers around the place where
one's body is interred arose before there was any clear
notion of personal life — long before appreciation of the
worth of personal-social experience could awaken longing
for its continuance. The earliest spiritism, in fact, was
an expression of fear rather than of hope. The dead
man's shade was an object of avoidance, even of horror.
In large areas and for long periods, as in Babylonia,
India, Israel, and Greece, the land of shades was re-
garded, not as a place of fulfilment and of joy, but of
feebleness and of darkness. Up to this point the basis
of the belief in survival was: (i) Mental habit or asso-
ciation of ideas whereby further activities were expected
where so many had already occurred. To early man life,
with attitudes of *'for and against," is the atmosphere
of thought; it required no little experience before death
could be thought of in antithesis to life. (2) Occasional
experience of the apparently sensible presence of the
dead — the sort of eye- and ear-witness that we classify
286
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 287
as dream and hallucination. (3) Motor automatisms for
which early man had no interpretation but possession.
(4) The infusion of the whole with the Einfuhlung of
emotional thinking.
But by various stages and routes the picture of the
future became ennobled to correspond with growing
discrimination of the social values of this life. Such
was the effect of embalming the body and securing
magical control of the conditions of life in the other
world, as in Egypt. The weighing of the soul against
the feather of justice, and the ceremonial avowal of the
soul that it has not committed this and that wrong,
represent considerable carrying over of ethical values
to the realm of the dead. The same is true of the Hindu
doctrine of metempsychosis; the Jewish and Christian
doctrine of resurrection; and the Zoroastrian and Chris-
tian doctrines of a future judgment. The doctrine of
future rewards and punishments furnished some solace
and strength to those who felt themselves the victims
of injustice, and to the tempted at least a little restraint.
Yet even the notion of ethical continuity between
this life and that which is to come does not unequivocally
express appreciation for personality. For, though future
rewards and punishments reproduce the standards of
some group — the whole picture of trial and retribution
being derived from human laws and courts — the individ-
ual is here represented as simply forced to submit to a
power that imposes itself upon him. The valued thing
in such a system is not the person and his capacities, but
rather a body of laws conceived as somehow worth while
on its own account, or, more generally, an arbitrary
will that simply cannot be resisted successfully. This
288 TIIE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
abstractedness of the future life from the experienced
values of the personal-social life of the present appears
with great clearness in the notion of a God who for his
own glory imposes laws and administers penalties, and
in the further notion that not by any possibility could a
man deserve salvation.
A genuinely new approach to the whole question of
the future life appears when men ask whether, after all,
any life that we are capable of living is worth while, and
if so under what conditions we might conceivably attain
the worth that is potential in us. We have certainly
accepted as valid the view that personal life as such is
sacred. This is something different from taboo, though
there is doubtless historical continuity between them.
What we have in mind in " the sacredness of personality"
is not some evil that will overtake us if we injure a
member of a totem species, but rather the social possi-
bilities that each individual must be allowed to live out
simply because they are worth while in themselves.
Though we are by no means faithful to this conviction
in all spheres of social life, we acknowledge the validity
of the principle, and we have incorporated various
consequences of it into our laws and social customs.
This discovery of persons puts the notion of survival
into an entirely new perspective. Death now appears
to be an interrupter, if not destroyer, of what is most
sacred. Consequently, directly out of the appreciation
of personality, and without dependence upon antecedent
spiritistic beliefs, or upon the doctrine of retribution,
there arises a question whether or not death is simply
defeat, as it seems to be, or whether it can somehow be
fitted into the system of personal-social values.
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 289
In the presence of this question four types of reaction
appear: (a) Some men persuade themselves that the
life that now is, is good enough; or that, in view of the
improbabihty of life after death, the part of wisdom is
to make the most of the present, and meantime to
cultivate indifference to the future; or that they really
do not care to live after death, (b) Some attach their
thought of the worth of life to the notion of a social or
otherwise admirable process that shall go on indefinitely,
even though the individuals who compose society perish.
(c) Some, holding that survival is desirable, turn to the
ancient phenomena of spiritism, or to fresh methods of
evoking spiritistic phenomena, in the hope of establishing
survival as a scientific certainty, (d) Some translate the
ancient faith in heaven, the bright abode of divinity,
and in hell, the portion of the wicked, into an entirely
different faith, namely, in the continuity of personal-
social values. In the new faith this means scope for
carrying forward such social enterprises of ultimate
worth as the discovery and control of the conditions of
existence and the creation of art.
Three questions arise here that may be considered,
without too much stretching, as the concern of psy-
chology: (i) the scientific character and the results of
researches into spiritism fostered by the societies for
psychical research; (2) the function of the future in
present personal-social life; a preliminary formulation
of this question might be. Do men desire to survive
death, and if so, why? (3) what effect, if any, such
desire may have upon the further evolution of mind.
Psychic research has had scant recognition from
orthodox psychology. Some little advantage has been
290 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
taken, it is true, of data that concern the subconscious
and processes of both intentional and unintentional
deception, but the enterprise as such stands outside of
recognized science. Why ? Partly because the motive
of psychical research is supposed to contain a large
emotional element — longing for communion with the
dead; partly because of a conviction that the facts,
whatever they are, are imbedded in such a mass of
trickery as to require the methods of the detective rather
than of the psychologist; partly, one may fairly surmise,
because of a certain disrespect for mediums, psychics,
and the whole tangle of delusions that certainly envelops
the history of spiritism; finally, partly because many
men are simply not interested enough in the question
of a future life to warm up to the hard work involved
in an investigation concerning it. This is as much as to
say that orthodox psychologists as well as psychical
researchers are to some extent emotionally guided — the
emotions are different, that is all.
But there remains one distinction that is not emo-
tional, a distinction of method. The attempt to establish
the existence or non-existence of a person is utterly
different from anything that occurs in the laboratory.
Here, as I have already shown, all the persons involved
are fully recognized as such in advance of experiment.
Moreover, the mental processes that laboratory experi-
ment isolates and controls for purposes of study are only
fragments of an individual's experience; and what
experiment does is to relate one such fragment, not to
the integral self-realization of the subject, but to another
fragment, or to some particular circumstance (as a drug,
an hour of the day, or the passage of time). As far as I
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 291
know, no one ever became convinced of the existence of
a mundane person by analyzing a set of phenomena to
see whether they require the hypothesis of an individual
consciousness.^
Hyslop's conception of the method whereby psychical
research might conceivably estabhsh survival is based
squarely upon the assumption that one's only knowledge
of one's neighbor's existence is inferential, specifically a
causal inference.^ That this is not the actual method
whereby we have become acquainted with one another,
and that it is in any case illogical, I have already shown
in chap. xv. I see no ground for expectation, therefore,
that a crucial experiment or set of experiments will ever
be devised that will demonstrate whether or not there
is a personal presence in given phenomena. Li the
recognition of persons as present we are moving in the
realm of ultimate assumptions, that is, a realm of selec-
tion rather than of inference.
In spite of the suspicion on the part of critics that
psychic research is emotionally controlled, it has made
a remarkable attempt to eliminate the heart from its
labors. It has undertaken to deal with actual or hypo-
thetical trans-mundane persons as if they could be mere
cold facts. It therefore challenges all comers to construct
if they can a hypothetical causal explanation for certain
phenomena without employing the notion of personality.
In the nature of causal explanation such a challenge can
^ Two recent presidential addresses before the English Society for
Psychical Research go far toward a resetting of the whole problem. See
Bergson's address in Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research,
XXVII (1913), 157-75, and Schiller's address, ibid, XXVII, 191-220.
'J. H. Hyslop, Psychical Research and Survival (London, 1913),
pp. 64 ff.
292 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
always be met. The facts can be fitted into our current
notions of psychic mechanisms irrespective of the pres-
ence or absence of persons other than those whose exis-
tence is already assumed (never proved) by those who
make and those who answer the challenge. At the
present moment telepathy in a very extended sense is
the resort of those who engage in psychical research
but whose hearts do not warm up to the alleged com-
municators.^ This is exactly parallel, in respect to
method, to the avoidance of personal selves altogether
by such psychologists — structuralists and behaviorists —
as are not interested in the full concreteness of human
experience. Whether a psychical researcher shall con-
tinue to develop hypotheses of the abstract, quasi-
mechanical sort, or shall let go and recognize a discarnate
spirit, involves something more, in every case, than the
adequacy of a given hypothesis or the amount of evidence
for it. It involves transferring himself from a purely
structural to a functional point of view, and it requires
specifically Einjiihlimg or so-called self-projection, with
its attitudes of sympathy, liking and disliking, or co-
operation and antagonism.
It appears, then, that the problem of survival, if it
is to be worked out at all, will have its seat just where
the general problem of being a person meets us in the
present existence, namely, in social enterprise with its
give and take, its self-seeking and self-sacrifice. Here
we do not discover one another as already there in some
merely factual sense; rather, we mutually become per-
sons. We do it, not by adapting ourselves to proved
^ See, for example, Podmore's The Newer Spiritualism; cf. Hyslop's
criticism in Psychical Research and Survival.
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 293
facts, but by reaching out for unprecedented values, and
by imposing upon ourselves the cost of seeking them
even against some of our natural impulses and in the
absence of certainty as to the outcome.
We are thrown back, therefore, into the process of
social evolution as such. We cannot isolate the question
of survival from that of the issues that we are fighting
out in mundane society. Here we encounter some sig-
nificant considerations. Where once the world was
impersonal and loveless, it has already blossomed into
family affection, and friendship, and the beginnings of
justice. Star-dust and protoplasm, judged by their
actual performances, gave no promise whatever of a
personal world. Even when mind in the form of instinct
arrived, still there was no clear promise. Who could
have forseen the coming of self-control, self-discipline,
and the organization of good-will by mutual consent?
That in such an originally unpromising situation
personal-social life should arise at all involves at least
as great a contrast as would be implied if our present
personal-social integrations should finally become too
firm to be dissolved.
But it will be said, and justly, that rudimentary
psychic attraction and repulsion have been able to
develop into a society of integrated persons because
there has always been objective sense-material, per-
sistent and organically integrated as the human body,
to which these attractions and repulsions could attach
themselves and find support. It is bodied, not dis-
embodied love and hate that have produced society.
Love, whether parental or conjugal, is not easily disen-
tangled from touch and other sensations that stimulate
294 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
it. Moreover, the discovery of persons has been bound
up with co-operative and antagonistic activities upon
sense-material, such as food, land, and money, and it
has been immensely assisted by language. The ques-
tion is a fair one, therefore, whether the rise of personal
life under these conditions can have any bearing upon
what may happen with the dead, whose environment
we know nothing about, and in which we may possibly
have no share. Even if we were not on other grounds
distrustful toward mediumistic accounts of what the
other world is like, is it certain that much could be
gained from them ? What is needed to create a personal-
social situation between us and the dead, as between us
and the living, is objective material upon which common
work can be done. There is, therefore, good psychological
ground for holding that, if any social relations actually
exist between the dead and the living, they will be
realized by the living only in and through social enter-
prises in which our own world of sense is being made
instrumental to social purposes. The problem of the
future life, consequently, is most Hkely to center in such
parts of our experience as the struggle for social welfare
and righteousness rather than in mediumistic phe-
nomena, though these may well contribute something
thereto.^
This brings us to our second question, namely,
whether within our recognized social experience there
* The persistence with which so many able men and women have
pursued psychical researches against many odds seems to me altogether
admirable. Whether the primary interest is in communion with the
dead or not, and whether the results establish the fact of such communion
or not, mediumship requires investigation, and so do the reactions of
men toward mediumistic phenomena.
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 295
is springing up any desire for survival of bodily death.
Are the motives of the social struggle such as to require
survival for their full expression and effect ? The ques-
tion, let it be noted, is not whether we ought to engage
in enterprises of so great pith and moment, but whether
the valuations that move us in our present enterprises
actually have this scope, or tend to acquire it. It is
certain that we attach values to the future, often to
that which we recognize as having no precedent. The
future, therefore, has present functions. As, however,
the future is only relative, and is always becoming the
past, we are dealing here with present functions of the
past also, and the question whether desire for survival is
growing up is inseparable from the further question
whether historical characters are playing in our social
struggle any such part as involves us in an attitude of
fellowship toward them.
The question. Do men desire immortality? is am-
biguous. It may mean. Do I desire an extension of
consciousness merely as mine? or. Do I desire to be a
permanent part of a permanent society? One who
answers emphatically Yes! to the latter question may
well say No ! to the former. Now, the whole conduct of
men shows that the personal- social relationships that
they most value they do desire to continue. One does
not willingly lose friend A, even if one is convinced that
an equally good friend, B, is ready to take A's place.
Love individualizes the object to which it attaches
itself, so that something of the value is lost if the indi-
vidual perishes. Moreover, immortality, or something
like it, is desired for the great souls who have made the
social struggle their own — souls like Lincoln, for example.
296 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Nobody is willing to have such a person dissolved. If we
assent to the dissolution it is because we feel helpless
to prevent it. But even then we commemorate our
friend and hero in anniversaries that re-awaken or
freshly create a sense of fellowship, as in the cause of
liberty. More than this, by these processes we incor-
porate him into our communal life as a permanent force.
This does not of itself imply that we believe him im-
mortal, or that we are trying exactly to bestow some
sort of immortality upon him, but rather that fellowship
with him is so precious that every trace of it is as far as
possible preserved — we would have him live if we could,
and we would stay in his society if we could. This
process is carried only a step farther, if even a step, in
the faith of several religions that their founder remains
after his death as the actual, living leader of his people.
When Christians cling passionately, as many do, to
^'the living Christ," they bear witness to this at least,
that Jesus is to them so satisfying a personality that he
deserves to live forevermore.
There is little evidence that many men desire im-
mortality for themselves as mere individuals.' Nor
does such desire, as far as it is mere self-assertion,
command particular respect when it does exist. It is
this consideration, apparently, that leads Hofifding to
* See F. C. S. Schiller, "The Desire for Immortality," chap, xiii of
Humanism [London, 1903]. See also his "Answers to the American
Branch's Questionnaire Regarding Human Sentiment as to a Future
Life," Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, XVTII (1903-4),
416-53; cf. G. Lowes Dickinson, Is Immortality Desirable? Boston,
1909. A number of articles and books that deal with attitudes toward
death and survival is listed by R. S. Ellis, "The Attitude toward Death
and the Types of Belief in Immortality," Journal of Religious Psychology,
VII (1915), 466-510.
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 297
deny that conservation of values has any relation to
conservation of persons.' But the case is distinctly not
the same when society perceives that a social ideal is
realized in an individual. In this case the finahty of
social values inheres in the individual who incarnates
them. Life continued indefinitely is desired for him,
and for social reasons.
Men who are unconvinced of individual survival
often devise a surrogate to which to attach a feeling of
the finality of social value and a desire for its continuity.
The succession of the generations, stretching on and on
through indefinite centuries, particularly when the notion
of social amelioration is added, is to many persons so
appealing as to be an object of love, though every indi-
vidual in the whole procession is thought to perish
utterly. Men of good will are as eager as this to have
an object of love to which some sort of immortality can
be attributed! Even when the probable extinction of
the race is taken into account, affection turns now and
then to the cosmic order, glad that it is forever to go
on its orderly way. In all these cases EinfUhlung reads
into a series or a law some of one's own gladness in
individual self-realization in society.
'Hiese facts justify the judgment that when men
reach a high level of social regard they tend to desire
immortality, if not directly for themselves, then for
others who better deserve it. But if so, a psychical
situation is in process of formation that may well have
important consequences. In the first place, as Schiller
has pointed out, in some cases the possibihty of finding
out what is true depends upon the awakening of an
* Philosophy of Religion, p. 259.
298 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
interest that makes investigation seem worth while. ^ It
may be that one factor in our ignorance with respect to
the conservation of personality is fitfulness and lack
of whole-heartedness in present, mundane social justice.
Certain it is that social discovery is not independent of
social devotion. Our age is called, for example, the
century of the child, because childhood has been, in a
real sense, just discovered. Now, this line of discovery
took its start precisely in devotion to child-welfare,
especially in education. Even if, therefore, the old
interest in survival, which supported and was supported
by automatic phenomena, should continue to fade away,
it by no means follows that the problem of survival will
grow cold, or that the possibilities of discovery are being
closed.
But not only may the growth of devotion to social
justice in mundane affairs, with its upspringing desire
for the unending life of the socially worthy, ultimately
open our eyes to what we do not now see for lack of
interest, but it may also be a factor in a process whereby
immortality, in the literal sense of indissoluble fellowship
between persons, is being achieved. Here it would be
easy for this discussion to go over into speculation or
guesswork, or into glorification of the larger hope.
Instead, let us close this sketch of the problem by a final
glance at the actual relation of developing mental func-
tions to the structural facts that partly condition them.
In the first place, then, between the development of
structure and that of function no exact parallel exists.
Function is not related to structure as the inner side of a
^ See article referred to above in Proceedings of the Society for
Psychical Research, XVIII (1903-4), 416-53.
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 299
curve to its outer side. This is already implied in our
discussion of the question whether human nature re-
mains the same or whether desires actually evolve. It
is demonstrable that fresh self-criticism has developed
and become a part of social standards within a period
in which no corresponding evolution of the human body
is believed to have occurred.
Moreover, the integration into personality and into
mutual regard for one another is different in kind from
the evolution of structure. The latter consists alto-
gether in recombinations of unchanging elements — this
is the whole point of view. Structures compared with
one another are more or less complex, more or less re-
sistant and persistent, but no one is better or worse than
any other. But the evolution of desires, as we have
seen, brings forth, not mere recombination of old rudi-
ments of instinct, but criticism thereof and even desire
to have desires. Here is an integration that has no
parallel in chemical or neural structure, a kind of unity
that is not mere combination of antecendent and per-
sistent elements. When a distraught mind ''gathers
itself together" it does not merely heap up what is
already there, which would yield no greater unity than
was there before, but takes a new interest, forms a new
purpose, uses its organs differently.
So also social integration through mutual regard
does not merely bring into propinquity certain organisms;
it is no mere aggregating of pre-existing elements. If
we could suppose that parental instinct is nothing but
the obverse of prolonged physiological infancy, even
then there would remain the fact that this instinct has
grown into affection, and that this sort of regard has
300 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
spread out over other relations than that of parent and
child. Thus, to some extent at least, functions go their
own way. There is nothing to show that a society of
mutual regard is a biological necessity or that men are
merely squeezed together. No; in such a society the
cohesive principle is new values, which must be seen from
their own point of view or they will never be understood
at all.
Finally, functions develop themselves by using the
structures upon which we are accustomed to say that
they are dependent. Thus, parental affection, though
it is in a sense dependent upon brain development, uses
brain to build homes, secure food, build schools, make
protective laws; and in doing so parental affection is
itself enlarged and purified. Parallel experiences occur
in every line of endeavor in the interest of simple
good-will.
In short, there is at work, on the functional side, a
principle of personal-social integration that is no append-
age of the physical conditions of life, but a user of
these conditions for purposes of its own. In this use of
conditions the nature of the conditions is in part dis-
covered. And the overplus of desire whereby it outruns
instinct and recurrently reconstructs itself has again and
again anticipated knowledge of what is possible. Pa-
rental yearning that goes a little beyond the instincts
of physical welfare has led on, for example, to actual
social integration and to the use of material resources
and conditions in the interest thereof to a degree that
could not have been known as possible, except through
the yearning and the acts to which it led. How far this
sort of personal-social integration can go, and how far
FUTURE LIFE AS PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM 301
physical conditions can be brought into this relation of
use, cannot be said with certainty from what has already
occurred. But in view of the past one would take a
hazardous position who should assert that society as
we now know it is the concluding stage. If, as appears
to be the case, desire for still further integration, which
shall use death as a resource rather than submit to it
as a defect of life — if such desire is now arising, there
is nothing in the nature of the case that can justly
rebuke it.
CHAPTER XVIII
PRAYER
A history and psychology of prayer would be almost
equivalent to a history and psychology of religion. For
religion concerns the focusing of life's values, and prayer
is the vocal expression, or at least bringing to mind, of
the value focus. Because the focus tends to take personal
form, prayer is, typically, talking to or with a god. But
from talking to a god the facts shade off in every direc-
tion. On the side of classical mysticism, prayer, some-
times called '' interior prayer," becomes contemplation
or mere fixation of attention without speech, and even
without word images. In the opposite direction, that
of ritualism, vocal formulae are exactly repeated, as in
connection with the sacrifice, under an impression that
the formula has some sort of efficacy in itself. The
sacred literature of Hinduism, of Zoroastrianism, and
of Egypt is made up to a considerable extent of such
efficacious words. Effects are sometimes supposed to
be accumulated or rendered more certain by mere repe-
tition, as by the reiteration of the name of Allah by
dervishes, by the use of the prayer wheel in India, and
by the saying of many masses for the dead. A touch of
the same thing is in the minds of some Protestants, who
do not feel that a prayer is quite right unless it ends with
an "amen" preceded by some such formula as '^ through
Jesus Christ our Lord." If we go a step farther we
302
PRAYER 303
come upon magical spells (however magic be defined)
and upon dealings with spirits by means of speech.
Between these diverse facts there is not merely some
external similarity of process, but also the unity of a
single lineage. Wherever prayer in the ''proper" sense
begins — say, with the appearance of gods in the strict
sense — it springs, as the gods themselves do, out of earlier
anthropom.orphisms. We may think of the beginnings
as mere exclamations expressive of naive emotions that
involve a sense of friendliness or of unfriendliness in any
extra-human object that is felt to be important. Neither
here nor later is the language exclusively that of suppli-
cation. Any recognition of the ''other" may be found
in prayer — as praise and flattery; thanksgiving; expres-
sions of fellowship or of common interests; attempts to
help the god in some vicissitude of his career; fault-
finding; compulsion of the god by the magic use of his
name; submission to the wisdom or to the ethically
superior will of the divinity; finally, enlistment with
the divinity in a social enterprise.
If from this wide range of facts we separate for
special study those that involve recognition of a god
like one's self, leaving aside both the mystic's sense of the
divine as an impersonal or supra-personal abyss, and the
mechanical use of speech forms, two types of problem
will confront us: On the one hand we shall have the
problem of the structure of prayer — how, within one's
own mind, one experiences this apparent duality of self
and god. On the other hand, we shall need to inquire
into the functions of prayer — what has moved men so
persistently to pray, and what advantages have accrued
therefrom.
304 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
In its earlier stages there is nothing to distinguish
prayer structurally from any other conversation, li^xcept
that the divinity is ordinarily invisible and inaudible.
He is supposed to have body and bodily senses; to hear
with literal ears; to smell the sweet savor of the sacrifice,
and even to taste it and be strengthened by it. Speech
to him therefore moves in the ordinary channels. As
yet no question arises as to whether the worshiper be
not talking to vacancy or addressing a mere wish-being,
an ideational construct of his own. There is as yet no
doubt that prayer has two termini.
Nevertheless, communication from the god does not
flow as easily as communication to him. The god can,
indeed, make himself visible and audible, and he does so
upon occasion. But dreams, visions, and auditions are
too occasional to meet the constantly recurring wants of
the worshiper. Therefore other signs are looked for;
rather, the worshiper's anxious interest endows with the
meaning of response any unusual or attention-compelling
phenomenon. Thunder and lightning, a stormy sea, sud-
den sickness, a rainbow, certain states of the entrails of
animals — all have been taken as divine language. Cast-
ing the lot, too, has been a widespread method of, so to
speak, putting words into the god's mouth. Just so,
some Christians have practiced opening the Bible and
placing a finger upon a text at random in the firm
belief that in the text thus indicated a divine message
will be found specifically intended for the individual
concerned. This devising of language for the god
went so far that systems of augury, with rules for
interpreting what we regard as ordinary phenomena,
were employed by the state for consulting the
PRAYER 305
gods, as at Rome, before important enterprises were
begun.
By a parallel process, tangible objects of many sorts
became the abode of divinities, so that the gods lived
among men, even if dumbly. It is not to be supposed,
of course, that early men, realizing a need for sensible
support for their thought of the divine, deliberately
constructed pictures and images as reminders, as we
seek to possess photographic portraits of our friends.
Rather, first of all, savages who came upon some object
which, by reason of its association with some emotional
experience, could be taken as possessing the powers that
ultimately constituted the attributes of divinity, treas-
ured it carefully, sometimes as the very center of the
tribal life. If the object was similar in form to the human
figure, so much the better. Natural objects that resemble
the phallus, for example, have been widely preserved and
reverenced. But emotional associations have endowed
almost all sorts of things with some of the qualities of a
present divinity. For example, in Australia, and in
other parts of the world, a stick of a certain shape which
when whirled in the air upon a cord makes a whirring
sound (hence called the bull-roarer) is treasured
among the sacred and secret objects. That the men's
society, which uses it iii the annual initiations to
awe the neophytes, does- not now regard it as
possessing in itself any extraordinary virtue does
not detract from the significance of the fact that
other members of the tribe do so regard it, or from
the probability that it acquired its importance in the
first place through the unaffected emotion that it
awakened.
3o6 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
Under the primitive theory that the qualities of a
thing inhere in any representation of it, whether a
picture, an image, or even a name, further channels were
found for expression from the god to the worshiper.
The earliest drawings of animals were probably intended
as a means of control or influence, as in the chase. But
some early art involved more than the notion of success
in hunting or fishing. The savage wanted also some of
the mana that the swift, or powerful, or courageous, or
cunning animal possessed. Mana was obtained in part
by eating this animal. But a pictured or carved repre-
sentation of it, particularly the totem animal, also par-
took of its mana and became a sacred object. Hence
the regard for the totem pole, and the indignation that
arises when sacrilegious whites hew it down and carry
it away to a museum. The essential anthropomorphism
in this whole procedure came to clearer expression in
images and idols that took on more distinctly the human
form. Before them sacrifices were offered, and suppli-
cations made, as to a present divinity.
But the visible object, which was at first supposed
to have inherent divine attributes, came to be merely a
residence of an invisible god, and at last only a s^Tubol
for him rather than a residence. The Catholic of today
prays before the crucifix, not to it, and he uses pictures
of saints and of the stages of the cross, theoretically at
least, merely as helps to concentration of mind. Never-
theless, the sacredness that attaches to what is_ theo-
retically only a symbol, a sacredness that extends even
to the building in which the symbols are kept and used,
bears witness to continuity with times when a temple
was in a literal sense the house or dwelling-place of the
god, where his people could talk to him and feel his
PRAYER 307
nearness as a sort of response. The especial sanctity
of the altar and of its utensils in many Christian churches
traces its lineage back to the holy of holies in ancient
temples like that at Jerusalem. The sacrosanct char-
acter of this particular part of the Jewish temple was
due to the presence there of an ''ark" or chest that
contained, it is believed, one or more small images, or
even more primitive, uncarved objects, in which the
divinity himself was supposed to be present. The con-
tinuity has been maintained even more completely in
the mass than in the altar, for here, by the miracle of
transubstantiation, bread and wine become the flesh
and blood of the god himself, before whom the congre-
gation prostrates itself. The consuming of this bread
and wine reproduces in an attenuated form the totemic
eating of the god.
All these may be taken as modes of divine approach
to man or as divine responses to man's approach. Fur-
ther responses are found in the good and evil fortunes
that befall men. Here men read specific meanings, or
divine ideas, related to human conduct or to prayers.
At the lower end of the scale we have, even among
ourselves, the reading of omens; at the other end, the
notion of rewards and punishments, divine discipline, or
divine self-revelation. To the question why this calam-
ity has come upon me, the answer is given that it is
sent as correction for a fault, or as training in such
virtues as patience and perseverance. Prosperity is now
and then frankly taken as a divine reward for goodness.'
^ A Mormon lady related to me that one night a destructive frost
visited the region of her residence, but extended only to the edge of
the farm occupied by herself and her husband. She was firmly of the
opinion that they had been spared the frost in recompense for care
bestowed upon the husband's aged parents.
3o8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
As all Europe up to recent times saw in comets a mode
of divine speech, so when the present war started some
persons felt constrained to seek for the specific ground
of the divine displeasure that was thus made manifest.
When events turn out in accord with the specific
desires expressed in a prayer, the notion often prevails
that the event is a direct answer to the prayer. If rain
promptly follows a petition for rain, it is taken as a
divine response; but if rain does not follow, people say,
''Gk)d knows better than we do what is good for us,'*
whereupon events, whatever they are, are scrutinized
and sorted in such a way that a divine purpose may be
read in them. In this manner any section of the natural
order, or the whole of it, may acquire the character of
divine speech in reply to prayer.
All these methods of ascertaining the thoughts of
the god, with the exception of dreams, visions and
auditions, involve the use of something intermediate
between the worshiper and his god, and lead to a require-
ment of skill of one sort or another. Just as the primary
requirement of shamanism is greater facility in autom-
atisms than the ordinary man possesses, so, when
natural objects are taken as signs of divine presence or
meaning, they have to be selected. When events are
studied with the same intent, there has to be some sort
of rule for scrutinizing and judging. When images of
the god are to be made, it is, of course, important that
they be made just right. Here is added opportunity for
priestly skill. Just as priests came to possess the ritual-
istic keys to the right approach to the gods through
sacrifice, so they became also the holders of the keys
whereby the divine responses were made. They spoke
PRAYER. 309
both to the divinity and for him, confessing the people's
sins, for example, and also pronouncing absolution.
Even the sacred scriptures, which are supposed to con-
tain human language as a vehicle of divine thoughts,
and are treated as revelation, need to be officially inter-
preted. Thus fully do both worshiper and worshiped,
in sacerdotal systems, become dependent upon the priest
or upon the doctors of the law.
One mode of apprehending the divine response
remains, however, that does not require any external
intermediary, though it often includes considerable
interpretation. For it is possible to take the movement
of one's own thoughts, emotions, and purposes, even
apart from dreams, visions, and auditions, as an imme-
diate communication from another being. Zoroastri-
anism held that the mind of man is a scene of conflict
between Ormuzd and Ahriman. A similar view has
been characteristic of Christianity. Evil impulses were
for a long time attributed to an inner solicitation from
Satan, and good impulses to a corresponding solicitation
from the Holy Spirit. There even arose a doctrine that
without directly imparted divine impulsions man is
utterly incapable of having a holy desire. Here, then,
is a basis for a rich development of supposably divine
language. As before, the scale is a long one. We have
already noted the growth of prophecy from shamanistic
automatisms (under which head should be included
tongue-speaking) to ethical convictions taken as the
divine will. Since ethical convictions can be a possession
of common men, all are potentially prophets. When
this point of view is reached, the everyday sense of obli-
gation becomes a commanding ''voice of God"; self-
3IO THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
condemnation becomes "conviction of sin"; the answer
of a good conscience becomes a ''witness of the Spirit";
a firm conviction as to what is right and what wrong
becomes ''guidance"; and the steady organization of
the emotional life around this divine ethical center
becomes the "peace of God."
Here at last prayer can take wholly the form of
internal conversation. The worshiper's words may be
vocal or only mentally spoken, and they may or may
not follow a fixed form; in any case the direction of
thought and desire Godward is what makes the act a
prayer. That is, the present meaning of something to
the worshiper, or his valuation of it, is his prayer, and
the resulting changed or confirmed meaning of the same
thing is the divine response. The point is not that the
worshiper experiences something strange for which he
figures out a cause. His mind is not now engaged in
looking for causes, nor does he necessarily think of God
as the cause of the upspringing ethical convictions. Just
as, in conversation with a friend, I deal with meanings
directly as mine and his without stopping to think of him
as producing certain of my sensations and chains of ideas,
so it is in the type of prayer now under consideration.
The causal question might, of course, arise in either
case. That is, by abstracting events from persons, and
fijcing attention upon events simply as occurring, one
might ask what particular sort of event is the uniform
antecedent of the event in question. If the religionist
should ask, "What but God could cause such a change
in my ideas, emotions, and purposes?" and the friend
should say, "What but my friend could cause the audi-
tory sensations that I experience?" the structural
PRAYER 311
psychologist not only might but also should reply in
terms of my physiological conditions, neural processes
and dispositions, instinctive tendencies to action, and
the ordinary laws of ideation, emotion, and so on. No
remainder that is God will be found in the one case, and
no remainder that is my friend will be discovered in
the other. All this can be said in advance of analy-
sis as well as afterward, for it is involved in the struc-
tural method itself. Persons are not simply residual
causes.
The specific and characteristic process by which the
worshiper's valuations are reorganized or confirmed and
taken as a divine response is that of suggestion. He
who prays begins his prayer with some idea of God,
generally one that he has received from instruction or
from current traditions. He commonly retires to a
quiet place, or to a place having mental associations of
a religious cast, in order to "shut out the world." This
beginning of concentration is followed by closing the
eyes, which excludes a mass of irrelevant impressions.
The body bows, kneels, or assumes some other posture
that requires little muscular tension and that may favor
extensive relaxation. Memory now provides the lan-
guage of prayer or of hallowed scripture, or makes vivid
some earlier experiences of one's own. The worshiper
represents to himself his needs, or the interests (some of
them happy ones) that seem most important, and he
brings them into relation to God by thinking how God
regards them. The presupposition of the whole pro-
cedure is that God's way of looking at the matters in
question is the true and important one. Around God,
then, the interests of the individual are now freshly
312 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
organized. Certain ones that looked large before the
prayer began now look small because of their relation
to the organizing idea upon which attention has focused.
On the other hand, interests that express this organizing
idea gain emotional quality by this release from com-
peting, inhibiting considerations. To say that the will
now becomes organized toward unity and that it acquires
fresh power thereby is simply to name another aspect
of the one movement. This movement is ideational,
emotional, and volitional concentration, all in one,
achieved by fixation of attention upon the idea of God.
This, as far as structure is concerned, is simply auto-
suggestion. It is directly in line with autosuggestion of
health, and it is just the reverse of the autosuggestion of
weakness, which leads toward sin, and of the auto-
suggestion of sickness, that disarranges various physio-
logical functions.
It is sometimes said that faith is a prerequisite for
success, whether in prayer or in autosuggestion of health.
Therefore, when success occurs where there is contrary
suggestion or lack of confidence, the inference is drawn
that here a foreign cause, not autosuggestion, is the
explanation. But the supposition that faith is pre-
requisite is faulty at the best. Many a person, skeptical
of the powers of a hypnotizer, has submitted himself
as a subject in the expectation of utterly ''resisting the
influence," but has been astounded to find himself a
follower of the operator's suggestions just like credulous
subjects. Faith-healing and mental-healing cults often
win adherents by producing physical relief in the as yet
unconvinced. At revival meetings scoffers are some-
times brought to their knees in spite of their unfaith.
PRAYER 313
Just so, surprising reversals sometimes take place in
prayer, faith being there born or reborn, instead of being
merely exercised. What is prerequisite in all these cases
is not a particular expectation, but a particular direction
of attention. Merely repeating certain sentences with
attention to their meaning, but regardless of their truth
or falsity, will sometimes result in marked control of
further mental processes. Persons who have been
troubled with insomnia, or wakefulness, or disturbing
dreams, have been enabled to secure sound sleep by
merely relaxing the muscles and repeating mechanically,
without effort at anything more, some formula descrip-
tive of what is desired. The main point is that attention
should fix upon the appropriate organizing idea. When
this happens in a revival meeting one may find one's self
imexpectedly converted. When it happens in prayer
one may be surprised to find one's whole mood changed
from discouragement to courage, from liking something
to hating it (as in the case of alcoholic drinks, or tobacco),
or from loneliness to the feeling of companionship
with God.
Now and then a student imagines that by sufficiently
careful introspection of his own prayers he will be enabled
to determine once and for all whether or not God is
there. Apart from the tendency of introspection to
prevent the real spirit of prayer, there is the further
difficulty that, in any case — that is, whether God is
there or not — what one introspects in praying is mental
content of one's own that one is purposely manipu-
lating at the time. What introspection reveals^ there-
fore, is not God but one's own idea of God, and the
only causal sequences that one gets trace of by this
4^
314 THE rSYCIIOLOGY OF RELIGION
method are sequences between particular events, not
between difTerent persons/
On the other hand, as Strong has pointed out,' the
internal conversation that constitutes prayer is not an
isolated thing, but a specific instance of a general form
of mental procedure. Thinking as a whole has the same
form. Not merely does rudimentary thinking, which is
impulsive and emotional, involve the assumption of
reciprocal attitudes between the thinker and his objects,
but even the more cautious and controlled sort that
weighs considerations, and advances from position to
position, moves on in the form of question and answer,
proposal and counter proposal, internal debate, and final
agreement of the debaters. More than this; considered
from the standpoint of mental structure only, my inter-
course with my fellows also is internal conversation, a
give and take, both sides of which are in a way accessible
to my own introspection.
The tendency of these considerations is not neces-
sarily toward skeptical subjectivism or solipsism unless
one first assumes that the whole reality of the I-and-thou
relation can be set forth in the structural terms of
particular states succeeding one another. If the essence
of a conversation lies not in a particular succession of
sounds or even in a particular succession of ideas, but
in meanings for selves, then a particular movement of
* A skeptical student was advised to determine for himself whether
or not there be a God by the experiment of praying. Being of a scientific
turn of mind, he decided to vary only one circumstance at a time. So
he offered the same prayer first to the Christian God and then to the
Buddha. His introspective account of the effects showed that in each
case he got the same results, such as peace and feeling of elevation.
' A. L. Strong, The Psychology of Prayer (Chicago, 1909).
PRAYER 315
my own states might have meaning for two selves. The
second self for which the situation has meaning is never
found as an additional item in the succession of states,
any more than I myself can discover myself as one of my
own states. The fact that prayer is a conversation both
sides of which, structurally considered, are mental states
of the one who prays, has no particular bearing upon ^
the question whether prayer is a mutual relation between
the worshiper and God.
This analysis of the structure of prayer has already
touched upon some of its functions. It is a way of getting
one's self together, of mobilizing and concentrating one's
dispersed capacities, of begetting the confidence that
tends toward victory over difficulties. It produces in a
distracted mind the repose that is power. It freshens a
mind deadened by routine. It reveals new truth, because
the mind is made more elastic and more capable of sus-
tained attention . Thus does it remove mountains in the
individual, and through him in the world beyond.
Prayer fulfils this function of self-renewal largely by
making one's experience consciously social, that is,
by producing a realization that even what is private to
me is shared by another. Burdens are lightened by the
thought that they are burdens to another also, through
his sympathy with me. This would be a gain even if I
were not sure that this friend would remove the burden
from my shoulders. The values of prayer in sickness,
distress, and doubt are by no means measurable by the
degree to which the primary causes thereof are made to
disappear. There is a real conquest of trouble even while
trouble remains. Now and then the conquest is so
precious that one rejoices in the tribulation itself as a
31 6 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
friendly visitation.' It is sometimes a great source of
strength, also, merely to realize that one is fully under-
stood. The value of having some friend or helper from
whom I reserve no secrets has been rendered more im-
pressive than ever by the Freud- Jung methods of reliev-
ing mental disorders through (in part) a sort of mental
housecleaning, or bringing into the open the patient's
hidden distresses and even his most intimate and reticent
desires. Into the psychology- of the healings that are
brought about by this psycho-analysis we need not go,
except to note that one constant factor appears to be
the turning of a private possession into a social posses-
sion, and particularly the consciousness that another
understands. I surmise that we shall not be far from the
truth here if we hold that, as normal experience has the
ego-alter form, so the continuing possession of one's self
in one's developing experience requires development of
this relation. We may. perhaps, go as far as to believe
that the bottling up of any experience as merely private
is morbid. But, however this may be, there are plenty
of occasions when the road to poise, freedom, and joy
is that of social sharing. Hence the prayer of confession,
* The greatest sufferer from physical causes whom I have ever
known, the late Byron Palmer, of Ashtabula, Ohio, was not only one of
the serenest of spirits, but also one of the most convinced that God is
wholly good. During years of unrelieved pain he occupied himself,
when writing was possible, by producing tracts, letters, and finally a
book, God's White Throne, to enable other sufferers to realize, as he
did, that there is not a speck of injustice in God's government of the
world. I mention this case, not at all in order to suggest that there is
logical justification for his attitude, but only as an example of the
remarkable function that communion \\dth God may have in the deepest
distress. The prayer-life may be said to be, in cases like this, the organi-
zation into the self of the very things that threaten to disorganize it.
PRAYER 317
not only because it helps us to see ourselves as we are,
but also because it shares our secrets with another, has
great value for organizing the self. In this way we get
relief from the mis judgments of others, also, and from
the mystery that we are to ourselves, for we lay our case,
as it were, before a judge who does not err. Thus prayer
has value in that it develops the essentially social form
of personal self-realization.
Moreover, where the idea of God has reached high
ethical elevation, prayer is a mode of self-assurance of the
triumph of the good, with all the reinforcement that
comes from such assurance. Confidence in ultimate
goodness may support itself upon various thought struc-
tures. Many Christians attach their thought of God
and of a meaningful world to Jesus as the revealer and
worker-out of the divine plan. With him as leader they
feel that they cannot fail. Others attach their ethical
aspirations directly to God, who may then be thought
of as present with the worshiper in these very aspirations.
Others think the world-purpose in less sharply personal
terms, as the evolution of the cosmos toward a moral
life that was not, and now is only beginning to be, but
is nevertheless the inmost law of the system. In the last
case prayer shades off from conversation toward mere
contemplation, yet without failing to identify the indi-
vidual's own purpose with a world-purpose that is moving
toward sure fulfilment. In all these types of self-
assurance the individual may do little more than apply
to himself by suggestion an idea that is current in the
cult with which he is familiar. Yet the idea that is thus
applied grows in the process of appropriating it to one's
self. It has, in fact, been generated in men in and
3i8 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
through prayer. That is to say, prayer is a process in
which faith is generated. It is a mistake to suppose
that men assure themselves of the existence and of the
character of God by some prayerless method, and then
merely exercise this ready-made faith in the act of
praying. No, prayer has greater originality than this.
Alongside of much traditionalism and vain repetition
there is also some launching forth upon voyages of
exploration and some discovery of lands firm enough
to support men when they carry their heaviest burdens.
To complete this functional view of prayer we must
not fail to secure the evolutionary perspective. If we
glance at the remote beginnings, and then at the hither
end, of the evolution of prayer, we discover that an
immense change has taken place. It is a correlate of
the transformed character of the gods, and of the
parallel disciplining of men's valuations. In the words
of Fosdick, prayer may be considered as dominant
desire.^ But it is also a way of securing domination over
desire. It is indeed self-assertion; sometimes it is the
making of one's supreme claim, as when life reaches its
most tragic crisis; yet it is, even in the same act, sub-
mission to an overself. Here, then, is our greater
problem as to the function of prayer. It starts as the
assertion of any desire; it ends as the organization of one^s
own desires into a system of desires recognized as superior
and then made one^s own.
At the beginning the attitude is more that of using
the gods for men's ends; at the culmination prayer puts
men at the service of God for the correction of human
ends, and for the attainment of these corrected ends
* H. E. Fosdick, The Meatiing of Prayer (New York, 1915).
PRAYER . 319
rather than the initial ones. Like everything else in
religion, prayer has several lines of development. Every
religion has its own characteristic ways of approaching
its divinity or divinities, and its own characteristic
valuations are expressed thereby. All, however, as we
may be sure from our whole study of religious evolution,
reflect the notion of society then and there prevailing. 1^
In the Christian religion, with its central emphasis upon
love, prayer tends to become, wherever the constructive
significance of love has not been submerged by ritualism
or dogmatism, the afl&rmation of what may be called
social universalism of essentially democratic tendency.
On the one hand, the act of praying now becomes highly
individual. To be prayed for by a priest is not enough,
nor does mechanical participation in common prayer
suffice. Whether one prays with others or alone, one is
required to pray in one's own spirit, and to do it sincerely.
Paradoxical as it may seem, this throwing of the indi-
vidual back upon himself, with insistence that he here
and now express his very self, produces, not iudividual-
istic desire, but criticism of desires from a social point of
view. Here self-assertion becomes self-overcoming in
and through acceptance of the loving will of the Father
as one's own. Now, because the Father values so
highly every child of his, in prayer to him I must adopt
his point of view with respect to my fellows, desiring for
each of them full and joyous self-realization. This sort
of submission — to a God who values each individual —
tends therefore toward the deference for each individual
that is the foundation of democracy. Here the func-
tion of prayer is that of training men in the attitudes of
mind that are fundamental to democratic society.
320 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Finally, prayer has the function of extending one's
acquaintance with agreeable persons. Here and there,
at least, men enjoy God's companionship just because
of what he is, without reference to benefits that he may
bestow. This pure friendship sometimes includes the
joy of helping the Great Friend. It is true that when
philosophy identifies God with some abstract absolute
the notion of helping him is ruled out. But religion is
different from philosophy. As a rule the gods of reli-
gion— and not less the God of Christianity — stand to
their worshipers in a relation of mutual give and take.
As a primitive group feeds its god in order to make him
strong, and rejoices and feasts with him as an invisible
guest, so in Christianity God and men stand in mutual
need of each other. This must be so if God is love.
Men are saved by grace alone, but there is joy in heaven
over one sinner who repents; men are called into the
family of God, yet only as men fulfil fraternal relations
with one another can God have the satisfactions that
belong to a father. Thus it is that Christian prayer has
to be reciprocal as between God and the worshiper^
There is an ancient doctrine that our prayers are in-
spired in us by God himself, so that he also prays in our
prayers. That is to say, at this point each of the two,
God and the worshiper, finds himself by identifying his
o^vn desire with that of the other.
This is the culmination of the seU-Sind-socius con-
sciousness that makes us persons. The function of
prayer at this level, then, is to produce (or, as the case
may be, sustain) personal life, which is also social life,
as something of ultimate worth.
CHAPTER XIX
THE RELIGIOUS NATURE OF MAN
There is a traditional opinion that man is natu-
rally or ''incurably" religious. The sense in which this
is true, if it be true at all, may well be the closing problem
of this long discussion of the naturalness of reUgion.
That religion lies wholly within the natural psychological
order, just as regard for one's family, or seeking to buy
at the lowest price, needs no further affirmation. What
we still need to consider, however, is the relation of
fundamental to accessory. In the natural order some
things are merely incidental workings out of something
that lies deeper. Affection for offspring is fundamental;
the fashions that parents adopt for children's clothing
are superficial, but both are natural. Is religion one of
the deep and permanent springs of human life, like
parental affection, or is it an incidental expression of a
nature that can satisfy itself in other ways also ?
Before answering this question, two or three other
distinctions must be noted. *'Man" might be taken
to mean either one of three things: each particular man,
or the species as a whole, or a type toward which the
species is moving. Non-religious individuals here and
there might be members of a religious race, just as there
are non-musical persons, the pecuHarity in each case
being due to a particular congenital lack. Again, there
could be periods of arrested reHgiosity in a race the
321
y
322 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
general movement of which is toward rather than away
from religion.
The term ''nature'' of man likewise requires scrutiny.
A rehgious nature has been attributed to man in each
of the following senses: That a religious intuition, as of
God, or of infmity, or of immortality, exists; that there
is a religious instinct; and that religion belongs to
man's nature as a specific longing, restlessness, or dis-
content that assuages itself by faith, which it evokes
out of itself, in divine beings. There is a fourth possi-
bility: that, even in the absence of any such special
emotion, instinct, or intuition, there might be a sponta-
neous, t}^ical mode of organizing experience. Here we
come upon the ever-necessary distinction between
) structure and function. If by ''nature" we mean
'structure only, and if by structure we mean merely the
elements into which a whole can be decomposed, it
might well happen that nothing religious could be found
in human nature although the most characteristic way of
I organizing the elements were religious. A bit of canvas
and some tubes of pigment are scarcely aesthetic in their
nature, yet they may be organized into an aesthetic
masterpiece.^
'Here an ancient problem, which is likewise one of the freshest,
confronts us if we wish to think our question through. Can we pack
into our "elements" enough specific qualities to account for all that the
elements do, and for all the relations that they ever bear to one another ?
Or, must we have also an "entelechy," or a "form," or "self -guidance" ?
The question is two-edged. As I have indicated in one of the early
chapters, our problem as psychologists is not whether we shall recognize
a self in addition to mental eletnents. As well might we ask whether we
shall recognize mental elements in addition to the personal selves who
are carrying on the present discussion. The notion of elements seems
to me hopelessly abstract as long as no account is taken of that which
makes the elements amount to something.
THE RELIGIOUS NATURE OF MAN 323
The general course of our investigation leads toward
the following negative conclusions as to the supposed
religious nature of man: (i) There is no^gyidence that
a religious intuition ever occurs. I use the term intuin
tion in the sense of insight (or, if one prefers, conviction)
arrived at by an individual without dependence upon
his own accumulated experience, and without depend- 1
ence upon the history of his people. (2) There is nof '
religious instinct. That is, no object or set of objects
can be named that has any peculiar power, apart from
previous experience thereof, to call out a specifically
reHgious reaction. (3) There is no adequate evidence |
that all individuals experience the particular longing,
restlessness, or discontent that has just been mentioned.
On the contrary, men can be absorbed by almost any
interest, from love to business, and from research to
golf. Nor is it clear that the longing here referred to —
the sense of a vague but great beyond, and of vast
capacities within one's self that are as yet unfilled — has
any better title to be called reHgious, or to be taken as
the focus of man's religious nature, than various other
emotions and active states. (4) No specific attitude
toward the divine or the human can be attributed to all
individuals. Attitudes grow; they are not given ready-
made. And they grow in all directions, out of every
sort of instinct, under the influence of particular situa-
tions, with their respective satisfactions and annoyances.
On the other hand, two positive conclusions as to
a religious nature grow out of our entire study: In the
first place, there are humanjnodesoforjganizing. expe-
rience, so that there is in experience, as ours, a kind of
predetermination other than that of the instincts taken
324 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
one by one. So much has already been said of the pas-
sage of instinctive attachments into discriminated
values, with scales of preference, and with efforts at
unification and completeness, that it will be sufficient
at this point to emphasize the fact that this is, indeed,
a distinctive mode of human mental organization. Any
individual who fails to meet the conditions of Hfe in this
way we classify as imbecile. It is true that we have here
no stereotyped thing. The range or sweep as well as the
firmness of organization varies from individual to indi-
vidual, and the scales of preference vary qualitatively.
Nevertheless, it is of the utmost significance that, when-
ever one takes an absorbing interest in any particular
thing or enterprise, one idealizes it, organizes other
interests about it, and thus finds one's real world partly
by having a share in making it real. This way of organ-
izing experience in terms of ideal values is a first item
in the religious nature of man. It is present in all
normal individuals, and it is a type toward which free-
dom, popular education, and democracy tend.
A second conclusion is that nature has not placed
all the possible centers for this organization upon the
same level. It is true that any instinctive interest may
become controlling. Yet the social instincts have a pre-
eminence that is unmistakable. Ethical control, ethical
standards, and ethical ideals, all springing from social
instincts primarily, but having as their sphere of opera-
tion all the instinctive and impulsive tendencies, have
unique significance as determinants of what constitutes
specifically human nature. Here, of course, we take
''man" in the racial rather than the individual sense.
There is, indeed, nothing in human nature that guar-
THE RELIGIOUS NATURE OF MAN 325
antees how hearty or complete shall be one's social
response.^ But we know that social pressure upon indi-
viduals will keep up. That is, the race has a character,
or is forming one, on the basis of regard for one another.
Hence, even though an individual act intensely and
ideally, he may nevertheless be convicted of insufficient
religiousness if his ideals have an individualistic rather
than social focus.
These two are the main roots of the more obvious
facts of religion — its dealing with affairs that are sacred,
that concern some important group interest, and that
have their culminating expression in fellowship with
a divine being. To say that these roots will live on
forever, or that as long as they do live they will nourish
religious beliefs and organizations like those of the past,
is more than any accessible data can more than approxi-
mately justify. For, after all, to describe the nature of
an evolving species is to say how it has moved, not how
it must hereafter move. There is, nevertheless, one
ray of light upon the direction of future movements of
humanity. The forming of scales of value, and especially
our social criteria, have become matters of deliberate
reflection and choice, and a beginning has been made of
systematic measures for perpetuating them, particularly
* Hence, if we should determine the degree of sociaUty that entitles
one to be called religious, we could then set oflf certain classes in the
community, as Ames has done, as made up of non-religious persons.
As far as I can see, however, Ames has not determined, or given any
principle for determining, the religious threshold that he employs.
One might question, also, whether we have as yet any secure way of
determining degrees of sociality. Certainly many who are regarded
by society as its enemies have been made enemies precisely by society's
unsocial ways, and not seldom it is the exercise of social qualities that
first brings on a collision with organized society.
326 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
through educational procedures. It is, of course,
possible that, in spite of all that education can do, or
even through perverted education, the race will revert
to barbarism, or end humanity's career in a welter of
mere instinct. But eyes open to the problem of relative
values, and seeking the permanent organization of
valuational processes, give hope for better things. Our
study justifies the prediction that human nature will
go on building its ideal personal-social worlds, finding
in them its life and its home. This process will continue
to be carried out toward ideal completeness as faith in
a divine order in which our life shares. The thought of
God may, indeed, undergo yet many transformations,
but in one form or another it will be continually renewed
as an expression of the depth and the height of social
experience and social aspiration.
ALPHABETICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY
Note. — ^This bibliography makes no pretense to any sort of com-
pleteness. In particular, it contains comparatively few titles that
concern anthropology on the one hand, and systematic theology on the
other. But the reader can easily fill these gaps by consulting the list
of bibliographies given in the "Topical Bibliography." On the other
hand, I have attempted, in accordance with my conviction that the
psychology of religion is properly nothing more than an expansion of
general psychology in certain directions, to present fairly abundant
references to the particular psychological discussions that deal with
the principles and the topics that appear in the main body of the work.
Those whom I have had chiefly in mind as probable users of the
bibliography are American students. In order that they may be saved
from desultoriness, and may get promptly into the various specific
problems, I have added a set of topical lists that refer back, for the most
part but not exclusively, to the titles here given in alphabetical order.
I am under obligation to certain American writers who have pub-
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complete lists of their writings in the psychology of religion.
In a few cases I have permitted myself to include works to which I
have not yet had access.
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XX (1910), 242-62.
327
328 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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330 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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334 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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336 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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ALPHABETICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 337
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338 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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342 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
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1906.
Worcester and others. Religion afid Medicine, New York, 1908.
Wright, W. K., (i) "A Psychological Definition of Religion,
American Journal of Theology, XVI (191 2), 385-409.
, (2) "The Evolution of Values from Instincts," Philo
sophical Review, XXIV (191 5), 165-83.
>>
ALPHABETICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 345
Wundt, W., (i) Volkerpsychologie, 2. Band: Mythus und Religion,
Leipzig, 1906; revised edition in 3 vols., 1910-15. Re-
viewed by Gardiner, H. N., Philosophical Review (1908),
pp. 316 ff.; Thieme, K., Zeitschrift Jilr Religionspsychologie,
IV (1910), 145-61; Mead, G. H., Psychological Bulletin, III,
399 ff.; Faber, H., Das Wesen der Religionspsychologie,
Tiibingen, 1913, pp. 33-55.
, (2) Prohleme der Volkerpsychologie, Leipzig, 191 1.
, (3) Elemente der Volkerpsychologie, Leipzig, 1913.
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY
[Numbers in parentheses refer back to the Alphabetical Bibliography.]
Bibliographies
Lists of Current Psychological Publications
Psychological Bulletin (monthly), and
Psychological Index (annual), both published by the Psychological
Review Co., Princeton, New Jersey.
Bibliographies of the Psychology of Religion
Berguer, G., Psychologic religieuse; Revue et bibliographies generales,
Geneve, Klindig, 1914.
Contains the only extended general bibliography of this
subject. It is preceded by brief analyses of problems and points
of view, with references to the writers who represent each point
of view.
Faber, H., Das Wesen der Religio7is psychologic, Tubingen, 1913.
Gives a list of writings, chiefly German. This list will be found
especially useful by anyone who desires to work up the movement
among German theologians to secure a psychological basis for
systematic theology. To the titles listed by Faber should be
added works by Vorbrodt and Wobbermin published in 1913 (see
Alphabetical Bibliography).
Bibliographies of Primitive Religion
Marett, R. R., "Primitive Religion," Encyclopaedia Britannica,
XXIII, 67.
King, I., The Development of Religion, New York, 19 10, pp.
355-61.
Note also sources and authorities given in cyclopedia articles
by Aston, Lang, Marett, Thomas, W. R. Smith, and Whitehouse
(see Alphabetical Bibliography).
346
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 347
Religious Autobiographies
Burr, A. R., Religious Confessions and Confessants, Boston, 1914.
Gives a long list.
Bibliography of Social Psychology
Howard, G. E., Social Psychology; A Syllabus and a Bibliography,
Lincoln, Nebraska, 1910.
Consult also Thomas, W. L, Source Book for Social Origins ,
Chicago, 1909.
Bibliography of Thirty Works on the Psychology of Religion by
Catholic Writers
Lindworsky, J., " Religionspsychologische Arbeiten katholischer
Autoren," Archivfiir Religionspsychologie, I (1914), 228-56.
Bibliography of the Psychology and Metaphysics of Value
Dashiell, J. F., "An Introductory Bibliography of Value," Journal
of Philosophy, X (1913), 472-76.
To this list should be added the following more recent publi-
cations:
Brown, H. C, "Value and Potentiality," ibid., XI (1914), 29-37.
Kallen, H. M., "Value and Existence in Art and in Religion,"
ibid., XI (1914), 264-76.
Moore, J. S., "The System of Transcendental Values," ibid., XI
(1914), 244-48.
Perry, R. B., "Definition of Value, ibid., XI (19 14), 141-62.
, "Religious Values," American Journal of Theology, XIX
(1915), 1-16.
Sheldon, W. H., "Empirical Definition of Value," Journal of
Philosophy, XI (1914), 113-24.
Wright, W. K., "Evolution of Values from Instincts," Philosophi-
cal Review, XXIV (191 5), 165-83.
See also Berguer, G., La Notion de Valeur, Geneve, 1908.
Magazines Devoted Previarily to the Psychology
OF Religion
American Journal of Religious Psychology atui Education, founded
in 1904 by G. Stanley Hall, succeeded 191 2 by
348 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Journal of Religious Psychology, Including its Anthropological and
Sociological Aspects, Worcester, Massachusetts (Quarterly,
$3.00 a year). Editor, G. Stanley Hall.
Zieitschrijt Jiir Religions psychologic, Leipzig, Barth; founded 1908,
discontinued after six years.
Archiv fiir Religionspsychologie, Tubingen, Mohr (12 marks a
volume); founded 191 4; only one volume issued thus far.
. Editor-in-chief, Dr. W. Stiihlin.
Cyclopedias Especially Valuable for the Psychology
OF Religion
For definition of psychological terms, consult Baldwin's
Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology.
Two cyclopedias, the Encyclopaedia Britannica and Hastings'
Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, are rich in anthropological
material. The student is advised to consult, in addition to the
bibliographies of primitive religion already mentioned, the Index
of the Britannica. The last volume of Hastings published to the
present date is Vol. VIII. The student should be on the lookout
for the new volumes as they appear. This cyclopedia contains a
vast aggregation of material by writers of many sorts. It is not
organized on the basis of any scientific classification, but rather
on that of popular terminology, as "Charms" and "Images and
Idols." Many articles have subdivisions that follow the religious
divisions of mankind. Thus, under "Magic," an introductory
article of general character by Marett is followed by fifteen others
by as many writers on magic in the difi'erent religions. See, for
other examples, "Death and the Disposal of the Dead," "Human
Sacrifice," and "Life and Death."
At many points the student wiU find valuable historical
material in the various dictionaries of the Bible, the Jewish
Encyclopedia, and the Catholic Encyclopedia.
General Points of View in Psychology
For a critical exposition of the notion of functional psychology,
see Angell.
On the history and use of "function" in psychology, see
Dallenbach; Ruchmich.
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 349
On self-psychology, see Calkins (i, 3, 4, 5, 8).
On the voluntaristic, dynamic point of view, including relation
of mind to evolution, see Judd (i, 2, 3).
On behaviorism, see Watson.
For a comparison of structuralism, functionalism, and be-
haviorism, see Creighton.
On the mind-body relation, see McDougall (2)
History of the Psychology of Religion
Ames (5, chap, i); Pratt (3, 4); Rademacher; Berguer;
Faber; Wobbermin (2, chap. xv).
Methods and Principles in the Psychology of Religion
On the use of question circulars, see Thorndike (i); Ribot;
Urban (in Philosophical Review, XIV, 652 £f.); Stahlin (i, 2);
Haynes; see also reviews of Starbuck.
On the analysis of rehgious biographies and autobiographies,
see Burr; Schliiter.
On anthropology as psychology of reUgion, see Wundt (2),
and his German critics, for whom consult Faber, Wobbermin
(i, 2), and Aschkenasy.
On experimental methods in the psychology of religion, see
May {Journal of Philosophy, XII [1915], 691); Stahlin (3).
On conditions that must be met if psychology of religion is
to be science, see Flournoy (2); Leuba (3, 9, 11); Hoffding (3);
King (4); Woods (i, 2); Billia.
On functionalism in the psychology of religion, see King (9,
chap, i); Ames (5, chap, ii) ; Calkins (7).
General Works on the Psychology of Religion
No work even approximately covers the enormous field.
Each author selects an area or a set of problems, though generally
with the intention of securing insight into the general nature of
religion. In addition to the characterization of recent works by
Ames, Durkheim, Hoffding, James, King, Leuba, Pratt, Starbuck,
Stratton, and Wundt already given in chap, i, it will be sufficient
to say that, for a systematic marshaling of many sorts of data,
Ames (5) will be found most convenient; for a similar wide range
350 THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
of literary data of religion as inner life, Stratton will serve best.
James (2) and Starbuck (i) offer valuable personal confessions in
abundance. Cutten (i) has collected typical data on a wide
range of topics, but his analysis is popular rather than critical.
As to points of view, emphasis upon religion as affective life is
represented by James (2), Pratt (2), and Starbuck (i and 2);
functionalism that connects religion with biological processes is
represented by Ames (5) and King (9); Stratton emphasizes
logical relations more than functions; Wundt is more interested
in ideational structure and history than in the functions involved;
Hoffding (i) has produced the locus class icus on religion as valua-
tion; Leuba's general works (21 and 24), which deal primarily
with the establishment of a positivistic conception, and with the
differentiation of religion from magic, are to be followed by one
or more others that will deal in greater detail with the content
of religion; Durkheim endeavors to derive the primitive religious
ideas wholly from the organized life of primitive groups.
Efforts to Determine the Fundamental Psychological
Characteristics of Religion
In addition to the general works on the psychology of religion,
already listed, see Leuba (24), who gives on pp. 339-61 a classified
list of definitions of religion; Starbuck (2); Wright (i); Colvin;
Seashore; Marshall (i, 2, 4); McDougall (i); Calkins (2); Perry
(i, 3, 4); Wundt (i, III, 509 ff.); Aschkenasy.
Soul, Self, Person
In general, and primarily, " soul " is a metaphysical conception,
"self" a psychological conception, and "person" an ethical and
legal conception. A further distinction has to be made between
the primitive notions of body-soul {K or per seek), and separable
soul or "spirit." On the rise and development of these notions,
see Ames (5, chap, vi); Wundt (i, Vol. IV); Durkheim, and the
bibliography of primitive religion.
On the present status of the doctrine of the soul, see
McDougall (2).
The concept "soul" has largely disappeared from psychology.
But "self " remains, (a) It refers to the individual uniqueness and
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 351
unity of mental life, {b) Consciousness of self is commonly sup-
posed to depend upon organic sensations, or upon kinesthetic
sensations, (c) But the increasing prominence in psychology of
the motor aspects of mind (desire, attitude, action, adjustment),
tends toward a further determination of the self as a dynamic
unity. See Judd (i, 2, 3), and James (3). (d) Further, analysis
of the genesis and growth of self-consciousness shows that self-
consciousness is itself social consciousness. See Royce (i, 2, 3);
Mead (5, 6); Baldwin; Cooley.
A good idea of the place of the "self" in present psychology
can be had by comparing the following with one another:
James, W., Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, chap. x.
Pillsbury, W. B., Essentials of Psychology, chap. xvi.
Stout, G. F., Groundwork of Psychology, chaps, xiv, xviii.
Angell, J. R., Psychology, chap, xxiii.
Judd, C. H., Psychology, chap. xii.
Calkins, M. W., Introduction to Psychology, chaps, i and xii.
In the article, "The Self in Scientific Psychology" (American
Journal of Psychology, XXVI [1915], 495-524), Professor Calkins
gives many footnote references to sources.
A "person" is primarily one who has rights or value that
entitles him to a place in our ultimate regard. But the present
tendency to think of the self as social and dynamic, and the
growing prominence of the study of values, are reducing the
distance between the concept of "self" and that of "person."
On the significance of "persons" for the Christian religion,
see Buckham (i); Royce (4).
On the nature of our knowledge of persons, and of our fellow-
ship with them, see Schiller (3); Coe (9); Bradley, chap. xiv.
On the problem of personality in the psychology of religion,
seeRuyssen; Fite.
On personal immortality, see Schiller (1,3); Howison; Hyslop
(i, 2); Runze; Hall (2); Bergson (2); Bradley; Leuba (8, 34).
Values
For a general classified bibliography of value, see "Bibliog-
raphies."
Works on general psychology rarely contain anything specific
on valuation. But discussions of feeling, sentiment, and volition
352 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
touch upon the root ideas involved, as e.g., Angcll's Psychology
(revised edition, New York, 1908), p. 320 and chap. xxi.
The only extensive general psychological discussion of values
in English is that of Urban. It is fundamental and critical, but
it suffers from a highly abstract method of presentation. The
interest of Miinsterberg (i) is that of philosophical construction
rather than of psychological analysis.
On kinds and classifications of value, see Tufts; Moore, A. W. ;
Moore, J. S. (i and 2); Coe (4); Perry (4); Messer.
On the relation of value to {a) validity as a whole, including
belief in the external world; (6) social consciousness, and (c) the
problem of teleology and of the existence of God, see Rogers (1,3).
Urban in chap, ii opens the question as to the senses in which
valuation implies reality. His j5nal conclusion (pp. 422 ff.) is that
''worth experience in its entirety corresponds to a larger world
of reality than the limited regions of existence and truth" (p. 427),
and that "existence" and "truth" have meaning as predicates
"only when they add to the intrinsic value or reality of an im-
pression or idea" (p. 427). The relation of this to voluntarism
and pragmatist tendencies may be gathered from p. 54: "In
general, then, we may conclude that feeling of value is the feeling
aspect of conative process, as distinguished from the feeling-tone
of simple presentations."
Religion as Social Experience
For the bibliography of social psychology, see under "Bibliog-
raphies."
Concerning the instinctive bases of social satisfactions, see
McDougall (i); Thorndike (2, chaps, vii and viii).
On the genesis and nature of the ego-social consciousness, see
Mead (2, 3, 4, 5, 6); Baldwin; Cooley; Royce (i, 2, 3).
On the objects of social consciousness — what they are, and
how they are known — see Ames (6); Coe (9); Boodin (i, 2).
On crowds and other assemblies, see Le Bon; Tawney; Wallis,
chap, viii; Gardner; Trotter.
On the social functions of religion, see "Bibliographies of
Primitive Religion"; Durkheim; Wundt(i); Royce (4); Adams;
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 353
Marshall (i, 2, 4, 5); Draghicesco; EUwood; Haw; Overstreet;
Fite; Rumbull; Coe (2, chap. xi).
The Phenomena of Conversion and of Revivals
For the earliest studies of the psychology of conversion, see
references to Hall, Daniels, Leuba, Burnham, Lancaster, and
Starbuck in the first footnote of chap. i. The most extended
study is that of Starbuck (i), with which compare James (2,
Lectures IX, X); Hall (i. Vol. II, chap, xiv); Coe (i, chaps, i-iii,
and 5); Caldecott; Prince (i); Tawney(i); Fursac (i).
On counter-conversions, see Heidel; Burr.
On revivals, see Davenport; Dike; Morrison; Fryer; Bois;
Fursac (2).
The Subconscious
The subconscious makes its appearance in a great number of
recent writings. Many psychologists have dealt with the general
concept of mental life below the "threshold," as James Ward in
his article ''Psychology" in the Britannica (XXII, 559 f.), and
Miinsterberg, in Grundziige der Psychologie (Leipzig, 1900), I,
215-31. On the other hand, popular writings on mental healing,
self-control, telepathy, spiritism, and religion commonly assume
as established a great deal that is not recognized by professional
psychologists. There is comparatively little literature that deals
critically with particular facts that are thoroughly ascertained.
The student should bear in mind that subconscious processes and
mechanisms are not open to observation. They should not be
taken as facts, but as inferences. The question "Just what has
been observed, and what has been inferred?" may well accom-
pany the reading of instances. Much first-hand material in the
way of instances will be found scattered through the Proceedings
of the Society for Psychical Research. The interpretation of them
in terms of a " subliminal self " comes chiefly from Myers, F. W. H.,
Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death (London,
1903). Another theory of a sort of second self has appeared
in many medical writings, particularly of the Freudian school.
Morton Prince (4) distinguishes a "co-consciousness" and an
354 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
"unconsciousness," both of which he regards as having psychical
quality. Further points of view will be found in Prince (2, 3),
and a criticism of the whole notion of a "detached subconscious-
ness" in Pierce (i, 2, 3, 4). Jastrow (i and 2) gives the most
extended discussion from the point of view of the professional
psychologist.
On the subconscious in religious experience, see James (2,
Index under "Subconscious"); Coe (7); Pratt (8); King (5);
Strong (2).
On glossolalia (or "speaking in tongues"), see Henke (i);
Hayes; Mosiman; Lombard; Le Baron; Pfister.
The Psychology of Mysticism
In the following list an effort is made to pick out from the
enormous literature of mysticism a very short set of writings that
will enable the beginner: {a) to recognize the mystical tradition
in various religions; (b) to realize vividly how certain experiences
seem to the mystic himself; (c) to become acquainted with the
main types of religious interpretation of the present day, and
(d) to distinguish from all these the specifically psychological
analyses that have thus far been made.
On the mystical tradition in Catholicism, see Poulain; in
Protestantism, Jones (i) and Inge (i); for an attempt to establish
the unity of both, Underhill (2).
On the mystical tradition in other religions, see Abelson;
Nicholson; Rhys-Davids; any exposition of Hinduism.
On how mystical experiences seem to the mystic himself,
there is nothiilg more vivid or detailed than St. Teresa's descrip-
tions of her own experiences in:
St. Teresa, an Autobiography, ed. by J. J. Burke, New York, 191 1.
The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus, Written by Herself, ed. by D. Lewis.
The Interior Castle, London, 1904.
See also James (2, Lectures XVI, XVII); Hiigel; Inge (2).
For the exposition, defense, and criticism of mysticism, see
Underhill ( I, 3); Hiigel; Sharpe; Buckham (2); Fleming; Jones
(3); Boutroux; Hocking, Part V; Ewer; Peabody; Russell (3).
For psychological analyses, see Leuba (6, 7, 12); Delacroix;
Royce (i, 6); Coe (3, 6, 12); Ames (10).
TOPICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 355
The Psychology of Prayer
A brief classified bibliography of history and forms of prayer
will be found in Marett's article "Prayer," in the Encyclopaedia
Britannica.
On the origins of prayer, see Farnell, Lecture IV, "The
Evolution of Prayer from Lower to Higher Forms"; Marett
(i, chap, ii: "From Spell to Prayer"), also (3); Ames (5, chap,
viii); Wundt (i, last volume, pp. 449-59).
On prayer as a present-day problem of Christians, see
Coe (2, chap, xi); Fosdick; Ames (9).
On the psychological structure and functions of prayer, see
Strong (i, 2); Pratt (5); Calkins (6); Ranson; Beck; Hartshorne.
INDEX
[This Index covers all specific references to authors in the text
and all descriptive matter in the Topical Bibliography. For a com-
plete list of authors see the Alphabetical Bibliography.]
Abler, F., 242 (note i).
Adolescence, 79 f., 94, iii, 163 ff.,
165 (note), 195.
Aesthetic experience, 40, 227,
249. See also Art; Beauty,
Religion of.
Allones, G. R. de, 210 (note).
Ames, E. S., ix, 2 (note 3), 11, 21
(note 2), 28 (note), 30 (note 2),
56, 71 f., 325 (note), 350.
Amos, 109 f., 182.
Anesthesia, 158 ff., 195, 267, 278.
Angell, J. R., 21 (note 2), 33, 35.
Animism, 83, 102, 231 (note).
See also Spiritism, Ancient and
Modern.
Anthropology, 51 ff., 76 ff.
Anthropomorphism, 91 f., 97,
100 f., 212, 227, 237, 249 f., 258,
303, 306.
Antin, M., 164 (note i).
Architecture, iii f.
Art, iioff., 251. See also Aes-
thetic experience; Beauty, Re-
ligion of.
Artistic inspirations, 199 ff .
Asceticism, 137, 147 ff.
Assurance. See Witness of the
Spirit.
Astarte, 94.
Augury, 304.
Augustine, 3, i55-
Authority, xi, 126, 128, 130, 136,
146. See also Dogma; Free-
dom.
Autobiographies, Religious, 50,
347.
Automatisms, 177, 185, 187, 188 f.,
190, 193 ff., 209, 264, 267, 268,
272, 278 f., 287 f., 298.
Babjdonian religion, 108, 286.
Bakew-ell, C. M., 258 (note).
Baldwin, J. M., 27 (note).
Baptism, 91, 114.
Baptist churches, 155.
Beauty, Religion of, 69.
Beecher, H. W., 200.
Belief, Religion considered as,
59 f., 61. See also Dogma;
Theology.
Benedict XIV, 9.
Bergson, H., 291 (note i).
Bible, 5, 115, 304.
BiNET, A., 45 (note).
Biology, X, 22-25, 35 2-, 231 (note).
See also Evolution.
Body and mind, 277 f. See also
Animism.
BooDiN, J. E., 256 (note).
Bradley, F. H., 255 (note).
Breasted, J. H., 90 (note), 98.
Browning, R., 206.
Bryant, W. C, 200.
Buddhism, 60, 154, 162, 172 f.,
188 f., 223, 239 f., 271, 281 f.
BuRNHAM, W. H., I (note i).
Burr, A. R., 50 (note).
Burroughs, J., 73.
Calkins, M. W., 19 (note 2), 252 f.
Carver, T. N., 243 (note 4).
Catholic church, 9, 263, 266, 273,
275, 280, 281, 306.
Catholic writers on psychology of
religion, 347.
Celibacy, 150, 279.
Ceremonies and festivals, 79, 86,
88, 90, 97, 105, 108, III, 114,
123, 125 f., 128, 139, 180, 182,
184, 236.
357
358
TIIE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Childhood, 99, 195 (note i), 198,
298. See also Adolescence.
Christ, The Living, 269, 273, 296.
Christian religion, The, xii f., 3 f.,
5f., 70, 93 f., 109-11, 114 f.,
129, 151 (note), 154 f., 157,
18411., 226, 241, 259 f., 2695.,
275, 276 f., 283, 287, 304, 309,
319. Sec also Catholic church;
Protestantism.
Christian Science. See Eddy,
Mrs. M. B.
Churches. See Institutions, Reli-
gious; Priesthood; Catholic
church; Protestantism; Chris-
tian religion.
Clairvoyance, 267.
CoE, G. A., I (note i), 41 (note i),
48 (note), 160 (note i), 208
(note), 278 (note 2).
CoiT, S., 100, 243 (note 5).
Communion with God, Sense of,
267.
Confession, 316 f.
Conservation of value, 71, 296 f.
Contagion, Mental. See Sug-
gestion.
Contemplation, 270, 302.
Conversion, i, 10, 46 f., chap, x,
353- " "'
CooLEY, W. F., xi (note).
Cosmic consciousness, 267.
Creeds, 114, 127, 128. See also
Theology.
Creighton, J. E., 32 (note).
Crowd action, 119 ff., 132, 134,
136, 144 (note).
Crusades, The, 119, 124.
Culture, Relation of religion to,
no f., 232 f.
CuMONT, F., 154 (note).
Custom, 77, 112, 123, 143.
Cutten, G. B., 350.
Dance, Religious, 79, 166, 176,
194.
Daniels, A. H., i (note i).
Darwin, C, 218.
Death, xiv, 83 f., 104, 241, 288.
See also Spirits; Spiritism;
Future life.
Definition, Nature of, 59, 62.
Delacroix, M., i (note 2), 10,
49 (note 2), 139, 281 (note).
Deliberative groujis, 131 fT.
Democracy and religion, 243, 319.
Depressive states. See Pleasure
and pain in religion.
Desire, Nature of human, 66 S.,
172 f., 218 fif., 230, 300, 318, 320.
Dewey, J., 25 (note).
Dickinson, G. L., 296 (note).
Dike, S. W., 156 (note).
Dissociation, Mental, 202 f., 204 ff.
Divided self, 280 f.
Dogma, xii, xv, 5 f., 125, 126, 180,
235, 244, 275. See also The-
ology; Authority.
Doubts, 46, 276, 281.
DowiE, J. A., 130, 180, 224
(note 2).
Drama, The, no.
Dreams, 183, 205 (note).
DuNLAP, K., 202 (note).
DuRKHEiM, E., ix, 2 (note i);
10, 350-. .
Duty, Religion of, 69, 242 f.
Ecclesiasticism. See Institutions,
Religious; Priesthood.
Economic values and religion, 40,
70 (notes I and 3), 108 f.
Ecstasy, 266 f.
Eddy, Mrs. M. B., 130, 180, 224
(note 2), 281.
Education, 67, 68, in f., 126, 129,
135, 145, 150, 222 (note).
Ego and alter. See Self.
Eg>'ptian religion, 90, 98, 108 f.,
287, 302.
Einfuhlung, 99, 104, 173, 287, 292,
297.
Ellis, R. S., 296 (note).
Emerson, R. W., 23, 200 f.
Emotion, 160, 195, 312. See also
Feeling.
Emotional thinking, 99 ff. See
also Einfuhlung.
Epilepsy, 278.
Erigena, Johannes Scotus, 284.
Ethical value and religion, 40, 71
(note), 74, 114, 149 f., 154, 183 f.,
chap, xiii, 249, 277, 309 f., 317.
See also Morals, Religion and.
INDEX
359
Eucharist, The, 91, 114, 127, 267,
307-
Evangelical movement. The, 155.
Evil, 150. See also Sin.
Evolution, 52 f,, 115, 176, 189,
190 f., 215 ff., 221 (note 2), 244,
268,289,293,318,325.
Faber, H., 56.
Faith, 134, 173, 242, 312, 318, 322.
Fatigue, 279.
Fear, 62 (note), loi, 126, 131, 138,
225.
Feeling, Religion as, 60.
Fetishism, 87.
Feuerbach, L., 4.
FiCHTE, 256 (note).
FiSKE, J., 38.
Fletcher, M. S., 3 (note i).
FosDiCK, H. E., 318.
Francis, St., 155.
Frazer, J. G., 64 (note), 89.
Freedom, 134, 138, 172, 242, 276.
See also Authority.
Freud, S., 217 (note), 316, 353.
Friends of God, 155.
Friendship, Religion as, 262.
Functions of religion: the concept
of function, 22 ff., 299 f.; the
functional view of religion as a
whole, 62 ff., 65 ff.; functions
of early religion, 87 f.; func-
tional differentiation of reli-
gion, 117; functions of the
religious crowd, 124 f., 143 f.;
of the sacerdotal group, 129 ff.,
144; of the deliberative group,
133 ff., 145 f.; functions of
religion with respect to the indi-
vidual, 137 ff., 143 ff., functions
of asceticism, 1476".; of con-
version, 168 ff.; of the shaman,
177 ff.; of the priest, 180 ff.;
of the prophet, 186 ff.; of reli-
gious leadership in general,
191 f.; the evolution of func-
tions, 227 f.; functions of mys-
ticism, 279-85; of the future
in the life of the present, 289,
295; of prayer, 315-20. See
also Psychology; Psychology of
religion.
Future life, 181, 228, chap. xvii.
See also Death; Spirits.
Geographic factor in religions, 108.
German views of American psy-
cholog}' of religion, 56 ff.
Ghost dance, 79.
Glossolalia, 185, 194, 211 (note 2).
God: ethical significance of, xiv;
fluidity of god-ideas, 59 f.; Are
gods mere means to human
ends? 63 ff., 320; nationalistic
ideas of God, 75 (note); fjtana
the tap root of the god-idea, 88;
theriomorphic and anthropo-
morphic gods, 91 f., 97, loi £.;
genesis of the idea of God, chap,
vi; relation of god-ideas to
social and political organization,
109 f.; god and priest, 126 f.;
the idea of god in deliberative
religion, 135; how repressive
conceptions of the divine arise,
148; no dividing line between
fellowship with men and with
God, 173 f., 245, 248; the God
of the prophets, 184, 223, 228;
God as personal, 237 f.; the
Christian God, 241, 260, 271,
283, 288 (see also Jesus); why
the god-idea grows, 257-59;
pantheism, 267, 272; divine
response to prayer, 304-10;
probable permanence of faith
in God, 326. See also Mana.
GoERRES, J., 9 (note i).
Goethe, 200, 282.
Greece, Religion of, 86, 286.
Griggs, E. H., 243 (note 2).
Group conduct. Religion as, chap,
viii. See also Social aspects of
religion.
Growth, Religious, 154 f.
Habit: habit formation, 129, 135,
168; habit as determining group
action, 123 f.; habit and auto-
matisms, 272 f.
Hadley, S. H., 168 (note).
Hall, G. S., i (note i).
Hallucinations, 205, 272, 287.
Hamilton, W. R., 153, 204
(note 2).
360
.THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Harrison, J. E., 49 (note 4), 86
(note).
Haktshorne, H., 55 (note).
Haw, G., 242 (note 2).
Healing, Religious, 131, 187, 224
(note 2), 267,312, 316.
Heaven and hell, 287, 289.
Hegel, 4.
Heidel, W. a,, 154 (note).
Henke, F. G., 211 (note 2).
Hero-gods, 97.
History of religion, 4.
Hocking, W. E., hi (note), 256
(note).
HoFFDiNG, H., ix, II, 55, 71, 296,
350.
Holiness, 114, 150, 267.
HoLLiNGWORTH, H. L., 38 (notc 3),
39-
Holmes, O. W., 201.
Holy Spirit, The, 309.
HosEA, 109, 184.
Human nature. See Nature.
Humanity, The religion of, 243.
Hume, 4.
Huxley, T. H., 248.
Hypnosis. See Suggestion.
Hyslop, J. H., 291, 292 (note).
Hysteria, 278.
Ideals, 134, 138, 242 f. See also
Values.
Ideational factors in reUgion, 1 56 f . .
164 f.
Ideo-motor action, 120 (note 2).
Idols, 258 f., 305.
Illumination. Sec Intuition.
Illusion of the finite, 272. See
also Maya.
Immediacy, 173 f., chap, xv, 263,
275, 282 f., 285, 291.
Immortality, 295 f. See also Fu-
ture life.
India, Religions of, 151 (note),
238 ff., 263, 266, 270 f., 273,
275 fl., 281, 283 f., 286 f., 302.
See also Buddhism.
Individual, Religion as related to
the, 76, 91, 115 ff., 132 f., 135,
chap, ix, 138, 140, 141, 162, 174,
190, 197, 212, 236 f., 250, 283.
See also Self, The.
Ineffability of mystical expe-
rience, 269 f.
Infancy, 142.
Inner life. Religion as, 144 f., 263,
309-
Insanity, 278.
Inspirations, Religious, 80, 167
(note), 184, 185, 194, 199 ff.,
203, 209, 211, 265, 267, 273, 282.
See also Literary inspirations.
Instability, Ner\'ous. See Neu-
rotic constitution.
Instinct: nature of, 24 f., 34, 41;
the social instincts, 24 f., 141,
293; basal in religion, 78; in
crowd action, 123 f.; in de-
liberative group action, 133;
instinct and reason, 137 ff., 227;
instinct and custom, 143; in-
stinct and asceticism, 147 f.;
sexual instinct, 150, 1635. (see
also Sex); instinct in conver-
sion, 156, 161 ff.; Are instincts
good? 220 f.; Is there a reli-
gious instinct? 322 ff.
Institutions, Religious, 88, 109,
112 ff., 115, 193, 244. See also
Social aspects of religion.
Intellect in religion, 145 f.
Introspection, 45 f., 252, 313.
Intuition, 263, 268, 273, 274-76,
322 f.
Isaiah, 154, 182, 224 (note i), 259.
Israel, Religion of, 76 (note), 82,
94, 103, 108 ff., HO, 129, 154,
182 ff., 223, 225 f., 258 f., 283,
286 f., 307.
James, W., ix, i (notes i and 2),
II, 16, 49 (note 2), 50, 56, 57,
100, 138, 147 (note), 152, 158
(note), 173, 261, 268, 269, 271,
276 (note), 350.
Janet, P., 278 (note i).
Jansenists, The, 194 (note 2).
Jastrow, J., 354.
Jeremiah, 224 (note i).
Jesus, 51, no, 151, 184, 185, 186-
88, 208 (note), 213, 223, 226,
260, 262, 269, 283, 296, 317.
Jones, H., 243 (note 5).
Jones, R. M., 155 (note i).
INDEX
361
JuDD, C. H,, 26 (note).
Justice as a religious concept,
109 f., 237, 240 f., 243.
KiDD, B,, 137 (note i).
King, I., ix, 2 (note i), 10, 11, 29
(note i), 30 (note i), 56, 89 f.,
350.
Kingdom of God, 187, 226, 228.
Knowledge of other minds, Our,
254-56, 291.
Ladd, G. T., 160 (note 2).
Lanxaster, E. G., I (note i).
Language, 143.
Laymen, 146.
Leaders, Religious, 115 f., chap.
xi, 223 f.
Leuba, J. H., ix, xi, i (notes i
and 2), 2 (note 2), 10, 56, 63,
65 (note), 66, 69 (note), 71,
89, 255 (note), 350.
Lincoln, A., 188.
Literary inspirations, 199 ff., 273,
282.
Lloyd, H. D., 243 (note 5).
Lot, Casting the, 304.
Love, 24 f., 109, 151, 154, 164
(note i), 185 f., 188, 227, 253,
256 f., 259-62, 283 £f., 293, 295,
319. See also Parental instinct;
Sex.
LovEjOY, A. O., 41 (note 2), 67
(note i), 220.
Lucretius, 4, 154 (note).
Luther, 155.
Magic, 79, 82 f., 84, 89 flf., 97
(note i), 105, 264.
Man. 5ee Nature: human nature.
Mana, 59, 81, 88, 90, 96, 98, 104,
144, 237, 306.
Marie, A., 194 (note 2).
Marshalt, H. R., 137 (note 2),
139, 220, 256 (note).
Mary, The Virgin, 151, 273.
Mass, The. See Eucharist.
Mather, Cotton, 206 (note).
May, M. a., 54 (note 2).
Maya, 239.
McbouGALL, W., 24 (note), 163
(note i), 231 (note).
Mead, G. H., 21 (note 2),
142.
Medicine man. See Shaman.
Mediumship, 267, 294.
Metempsychosis, 287.
Methodism, 145 (note).
Mind reading, 178, 206 (note).
Mohammed, and Mohammedan-
ism, 129, 188, 190, 209, 223,
273, 277, 281,302.
Moki snake dance, 79.
Monarchic conceptions of God,
109, 148.
Monod, G., 210 (note).
Monotheism, 75 (note), 109.
Montgeron, 194 (note 2).
Moore, A. W., 40 (note 2).
Moore, J. S., 35 (note).
Morals, Religion and, no, 125,
128, 280. See also Ethical
value and religion.
Morbidness, 155 (note 3).
Mormonism, 130, 180.
Munsterberg, H., 32 (note),
352.
Multiple personahty, 210 f.
MuRisiER, E., 245 (note).
Music, rhythm, etc., in religion,
no, 158, 166 f., 167 (note),
176.
Myers, F. W. H., 353.
Mystery cult, 127, 154.
Mysticism, xiii, 2, 139, 155, chap.
xvi, 302, 354.
Myth and mythology, 84 f., no.
Nassau, R. H., 87 (note), 100
(note).
National religions and nationalism
in religion, 74 (note), 109, 126,
129, 181, 237, 242.
Nature: natural law, 170 (note),
214, 215, 221; nature-powers
97,105; nature and man, 213 f.;
human nature, 216 f., 221, 241,
chap. xix.
Neo-Platonism, 284.
Neurotic constitution, 188, 190,
278, 281. See also Pathological
states.
New Thought, 140 (note), 267.
Non-religious persons, 321.
362
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Nutrition as a mental function,
36 f., 216,
Oc.DEX, R. M., 32 (note).
Omens, 307. See also Augury.
Oracles, 178, 267.
Oratorical inspiration, 200.
Originality, 192, 201, 282, 318,
See also Evolution.
OVERSTREET, H. A., 260 (notc).
Painting and sculpture, iii, 305 f.
Pantheism, 267, 284.
Parental instinct, 11 f., 24, 94,
162 f., 164 (note i), 236 f., 293,
299 f.
Pascal, 3.
Passivity, 271 f.
Pathological states, 175, 188.
Paul, 2, 155, 184 fif., 188, 190,
225, 226, 277.
Peace of mind, 149, 310.
Pearson, K., 256 (note).
Persian religion. See Zarathus-
tra, and Zoroastrianism.
Persons, chap, ii, 30, 42, 67, 227 f.,
chap, iv; 233 ff., 239, 245, 267,
288, 292, 320, 350. See also
Self, The.
Philosophy, 96, no, 232, 251.
Philosophy of religion, 4.
Pierce. A. H., 203, 354.
Play, 40.
Pleasure and pain in religion,
137 ff., 149, 269, 276.
Podmore, F., 292 (note).
Political organizations and reli-
gion, 109.
Possession, 177, 184, 185, 208,
212 f., 263, 265 ff., 272.
"Power, The," 123, 194.
Pratt, J. B., ix, i (note 2),
2 (note 3), 10, 350.
Prayer, 90, 114, 127 f., 137, chap.
xviii. See also Worship.
Premonitions, 267.
Presence of another, Experience
of the, 197 f., 246, 267, 273 f.
Priesthood, ,80, 112, 125 ff., 134,
144, 176, 180 ff., 184, 185, 187,
189, 308 f., 319.
Primitive man, 77 (note).
Prince, M., 207 (note 1), 217
(note), 353 f.
Prophets and prophetism, 176,
182 ff., 206, 223, 228, 238, 248 f.,
250. 257-59, 265 f., 282, 283,
309.
Protestantism, 6, 9, 109, 115,
134 f., 145, 154, 275.302.
Pseudo-Dionysius, 284.
Psychic research, 265, 289 ff.,
294 (note).
Psychology: the psychologist's
fallacy, xi, 170 (note); the
newness of scientific psychology,
5; structural and functional
points of view, chap, ii, 230 ff.
(see also Functions of religion;
Structure) ; psychology as analy-
sis of states of consciousness,
15-17; as analysis of behavior,
17 f.; as analysis of the expe-
rience of being a personal self,
19 ff., 27, 31, 252 f.; the nature
of mental functions, 32-42;
abnormal psychology, 20; order-
of-merit method, 38 (note 3),
54; genetic psychology, 141;
evolution of mind, 215 ff., 299;
modern psychology not intel-
lectualistic, 230; psychology
deals with experience as shared,
246 ff., 253; psychic research,
289 ff.; current psychological
publications, 346.
Psychology of religion, The: is in
its first stages, ix; early writers
on, I f.; previous attempts to
psychologize religion, 2 ff . ; psy-
chology covers all religious
experiences, 7 ff.; problems of
both structure and function are
included, 10 ff., 57; questioncir-
culars as sources of data, 44 ff-;
sacred literatures as a source
49 ff.; anthropology as a source,
51 ff.; experimental methods
in the psychology of religion,
53 ff.; American work in, 56 ff.;
Wundt's view as to method,
57 f.; psychology of religion
essential to a history of mind,
233; bibliographies of the psy-
INDEX
363
chology of religion, 346; maga-
zines of, 347 f.; cyclopedias,
348; history of psychology of
religion, 349; methods, 349;
general works, 349.
Question circulars, 44 ff.
Racial traits in religion, 116 f.; 123.
Reality, Knowledge of, 229 ff.
Reason and religion, 137 ff.
Relaxation, Muscular, 140, 276,
282.
Religion: as an object of study,
chap, i; on definitions of reli-
gion, 13 (note), 59; religion a
complex function, 41; prelimi-
nary analysis of, chap, iv;
defined as belief, 59, 61 ; as feel-
ing, 60; as a whole reaction,
60 f.; conceived functionally,
62 (see also Functions of reli-
gion); as a social fact, 62 f.,
143 (see also Social aspects of
religion); related to both the
ends and the means of life, 63 ff.,
137 ff.; religion and values,
68 ff., chap, xiii (see also Values) ;
beginnings of religion in the
race, chap, v; earliest religion
a group affair, 76 f.; a matter
of custom, 77; not a depart-
ment of life, 78; grows out of
instincts, 78; main features of
early religion, 79 ff.; mobility
of religion, 98; differentiation
of religion into religions, chap,
vii; Is the religious reaction
painful? 137 ff. (see also Pleas-
ure and pain in religion); reli-
gion as inner life, 144 f., 263,
309; as individuation, 146;
religion not co-extensive with
conversion or with sense of sin,
154; ideational elements in,
156 f.; sensory elements in,
1575.; religion and adolescence,
166; religion as ethical com-
munion, 184-86; as reverence
for truth, 248 f.; religion and
the subconscious, chap, xii;
religion a discovery of persons
and of society, chap, xiv; reli-
gion as friendship, 262; bibli-
ographies, 327-45, 346-55.
Revivals of religion, 119, 123,
125, 155 f., 157 (note), 161, 167,
267, 312, 353.
Rhys-Davids, C. A. F., 271 (note).
Ritual, 112, 114, 126, 127, 128
(note), 134, 138, 139, 302. See
also Ceremonies and festivals.
Roman religion, 98 (note), no,
124, 154, 305-
RoYCE, J., 49 (note 2), 62 (note),
256 (note).
Sacerdotalism. See Priesthood.
Sacrament, 81, 126 f. See also
Eucharist; Baptism.
Sacred and secular, 113, 236.
Sacrifice, 81 f., 126 f., 304, 306.
Salter, W. M., 242 (note i).
Salvation, 131, 147 f., 226.
Satan, 309.
Saul, 182, 265.
Savage mind, The, 52, chap, v,
98 ff., 226 f., 264.
Schiller. F. C. S., 291 (note i),
296 (note), 297.
Schleiermacher, 3, 60.
ScHROEDER, T., 94 (note).
Science and scientific method:
each science selects its data, x,
xi (note), 244 f.; dogmatism
in science, xv, 244; the religion
of science, 69, 248; influence
of the sciences upon religion,
iiof.; the concept of nature
(see Nature); the universality
of scientific propositions, 172
(note), 231 (note), 239; science
not the whole of discovery, 233,
243 f.; phenomenalism, 234 f.;
scientific hypothesis, 247 f.; sci-
ence and immediacy, 247-49,
251, 256 f.
Scriptures, Sacred, 126.
Self, The, 19 ff., 27, 41, 133, 138,
141 ff., 152 f., 160 f,, 162, 164,
169, 171, 195 ff-, 213, 252-54,
280 f., 318 f., 322 (note), 350 f.
See also Individual, Religion
as related to the; Persons.
3^4
THE rSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION
Sensation a factor in religious
experiences, 157 ff., 164, 278.
Sex and reproduction, 24 f., 37 f.,
80, 86, 92 ff., 150, 163 fif., 165,
175, 216, 222 (note), 279, 281,
293-
Shamanism, 80, 176 fif., 182 f.,
187, 190, 265 f., 270.
Sharpe, a. B., 9 (note i).
Sheldon, W. L,, 243 (note i).
Sin, 46, 138, 149 ff-, 154, 225 f.,
228, 277, 310.
Smith, Joseph, 130, 180.
Social aspects of religion: society
as adjustment between selves,
27 f., 235 f.; as an ultimate
mental category, 39; society
is involved in individual con-
sciousness, 67 f,, 197, 250 fif.
(see also Self, The); grades of
society, 125, 228; the social
instincts, 141; social values in
religion, 69, 71 f., 87 f., 109 f,,
ii9fif., 162, 171 fif., 213; so-
cial organization of religion,
chap, viii {see also Churches);
religion as social control, 137,
140, 190, 191 f.; religion and
the social movement of today,
115, 226, 233 f., 240 f., 242,
256 f.; the future life as a social
problem, 294 f.; prayer as
social sharing, 315-17; pre-
eminence of social instincts,
324; bibliography of social psy-
chology, 347; references on
religion as social experience, 352.
Soul, The, 350 f. See also Anim-
ism; Spirits; Self.
Spen'cer, H., 38.
Spiller, G., 243 (note 5).
Spiritism, Ancient and Modern,
265, 267 f., 286, 289, 353. See
also Animism.
Spirits, 83 f., 97, 102 fif., 257, 264,
265, 267.
Staehlin, W., 54 (note i).
Stanton, H. C., 210 (note).
Starbuck, E. D., ix, I (note i),
10, 44, 47 (note), 56, 57, 152,
153 (note), 154, 162, 171,350-
Stone, B. W., 194 (note i).
Stratton, G. M., ix, 2 (note 2),
10, 49 (note 3), 56, 256 (note),
350-
Strong, A. L., 314.
Structure: structural and func-
tional psychology, chap, ii, 221,
230 fif.; structural aspects of
the idea of God, 97 f.; of the
crowd, 120-24; of the sacerdo-
tal group, 126-29; of the delib-
erative group, 131-33; of
conversion, 156-58; evolution of
man considered structurally,
215-19; structure of mystical
experiences, 268-79; structure
and function not exactly
parallel, 298 f.; structure of
prayer, 303-15.
Subconscious, The, xiv, 6 (note),
167, chap, xii, 270, 353.
Suggestion, 80, 120 f., 126 fif.,
128 f., 132, 151, 166, 173, 177 f.,
187, 211, 267, 274-78,311 f., 317.
Sunday, Billy, 123.
Supernatural, The, 9, 207 f., 263.
Symbolism, 114, 127, 134 f., 269,
306.
Taboo, 82, 113 f., 128, 144, 181,
288.
Tagore, R., 12, 21, 164 (note i).
Telepathy, 292, 353.
Teresa, St., 354.
Tertullian, 3.
Testimony, Religious, 170, 173.
Theolog>', 3f., 87, no, 115, 118,
208 (note), 218, 232.
Theosophy, 277.
Theriomorphism, 91, 97, loi f.
Thorndike, E. L., 18 (note 2),
29 (note 2), 34 f., 67 (note 2),
120 (note i), 148 (note 2), 163
(note i), 220, 222 (note).
Todas, Religion of the, 108.
Tongues, Speaking in. See Glos-
solalia.
Totemism, 81, loi, 109, 114, 236,
241 f., 306.
Trance, 166, 176 f., 182, 185, 264,
274.
Transubstantiation. See Eucha-
rist.
INDEX
365
Tribal consciousness, 76 S., 109,
237, 242.
Trinity, The, 269, 284.
Truth-value, 40, 227, 239, 248 f.
Tuns, J. H., 40 (note 3).
Underhill, E., 354.
Unto mystica, 274 f., 283.
Urban, W. M., 35, 41 (note 3), 352.
Validity of religious experience,
174 f.
Vallon, C. H., 194 (note 2).
Values, 10 f., 20, 39, 61, 65 ff., 87 f.,
106, 169, 171, chap, xiii, 227 ff.,
245, 289, 302, 324, 347, 351.
Via negativa, 270 f., 275, 277, 283 f.
Visions, 183, 185, 190, 193, 199,
205, 265, 268, 269, 304. See
also Hallucination; Shamanism.
Wallis, W. D., 62 (note).
War, The European, 74 f., 129 f.,
220, 248, 308.
Watson, J. B., 18 (note i).
Wesley, J., 155.
Whitefield, 155.
Witchcraft, 84, 119, 208.
Witness of the Spirit, xiv, 157,
193, 205, 266 f.
Wonder-working, 187, See also
Shamanism.
WooDwoRTH, R. S., 160 (note 2).
Worship, 55 ( note), 88, 134, 137,
144.
Wright, W. K., 62 f., 71.
WuNDT, W., ix, 2 (note i), 5,
10, 56, 57 f-, 61 (note), 97, 103,
350.
Xenophanes, 258.
Yoga, 267.
Zarathtjstra, and Zoroastrian-
ism, 70 (note 3), 223, 287, 302,
309-
ZuEBLiN, C, 243 (note 3).
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