[ p. 127 ]
THE Christian account of sin can be summed up in the formula that sin separates the sinner from God. This includes all that is essential in the various theological statements, of which the most important are those which describe sin as a disorder and as selflove.
The tendency of psychology is to treat sin as a phenomenon of mental disorder, and to explain it as due to the formation of faulty sentiments or complexes. It is urged that it cannot be separated from undoubted cases of a pathological type and that ‘ sins ’ should be regarded as symptoms of a condition which can be treated on scientific lines. The sense of guilt is explained as due to a displacement of the ‘ affect.’ Psychologists therefore tend to criticize both the religious outlook and the traditional religious methods of dealing with sin.
There is much truth in the psychological view, but it is incomplete (i) in its failure to account for moral valuation, (2) in the understanding of the personal relationships upon which sentiments and complexes depend. When these are taken into account the religious view of sin is seen to be its necessary complement, though psychology cannot provide a proof of the truth of that account. Though sin cannot be simply written off as ‘ moral disease,’ moral disease is, perhaps, never wholly dissociated from sin.
The development of a right system of Spiritual Direction depends upon a clear understanding
(1) of the essential character of sin and of its relationship to mental disorder ;
(2) of those elements in psychological treatment which throw light upon the work of pastor and priest. Especially important are the general insight into character and an appreciation of the ‘ transference ’ ;
(3) of the dangers which attend amateur psychotherapy ;
(4) of the true function and character of the Church.
[ p. 128 ]
[ p. 129 ]
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Every one that committeth sin is the bondservant of sin. And the bondservant abideth not in the house for ever : the son abideth for ever. If therefore the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. St. John viii. 34-36.
GOD is Love. In love He created man. In man’s love God would have rejoiced ; in God’s love, man would have been blessed. And man, made in God’s image, refused God, refused his own true good. He sought a separate life, and found it death. This is SIN. . . . ALL SIN in its degree, separates the Soul from God : and whatever separates from God is SIN. [1]
So Aubrey Moore denned the essential Christian conception of sin. It is not merely slavery, or the corruption of our nature, or guilt. Fundamentally it is the refusal of that love wherewith God draws us to Himself. How man can make so terrible a refusal remains an unsolved mystery. But the beginning of the conquest of sin comes when we can first say ‘ It is no more I that do it but sin which dwelleth in me,’ [2] And the final victory is to be found when we say ‘ Not I, but Christ,’ or, to quote Aubrey Moore again, [ p. 130 ] ‘ in the Christian reading of the teaching of the Muslim mystic—
‘ One knocked at the door of the beloved, and a voice from within said, “Who is there ?” The lover answered, “It is I.” The voice replied, “ This house will not hold me and thee.” So the door remained shut. The lover went into the wilderness, and spent a year in solitude and fasting and prayer. Then again he returned and knocked at the door. And the voice of the beloved said, “Who is there?” The lover answered, “It is thyself.” Then the door was opened.’ [3]
This conception of sin as separation from God falls at once into line with the psychological theory of the development of the personality through the formation of sentiments. That the eternal and ultimate reality of Love, which is God, draws us ever upwards and onwards to the goal of our being is, as we have seen, a belief for which that theory prepares the way, and it remains the strangest and darkest fact of human nature that man is capable of refusing to respond to that love. It is sadly untrue that
We needs must love the highest when we see it. [4]
For this spiritual or metaphysical fact there is no explanation in terms of psychology at all. With its results both psychotherapist and pastor have to deal continually, and though a knowledge of the methods of a sound psychotherapy is of the greatest practical importance, those methods will be profoundly affected by the recognition of the ultimate character of sin as the disorder not of psychological mechanisms but of human freedom and love.
A very brief sketch of the theological conceptions of sin must here suffice. We may note in the first place the agreement, for practical purposes, of our formula with the definition given by Dr. Kirk : ’ Sin is any action or habit inhibiting or delaying the soul’s progress to perfection, of [ p. 131 ] the danger of which the soul is, or ought to have been, conscious.’ [5] From the pastor’s point of view this may be allowed to suffice, especially with Dr. Kirk’s further comments that ‘ sinful habits are more dangerous than sinful actions ’ and that * it is not when an act has been committed that the danger to the soul begins, but when the thought of it has been favourably accepted in the mind,’ [6] The definition well expresses the connection between sin and faulty sentiment-formation, resulting in separation from God because the failure is a failure of love. From the theoretical point of view it is important to note that behind both action and habit there lies the sinful disposition, the ego or self that is formed by a love other than the right love of man and, through man, of God. In dealing with this disposition it is, of course, necessary to find out which of the fundamental instinctive impulses is primarily concerned, and to provide for them new channels of a more desirable kind. [7] But it does not follow that this cure is radical unless the re-direction is re-direction not so much of energy as of love. It was not by the Sermon on the Mount but by the Cross that Jesus saved men. Those who carry on His work may not ask an easier way.
It is one of the great marks of the spiritual genius of the Hebrew prophets that they saw clearly this essential character of sin. From the time of Hosea, whose own personal tragedy was a tragedy of love, the vision of the prophets is clear. Disobedience to the ancient law, ritual transgression and uncleanness, are but symptoms of a deeper disorder still. Hosea puts it in a phrase, they [ p. 132 ] ‘ became abominable like that which they loved.’ [8] and the only healing that can avail is the healing of love : ‘ I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely,’ [9] ‘ Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love : therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee,’ [10] But the full revelation and the full cost of that love were only seen at the place called Golgotha.
The two main streams of theological speculation about sin, distinguished by Dr. Williams as the ‘ medical ’ and the ‘ forensic,’ [11] find their meeting point in this view of sin as the wilful and morally guilty acceptance of a disposition in which the full development of character through the sentiments is refused. We may take first the conception of sin as a disease or corruption. So far as this rests upon the view of evil as something physically inherent in human nature it is a mere counsel of despair. Certainly it is not inherently Christian and it is impossible to reconcile it with the belief in creation by a loving God. It has its roots in ancient Indian and Persian speculation, though it has doubtless arisen independently in other areas. In Jewish thought it is to be seen in the Rabbinic conception of the evil impulse, the yetser ha-ra’ , implanted in man, together with the good impulse or yetser hattobh, by God Himself. [12] It is impossible to doubt that this mode of thought has profoundly affected St. Paul’s doctrine of the ‘ flesh ’ as the vehicle of that inherited taint which resulted from Adam’s sin and which was passed on, almost in the manner of a physical contagion, until the Law revealed its universal and terrible effects. [13] The idea that matter, and therefore the body, is evil was characteristic of some Gnostic sects and of Docetism in general, but does not appear in orthodox [ p. 133 ] Christian circles until the fourth century. In an almost pure form it is found in Lactantius, who is by no means a Docetist, but who not only uses the dangerous later term depravatio but explains this depravity as arising from an ‘ admixture of earthly weakness ’ in human nature. [14] With Augustine, rightly accused by the Pelagians of being still, in this respect, under Manichaean influence, the vitium, or corruption of man’s nature, revealed in the baneful power of concupiscentia, [15] is almost wholly physical in character, though Augustine was too good a psychologist not to perceive its connection with man’s instinctive life, identified by him, in a manner disastrously Freudian, with the immense power of the sex-impulse. [16] The influence of Augustine remained powerful throughout the Middle Ages in the use, not without confusion, of the term concupiscence, and also in the conception of human nature as fomes peccati, that tinder which requires but a spark to kindle the flame of actual sin. [17] It comes to its full logical conclusion in the Calvinistic doctrine of total depravity, [18] a doctrine repudiated in the Thirty-nine Articles in language still tainted with Manichaeanism, [19] and in modern times by the general consent of a world which will tolerate such pagan nightmares no longer. Its last survival is to be seen in the common popular belief that original sin is in some way to be identified with man’s inheritance of instincts from his animal ancestry, a belief from which even Dr. Tennant, despite his vindication of the appetites as morally neutral, [20] [ p. 134 ] does not wholly escape, since he appears to regard not only pain but evil as ‘ necessarily incidental ’ to God’s purpose in Creation, akin to the ‘ physiological anachronisms ’ such as the ‘ troublesome wisdom-tooth and the dangerous caecum ’ which are capable of causing so much distress.
It is only when we turn to some of the very ablest of the thinkers who have used this analogy of disease or corruption that we find its real connection with the psychological point of view. As we might, perhaps, have expected, it is Plato who first makes the connection clear, when, in the Republic, he discusses the disorder which results if the appetites are not brought under rational control. There can be no true manhood in the service of the many-headed beast which peeps out when we sleep. [21] Athanasius, who alone in the East shows any real affinity with the later Western view, is undoubtedly influenced by the Platonic tradition when he speaks of sin as resulting in a kind of spiritual disintegration, more far-reaching even than physical death, the sinner ‘ not merely dying ’ as he says, ‘ but abiding ever in the corruption of death.’ [22] ‘ For transgression of the commandment was turning them back to their natural state, so that just as they have had their being out of nothing, so also, as might be expected, they might look for corruption into nothing in the course of time.’ [23] This idea of evil as resulting in a disintegration back to the non-existent from which man came reappears in Aquinas, [24] and psychological theology has perhaps devised [ p. 135 ] no better term for the effects of sin than inordinatio, [25] the word by which he describes the disorder and confusion of the soul.
The conception of disorder again underlies the tradition which uses forensic language about sin. The primary conception is that of disobedience to God, and according as God is regarded as Law-giver, Judge, King, or Father, so we get differing theories of sin and atonement. It is unnecessary to quote examples of this type of thought, [26] which has been continuously represented in the Church since the time of St. Paul and indeed since the Old Testament prophets denounced ‘ a disobedient and gainsaying people,’ [27] All that concerns us here is that this disobedience is felt to be, as Athanasius puts it, something monstrous, [28] creating a great gulf within God’s purpose in creation, since God made man for perfection and within that perfection there is no place for sinful men. So for Anselm, to whom sin is simply that disobedience which fails to render God His due, [29] the result of the sin is that something is left disordered, inordinatum, within the sphere of God’s sovereignty, which may not be. [30] In conceptions of this kind the disorder is cosmic and not psychological, and the whole difficulty of forensic systems of theology, whether they result in theories of atonement dependent on retribution or upon satisfaction, [31] has been the difficulty of relating [ p. 136 ] this cosmic disorder to the disorder in the soul of man. [32] It is only when the doctrine of the Fatherhood of God is given its fullest significance, and the key to the mystery of the man’s relationship to God is found in that conception of his being which sees its origin in creative love and its fulfilment in redeeming love, that the two theological traditions are seen to be one. Chaos in the Universe and chaos in man’s heart are one and the same thing.
One final and fundamental account of sin may be noted here. ‘ Whosoever would save his life shall lose it ; and whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s shall save it.’ [33] Men turned away from God, says Athanasius, ‘ when they began to give heed to themselves.’ [34] Augustine identifies sin with the love of self. [35] Dr. Williams has argued that the underlying principle from which sin arises is to be found in ‘ the self-assertion of the individual against the herd, a principle which we can only designate by the inadequate titles of selfishness, lovelessness, and hate.’ [36] And Dr. Kirk declares that ‘ sin may be said to begin with selfregard.’ [37]6 There is no doubt that we are here very near the root of the whole matter. The identification of sin with self-love certainly does not cover the whole range of sin in its full development, when the state of separation from God is accepted with complete and conscious acquiescence. But it indicates clearly the point at which we should look for the occasion of sin in man. It comes just at the stage where consciousness passes over into self -consciousness, a term rightly used in common speech with more than a suggestion of reproach. It would seem to be inherent in [ p. 137 ] the very process whereby man became aware of himself as an individual. That ‘ Our wills are ours, we know not how,’ is the supreme achievement of creative evolution, but it remains sheer disaster unless it is also true that ‘ Our wills are ours, to make them thine.’ [38]
The view that sin and self-regard are in principle the same thing has been highly characteristic of Christianity. From the first it set Christianity in sharp contrast to its strongest rival in the field of ethics, Stoicism, and it is as directly an interpretation of the utterly selfless love and sacrifice of Jesus as the Stoic doctrines of self-sufficiency and self-control are an interpretation of the Platonic Socrates. The opposition between the two points of view is as evident to-day as it was in the time of Seneca and St. Paul. It is not only in the horrible figure of Nietzsche’s superman that we see the challenge to the ethics of Jesus, but in far more persuasive expositions of the view that self-realization is the end of life. McDougall may be taken as typical of this attractive modern Stoicism, with his theory that we must look to the self-regarding sentiment if we would understand the development of the ego. [39] He terms this ‘ self-respect,’ and is careful to distinguish it from self-love, which he regards as comparatively rare. Selflove is ‘ the self-regarding sentiment of the thoroughly selfish man, the meaner sort of egoist,’ [40] It is developed not in isolation, or through the mere satisfaction of impulse and appetite, but through ‘ the influence of rewards and punishments administered more or less systematically by the social environment,’ [41] and, later, as rational control enables purpose to hold its own against the stimulus of [ p. 138 ] the moment, ‘ by the anticipation of social praise and blame.’ [42] Thus arises the moral ideal, the ethical self, its own authority in conduct, escaping, as Tansley puts it, ‘ not indeed from the obligations of membership of the herd, but from the immediate pressure of the herd, as it is normally exercised on the average man.’ [43] The goal of moral development, as McDougall sees it, is the formation of a character * in which conduct on its highest plane is regulated by an ideal of conduct that enables a man to act in the way that seems to him right regardless of the praise or blame of his immediate social environment,’ [44]
In this account of the self-regarding sentiment full account is taken of the relation of man to society and McDougall does not deny the existence of the ‘ truly altruistic sentiment of love,’ [45] both in the family and in wider social groups. But he especially emphasizes what he terms ‘ quasi-altruism,’ [46] in which, by a process of projection and identification, the self-regarding sentiment is extended by parents to their children and by the growing child to the home, the school, the town, the country or nation as a whole. And it is a true and important fact that much that passes by the name of love is merely a distortion of self-regard. Even self-sacrifice of the most heroic kind may rest upon self-respect. [47] We may note further, at this point, that McDougall regards religious conceptions as exercising their great influence in developing character simply through mechanisms essentially social in character. [48] When, in Character and the Conduct of Life, [ p. 139 ] he depicts his ideal of human personality, it is a figure strong, self-reliant, adequate, in all essentials the ideal of the ancient Stoic. [49] It will be an ill thing for the world if this ideal, the best that a sinful world can show, can ever hold its own against the higher ideal of Christ.
But in saying this we must not overlook the essential truth of the analysis upon which it all rests. We may believe that the ideal depicted is not the highest and yet recognize that the whole process by which, in the long evolution of the human race, the individual has come to a dignity and a freedom of his own, and has attained in fact to the possibility of true moral choice and therewith of moral responsibility, is of the kind thus described, and plays a very necessary part in the evolution of the highest type of all. As a matter of detail we may be inclined to ask whether sufficient weight has been allowed to true altruism, the real sentiment of love. And here we have the weighty support of Freud, who points out that McDougall’s theory does not really take into account the personal character of the whole process. [50] Freud, in fact, finds the superman not at the end but at the beginning of human history, and, which is more important and more obviously true, declares that it is through love that civilization was able to break his power and so proceed upon its way. [51] When Dr. Williams sees the probable beginnings of sin, historically speaking, in a failure of the herd-instinct, [52] he is definitely joining issue [ p. 140 ] with McDougall’s point of view. We may prefer to make a sharper distinction between herd-sentiment and herdinstinct, in order to avoid a confusion of thought which would involve us in giving moral value to instinct upon the animal level, but substantially his thesis is an assertion of the principle of altruism or love. And it is in that possibility of a group-life which is increasingly personal and increasingly loving that the hope of man and of civilization lies.
Considered impartially we must admit that there is much truth in both accounts of the way in which moral responsibility has developed. And at least they agree in this, that they reveal the moral problem precisely as a problem of individuation. It is in the sheer necessities of the case that we should connect the appearance of sin with the appearance of the individual, conscious of his own individuality and therewith free. And we have, in the facts of human experience, at least a hint that the two views are not as diametrically opposed as they appear at first sight. It is simply untrue that the Christian type of character, self-denying, built up in service, and fashioned in self-forgetful love, is any less individual, any less practical, or any less creative than the efficient and self-reliant figure of the Stoic ideal. [53] History has been made by the supermen, but it has been saved by the saints, and if we must judge by sheer effectiveness and power, the saints unquestionably have the day.
May we not suggest that the solution lies in the existence of a sentiment deeper and more fundamental [ p. 141 ] than either of those of which we have been speaking ? If there is a God at all His being is the ground of all being, individual and corporate alike, and the God-sentiment, as we may term it, will not be something parallel to, and distinct from, the sentiments which are turned outwards to the world and inwards towards the self. It is perhaps misleading to term this higher thing, the love of God, a sentiment at all, since it is that which links the sentiments into a final unity, as the sentiments link the emotions. Not only self-love but even the love of others can be a hindrance to the full development of the ego. We must look further than the self, and further than our fellow man, to that ultimate Reality in which both we and they ‘ live and move and have our being,’ It may be that, despite the mystics, man cannot come to God directly, but only through these lesser loves. To attain the lesser love is right and good. To linger in it, as though that could suffice the child of God, is sin. [54] Even while we love our neighbour as ourselves, we are to love the Lord our God with all our heart and soul and mind. ‘ He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me ; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.’ [55]
When we turn to the psychologists we find that they have but little to say about sin. So far as it is mentioned at all it is normally regarded as another name for mental disorder. But this involves a confusion of diagnosis which completely ignores the special characteristics of sin. For sin occurs most typically in whose who are, in all ordinary senses of the word, normal enough. It is the sane man, with full capacity for moral choice, that is most capable of sinning, and most guilty of his sin. So soon as a pathological [ p. 142 ] element enters in the degree of sinfulness is to that extent diminished. The plea of insanity is a complete defence to any charge. It does not, of course, preclude unpleasant social consequences, but it silences all moral criticism.
For the psychology of Freud the term sin has in fact no meaning at all. The development of personality through love which he describes is a process wholly mechanical in its operation, and, if it has a goal, as Freud seems to conceive, [56] it is a goal which means nothing for the individual and in which the individual has no place, save perchance as a fossil in some dead museum of the universe. And the creative possibilities of the libido described by Jung are equally non-moral. It is only in systems of psychology which take account of both freedom and purpose that sin has any place, for only here has a moral standard any meaning.
The problem for the psychologist of this latter type is that of making a clear distinction between sin proper and conditions in which moral freedom is in abeyance. The distinction is not difficult to draw in theory, though psychological writers have seldom troubled to make it. It is stated clearly by Hadfield : ‘ Sin is due to wrong sentiments, moral disease is due to morbid complexes [57] giving rise to uncontrollable impulses. The full and efficient cause of a sin is a deliberate and conscious choice of the will moved by a “false” or wrong ideal. The sinner and the morally [ p. 143 ] diseased both see the ideal : but whereas the former does not, the latter cannot, under ordinary circumstances, respond to it.’ [58] This statement is perhaps the clearest which professional psychology has given us, and we may accept it provisionally with two notes of interrogation. In the first place the phrase ‘ moral disease ’ is a little confusing, since a condition in which no response can be made to an ideal seems to lie outside the sphere of morality. It may, however, be retained, since the effects of this condition are at first sight indistinguishable from wrong moral acts, and since, even though now stereotyped and non-moral, it may be due in part to causes which lay within the sphere of moral freedom. In the second place we may note that a symptom of moral disease may be moral blindness, in which case it cannot be said that there is any real consciousness of the ideal at all. But in principle the vital distinction is that which Hadfield makes between a sentiment, in which a wrong ideal is consciously and wilfully accepted, the ‘ Evil, be thou my good ’ of Milton’s Satan, and a complex in which the wrong ideal, though superficially rejected, remains strongly in control in the unconscious life of impulse, all the more powerful because the rational and conscious self has ceased to pass judgment upon it.
In ordinary psychological practice the distinction is usually ignored. The sinful acts and habits with which moral theology is concerned are for the psychiatrist symptoms of a disorder to be treated on scientific lines and their moral status is a secondary matter. It is urged, not without reason, that the distinction between habitual sin and cases of an undoubtedly pathological type may be possible in theory, but is completely unworkable when it comes to treatment. The moral judgments of the patient are certainly factors to be taken into account, but only [ p. 144 ] in the scientific sense. They are an important part of the whole system of symptoms, because they represent the patient’s own attempt to establish a rational point of view, and indicate the lines upon which a more adequate solution of his problems is most likely to be achieved. In psycho-analysis of the Freudian type it is assumed that as the treatment continues the patient will come to understand the origin of these moral ideals in the old childish relationship to parents or teachers, or in the later adjustment to social life. Conscience is seen to be merely the subconscious mechanism by which the prestige of the social group, or of the father, asserts itself. In the end it is no more than the shadow of the Oedipus-complex. [59] The sense of guilt is explained as arising from strong primitive emotions of fear and desire, repressed, distorted, and detached from their original object. As all this is realized the patient is set free to make his own readjustment. We may well ask, and to this the Freudian system seems to provide no answer, whether he is not set free from morality altogether.
The analysts who follow Jung or Adler in their general method of treatment lay far more stress upon the moral and religious ideals of the patient, since they recognize that these result not only from his past environment as a child in the family or the social or religious group, but also from his own creative effort to establish and express his individual personality. But though there are many [ p. 145 ] among them who supplement their psychology by a belief in an ultimate moral standard, whether they state this in terms of religion or not, this belief does not relate itself directly to their psychological theory. As psychologists they look to causes and to results within the sphere of their science. It is the pathological and not the spiritual condition which concerns them, and their whole treatment is adapted to the recall of memories, the release of repressions, the redirection of the energy of instinct, appetite, and emotion in channels individually and socially practicable. They are concerned with citizens and not with saints, and where the Church might well be ill at ease they must perforce be content.
On the whole it would be true to say that psychologists are critical both of the religious view of sin and of traditional religious methods of dealing with sin. They find the typical religious mind at once superficial and censorious. A more scientific approach, they feel, would at least show how little it is possible for man to pass judgment upon man on the evidence of his outward acts. A very little knowledge of analysis and its results would reveal to us the range and complexity of circumstance and motive which forms the full history of the so-called sins to which we so readily affix our scale of condemnation. The psychologist is thus apt to regard the advice given by priest or spiritual director as an unscientific and even dangerous administration of crude suggestion resting upon an authority unsupported by real knowledge. Often enough it is a scarcely veiled appeal to self-interest, and, in the past at least, the threat of the wrath of an all-seeing and angry God has been used with devastating effect. Even to-day the preaching of the terrors of Hell is one of the most constant sources of neurosis. [60] [ p. 146 ] And the attempts to awaken the sense of guilt, in an overmastering and emotional penitence, which have been characteristic of so much revivalist preaching, [61] are to the psychologist not merely misguided but dangerous. They substitute a mere primitive affect for a true and rational judgment, and hinder rather than help the soul in its progress towards true autonomy.
Doubtless much of this criticism rests upon misunderstanding. Obviously it is not in the least degree applicable to the work of Christ. There is no appeal to self-regard in His teaching, for what He offered men was contempt, persecution, and at the last a Cross. And the command, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’ [62] goes even further than the psychological plea that understanding should precede judgment. So far as it is true that the proclamation of the wrath of God formed part of His teaching, and has any right place in the teaching of His Church, it must be remembered that the psychologist never has to deal, as He did, with the open and wilful sinner. The cases seen in the consulting-room are cases where there is already conflict and distress. The patient of the psychotherapist is seeking the way of peace, even though he may have the vaguest ideas as to where that peace is to be found. In other words, he is not a sinner in the gravest sense of the term. But Christ came not only to comfort the distressed, but to call sinners to repentance, and the task of His Church has not greatly changed. In this task the psychotherapist has little or no experience, and though his criticism of the results of our preaching must be given due weight, it must be remembered that he only sees our failures and not the immense company of those whom that preaching has [ p. 147 ] brought through shame to peace. Even in those cases which he sees there may be more factors than the preaching to be taken into account, factors physical, mental, and social with which the preacher cannot concern himself directly.
Before we pass on to consider the great element of truth in the psychological point of view, and the lessons which it holds for pastoral theology, we must notice its incompleteness in two vital particulars. The first is its failure to account for moral valuation. The difficulty which we saw in the Freudian explanation of conscience and moral responsibility is inherent in every attempt to transform psychology into a strict science. The fact that in actual psychotherapy it is continually necessary to treat the moral and religious ideals of the patient as relevant and, for that matter, as true, is one to which the psychologist might well pay more attention. The second point is closely related to the first. The whole theory of sentiments and complexes, upon which the modern analysis of mental conflict rests, remains incomplete so long as its explanation is sought within the system of the emotional life. The usual account of the formation of a complex depends upon the principle that a system of impulses directed towards some object desired by the ego may either be integrated into the main stream or tendency of development, or may be repressed and linger on, divorced from consciousness but exercising a powerful and disturbing influence upon mood and conduct. If the resultant disharmony becomes too serious, psychological treatment may be necessary to reveal its causes. The theory is obvious enough, and has been abundantly vindicated by its application in practice. But those who use it constantly in the treatment of patients are apt to forget that it has explained very little. The reasons why the integration should take place in one case and not in another remain hopelessly obscure, precisely as obscure, in fact, as the explanation of the existence of sin and evil. [ p. 148 ] The two problems are one, and this becomes clear when we remember that no account of character formation through the sentiments is complete unless the personal relationships upon which it depends are fully recognized. And so we touch once more the central thesis of these lectures. The problem of life is the problem of love in all its phases. Psychology deals with its mechanisms upon the lower and intermediate levels. Beyond those levels we pass into the sphere of religion, and it is for this reason that while psychology as a science may have a pseudo-completeness of its own, such completeness as is in fact possible to any science within the sphere of its self-imposed limitations of matter and method, psychology as an art or practice of life can never be complete unless it takes religion into account. In particular the religious conception of sin is the necessary complement of the psychological analysis of its effects upon character, and in the treatment of moral and mental disorder there is likely to remain a disastrous margin of error until the religious point of view is given full value. Sin, if it be sin at all, can never be simply written off as moral disease, and it may well be true that there is no case of moral disease which has not in its origin and history some failure of personal adjustment, some disorder of love. And for this there is no better name than sin.
It is when we accept the religious account of sin and turn to the study of its effects upon character that we are able to appreciate the value of the work done by the psychologists and the great help which they can give towards the right ordering of spiritual direction. For though sin is a fact more fundamental than the disorder in which it results, that disorder is perfectly capable of psychological study and analysis. A brief account of sin from this standpoint will serve to throw into relief the respective tasks of priest, pastor, and psychiatrist.
Sin, then, is in its essence a disposition formed by love [ p. 149 ] of a wrong object. An object is wrong when it hinders the development of the love of God, which is the true end of personal being. It is therefore an object which ought not to be loved, and the introduction of this moral conception places sin outside the immediate range of psychology. But it still remains true that psychology can discuss the behaviour which results from the sinful disposition, and its effects upon character.
Particular sins are acts proceeding from a sinful disposition. They are therefore secondary and symptomatic. No moral judgment can be passed upon them directly, since Tightness and wrongness inhere in the disposition and not in the act. A society and even a Church may have, for practical purposes, to form a code of sins, but such codes have no ultimate validity. The judgment of man’s heart rests with God alone. We note, further, that we cannot limit sin to conscious acts of wrong-doing. Any act, however unconscious, which springs from a wrong disposition is a sin, and must be held to deserve moral censure, even though that censure relates in reality to the disposition itself. This is the element of truth in Augustinianism and Calvinism, and in the terrible picture which St. Paul gives of the decadence of mankind at the beginning of the Epistle to the Romans. And indeed it is a thought which might well give pause to the blindly amiable and pleasure-loving world of to-day. Amiability and good-fellowship carry no guarantee whatever of moral worth.
We may assume that every individual is in some degree a sinner, with a character not wholly unified by love of the highest. This can only mean that there are sentiments wrongly formed in his life, attached to wrong objects, and destroying the unity of his personality. The inevitable result will be an inner conflict, upon the issue of which the real achievement of his life depends.
Ideally it is conceivable that he may achieve perfect [ p. 150 ] sainthood, a character which at every point turns in love to the highest object and so moulds every impulse, every emotion, and every association to the service of that love. Thus our Lord could be truly tempted, yet without sin, for His sinlessness was not a mere absence of sinful acts, but was simply identical with His unbroken communion with the Father. [63] Equally conceivable is the possibility of perfection in evil, a character resting upon the complete and unbroken choice of some object known to be wrong, and the unhesitating rejection of the higher moral choice. At first sight it might appear that this also would be a way of peace. But in fact such a personality as an lago, knowing neither compunction nor remorse in the unswerving choice of evil, is impossible. The conception raises insuperable difficulties for moral philosophy, since evil cannot be chosen save as a good, and for theology, since the whole impulse of life, in every instinct and appetite, is of God, and therefore there must needs be war to the death until the choice of God is made. The Hound of Heaven may not leave the sinner to the peace of his sin. [64]
These are the extreme cases. With the normal sinner we find a partial choice of a wrong object, a conflict of sentiments, a divided disposition, and distress. Here we move within a region of which psychology can give account, [ p. 151 ] and we find that the development of the sinful character takes place along lines familiar to the student of neurotic patients. The distress may take very various forms, according to the type of mentality of the sinner concerned.
(1) The conflict may continue in the open, no decision being reached. This condition is alien to the anxiety type of neurosis, [65] the least amenable of all to direct psychological treatment, though it may be possible to discover factors which have led to a general hesitancy in making effective decisions. Cases of this kind have the great advantage of honesty. They do not refuse to face their problems. There is little for the psychologist to do. There is nothing to analyse and suggestion is useless unless it can vindicate itself rationally. In such cases the direct stimulus of the religious appeal gives by far the best hope of success, and by this religious appeal is meant the presentation of an ideal so reasonable and so powerful that the hesitancy and indecision are overcome. The moral choice becomes possible not in the sinner’s own strength, but in the strength of God drawing him upwards and onwards through love made manifest in Christ.
(2) More commonly there is some degree of repression. The conflict continues, but with reduced intensity. The [ p. 152 ] gravity of the issue is not fully felt, and though conscience is still active its keenness is dulled. The trivialities and needs of current daily life are allowed to occupy the foreground of attention. A low ideal of character is accepted as sufficient and the claims of God are avoided rather than refused. Here everything depends upon the degree and quality of the repression. In the vast majority of cases what is most effective is a sharpening of the conflict through the presentation of the religious ideal. With the reawakening of love the repressions are broken down, and true repentance makes recovery possible.
(3) In some cases the repression is complete. All consciousness of sin is lost. Pathological complexes are formed, and sin has become moral disease. Frequently there are grave physical and mental symptoms, such as insomnia, or morbid anxieties displaced from their true source and attached to trivial occasions. Phobias, sometimes of the most absurd kind, are common, and their unfortunate victim clings to them with astonishing tenacity, rather than face the moral issues upon which they really depend. Unquestionably these are cases where psychological treatment can be of the greatest benefit, though there will be no cure unless there is a real desire for recovery on the part of the patient. But no psychology can create this desire. Religion, whether it is recognized as religion or not, must give driving force to the mechanisms which psychological treatment employs. This is the significance of the transference, [66] the personal relationship between healer and patient which is recognized as the effective element in all types of psychotherapy.
(4) A special case of this repression is to be seen in hysterical alternations of consciousness. [67] These again [ p. 153 ] lighten the conflict, but in a different manner. At times it is felt in its full severity. At times there is an apparent peace. For a season temptation has no power and there is even a high degree of spiritual exaltation. And then there is an interval of moral disaster, mastering its victim almost without resistance. Such cases are the despair of the pastor, but they are of a type familiar enough to the psychologist. They occur in persons of a naturally hysterical mentality, under the stress of the emotions aroused by specially painful occasions or by a peculiarly difficult environment. Here once more we are dealing with a form of moral disease, and without suitable treatment of the mental factors by methods now well known and usually effective, ordinary spiritual methods are likely to have little result.
Even from this short analysis it is clear that the tasks of the spiritual director and the psychotherapist can hardly be separated. What should be the terms of alliance upon which they are to be undertaken ? From the point of view of the Church there is an increasing demand that ordinands, in the words of the Committee which reported to the Lambeth Conference in 1920, ‘ should be equipped by training in psychology, and be given some acquaintance with methods and principles of healing. Only so will the clergy be enabled rightly to direct the thought of their people on the subject and to discriminate between truth and error.’ [68] The general attitude of the doctors is on the whole that expressed by Janet : ’ I fancy it would be better, would be both more dignified and more useful, if each were to keep [ p. 154 ] within his own sphere, and if doctor and priest were to render one another reciprocal service.’ [69] The priest has every reason to desire this new knowledge. The doctor has every reason for suspecting the amateur, a suspicion which the long history of religious healing does nothing to allay.
Unfortunately the problem cannot be solved quite so simply as Janet and the doctors might desire. Medical service in this matter is utterly inadequate. The ordinary general practitioner is at least as ill equipped as his parish priest, and treatment by specialists or in institutions is long and costly. More than that, a very large proportion of those mentally disordered seek the aid of religion rather than that of the doctor, and it is frequently the priest who is first in touch with cases in their early stages, when wise treatment offers a good hope of success. For such cases the doctors have no time, and neither the patients nor their friends see the need for expert advice. A serious factor in such cases is the danger which results from the stigma of being regarded as ‘ mental,’ and a skilled pastor can often give real help without involving the patient in this risk, which cannot easily be avoided if he is taken to consult the expert. [70]
[ p. 155 ]
Nevertheless it is true that the primary task of the Church is strictly her own. The real question is not whether the Church should interfere in the task of the doctors, but whether the doctors can safely do their work without the aid of the Church. For when doctors leave on one side the essential character of sin they are condemning themselves and their patients to a very restricted view indeed of their problems. The direct commission of the Church is to preach Christ, and to proclaim the forgiveness of sins. The value of the preaching of Christ from the point of psychotherapy will by now be abundantly clear. If rightly performed it is the presentation of an object capable of drawing all the powers and impulses of man into the unity of His service. [71] ‘ I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.’ [72] And the proclamation of forgiveness, a very different thing from the pronouncing of judgment upon sins, [73] is the first and greatest need of [ p. 156 ] those who are involved in moral distress. It corrects faulty conceptions of the universe and of God, and sets love free to do its work. Psychology, for all its outward appearance of charity, knows no forgiveness, and is therewith harder and less true to reality than the sternest Calvinism. For science is a matter of law and not of mercy, and the doctor who is not something more than a scientist has nothing to say to sin.
These things should never be forgotten by the priest who finds himself intrigued by the new and inviting possibilities of psychological treatment. His first task is that of being true to his office, and in such faithfulness he should go forward with a good courage. He is already doing more and not less than the doctors in their own field. Psychological medicine is no substitute for the Gospel, and it is incomparably less powerful to heal than the love of souls.
When this has been said it remains true that a knowledge of psychology is a most valuable possession for the would-be spiritual director. [74] It is the standing tradition of the Church that the priest is asked for advice, penance, and absolution, and even in quarters where sacramental confession is deprecated the pastor finds the same demand made upon him, with less formality but with no less urgency. Of absolution we have spoken and there is no need to make a sharp distinction between its efficacy as a means of grace and its power to touch into action the hidden impulses of love. Of penance we need only say that its theological significance is bound up with the secondary forensic conception of sin. It has its value in certain cases, but should be used with the strictest discretion, and with due regard to its psychological effects. That God demands or desires it is simply incredible, save in so far as His love must always desire the healing of the soul. And there are cases where [ p. 157 ] a sharp surgery is seen by both priest and penitent to be the way of love.
In the giving of advice even a little psychological knowledge is better than none. It is not here a matter of the means of grace, but rather of a general insight into character. It will save the priest from accepting accounts of sin at their face value. He will be better able to perceive the working of the powerful instincts, appetites, and emotions, and to suggest methods of redirecting their energy into channels of service and so to check their essential selfreference. Incidentally it will make it impossible for the priest to be emotionally disturbed, or shocked, at anything which he may hear, for he will know that no sin, however grave in its social effects, is more than a symptom. At the same time it will guard him against the more obvious dangers. He will know the shallowness of treatment by crude suggestion, and when he uses, for good reasons, the prestige and authority of his office, he will be very careful to build up true freedom, the movement of individual faith and love, in the soul, just as the physician, in dealing with hysteria, must not only cancel the symptom but deal with its cause by faithful re-education. Above all he will be warned of the dangers of amateur analysis. The priest is concerned with the sins of which the conscience is afraid. If he has reason to suspect serious mental disorder, he must insist upon skilled psychological advice. The ordered structure of the unconscious may not be lightly disturbed and he will know that a little experimental dream-interpretation, or any attempt at awakening old memories by free association, may set forces in motion which he may have neither time nor skill to control.
A specially important piece of knowledge is that of the mechanism and potency of the so-called transference. It is by no accident that the priest has so commonly been given the title of ‘ Father,’ Inevitably the close personal contact [ p. 158 ] of spiritual direction establishes that relationship which, as we have seen, is a powerful driving force in psychotherapy of all kinds. The priest will find himself forced into a position which is more than official and more even than friendship. He will have to guard himself at every point against its undesirable development, and here the Roman Church in its ordering of the Confessional has been far wiser than the Church of England, which has signally failed to control the zeal of those who have, rightly enough, pressed for its adequate recognition once more. But he will know that it is through this living and vital relationship that he is able most deeply to touch the problems of his penitents. The psychotherapist seeks to secure the transference, but he seeks also to resolve it in the light of reality. In the course of the treatment the patient may take up a most difficult attitude of admiration and affection. At its close he should be no more than friend, free to live his own life. The priest will resolve the transference as rapidly as it arises, for his own life will be so wholly turned to God that he will never fall into the snare of welcoming and holding for himself the affection, admiration, or love, which, when the cure is complete, must be God’s alone. [75]
So only shall the spiritual director be safe, and perchance so only the physician, if he loves God first, and man second, and himself last of all.
Aubrey Moore, Some Aspects of Sin, pp. 65 f. The capitals and italics, here and in the following quotation, are as in the original. ↩︎
Rom. vii. 17 and 20. Kirk, Some Principles of Moral Theology, p. 242, takes this verse as referring ‘ to a state of degradation in which the idea of personality conveys no longer any meaning.’ While I do not doubt that such a state is possible I cannot believe that St. Paul is referring to it here. He seems rather to be alluding to that awakening of the true self as it first becomes aware of possibilities other than those determined by the sinful condition. There is no freedom, but there is at least the desire to be free, from ‘ the body of death.’ ↩︎
Moore, op. cit. p. 138. ↩︎
Tennyson, Idylls of the King : Guinevere. ↩︎
Kirk, op. cit. p. 228. ↩︎
Ibid. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 264, and the references there cited to Lecky, Map of Life, p. 264, and Hadfield in The Spirit, pp. 96 fif. See also Thouless, Introduction to the Psychology of Religion, p. 112, and passim ; W. Brown, Psychology and Psychotherapy, pp. 12 and 81 ; Mind and Personality, p. 140 ; McDougall, Character and the Conduct of Life, pp. 95 ff. For a full discussion on Freudian lines cf. E. Jones, Papers on Psycho-analysis, pp. 603 ff., and passim. ↩︎
Hos. ix. 10. ↩︎
Hos. xiv. 4. ↩︎
Jer. xxxi. 3. ↩︎
The Ideas of the Fall and of Original Sin, pp. 73, 133, 292. Full illustration of these views can be found in Dr. Williams’ book, and it is unnecessary to do more than refer the reader to some of the more important passages. ↩︎
Op. cit. pp. 59 f. ↩︎
Op. cit. pp. 123 ff. ↩︎
Williams, op. cit. pp. 297 f. ↩︎
The use of the term concupiscentia goes back to Tertullian. Op. cit. pp. 243 f . ↩︎
Op. cit. pp. 365 ff. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 403. ↩︎
Op. cit. pp. 431 ff. ↩︎
Art. IX. ↩︎
In his Origin and Propagation of Sin, fully discussed by Williams, op. cit. pp. 530 ff. So, in principle, Aquinas, Summa, ii. i. Q. 24, e.g. Art i, Conclusio : ‘ Passiones animi prout subjacent imperio rationis et voluntatis bonae vel malae moraliter dici possunt ; non autem ut motus quidam sunt irrationalis appetitus.’ So Kirk, Some Principles of Moral Theology, p. 235 : ‘No instinct, however sinful be the actions that result from it, can be in essence evil.’ ↩︎
Plato, Republic, ix. 571 ff. The importance of this passage is not affected by the subsequent argument for the indestructibility of the soul in x. 609 f. This argument is hardly compatible with the account of the soul as composite, ix. 588 f . ↩︎
Athanasius, De Incarnatione, c. 3. ↩︎
Ibid. c. 4. It is difficult to say how far Athanasius presses this conception of disintegration. The two passages cited suggest different answers. He goes beyond Plato in his recognition that the disorder of appetite affects the unity of the soul itself, but the principle of his discussion is Platonic, though it seems to issue in a doctrine of conditional rather than absolute immortality. ↩︎
Summa, ii. i. Q. 79. Art. 2. ↩︎
Summa, ii. i. Q. 73. Art. 8. Cf. Anselm, Cur Dens Homo, i. 12. ↩︎
Kirk, Some Principles of Moral Theology, p. 231, and passages there cited, esp. Aquinas, Summa, ii. i. Q. 72. Art. i, andii. i.Q. 109. Art. 4. Cf. also Anselm, Cur Deus Homo, i. 21. ↩︎
Is. Ix. i, cited in Rom. x. 21. ↩︎
Athanasius, De Incarnatione, c. 6. Cf. Cyril of Jerusalem, Cat. xiii. 33. ↩︎
Cur Deus Homo, i. 11. ↩︎
Ibid. i. 12. ↩︎
The Penal Theory and the Satisfaction Theory depend directly upon the principles of criminal and civil law respectively. See my Short History of the Doctrine of the Atonement, pp. 121 f., and references there cited ; also p. 298 for the decisive discussion between Crell and Grotius. ↩︎
As appears very clearly in the very lame ending to Anselm’s argument, Cur Deus Homo, ii. 19. The Penal Theory fails just at this point, as is shown by its gradual decline in the period of the arid discussions as to the ‘ active ’ and ‘ passive ’ obedience of Christ and its twofold efficacy. ↩︎
Mk. viii. 35. ↩︎
Contra Gentes, 3. ↩︎
Confessions, iii. 8 ; De Civitate Dei, xiv. 3 and 8. ↩︎
The Ideas of the Fall and of Original Sin, p. 521. ↩︎
Some Principles of Moral Theology, p. 267. ↩︎
Cf. Selbie, Psychology of Religion, pp. 228 f. : ‘ It is the possibility of being tempted which shews the real greatness of human nature. Apart from it we should be merely unmoral creatures. … It is with the capacity to choose between ends and the actions leading to them that the possibility of sin emerges.’ ↩︎
McDougall, Social Psychology, pp. 161 ff. See also his Character and the Conduct of Life, where the same thesis is developed at length. ↩︎
Social Psychology, p. 161. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 181. ↩︎
McDougall, op. cit. p. 181. ↩︎
A. G. Tansley, The New Psychology and Its Relation to Life, p. 189. ↩︎
Social Psychology, p. 181. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 208. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 206. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 208. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 196, note : ‘ I leave out of account here the religious sentiments, which for many, perhaps most, persons play this all-important part in developing the self-regarding sentiment : not because they are not of great social importance, but because the principles involved are essentially similar to those dealt with in this passage.’ ↩︎
Character and the Conduct of Life, especially chaps, v. and x. ↩︎
Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego, pp. 26 ff. ↩︎
Op. cit. p. 93. ↩︎
The Ideas of the Fall and of Original Sin, pp. 476 ff. and 516 ff. Dr. Williams seems to regard the condition resulting from the Fall as ‘ congenital weakness or shallowness of herd-instinct ’ ; ‘ This weak saturation with psychic energy of the social complex can only be due to the weakness of the herd-instinct, which feeds it’ (p. 480). This view undoubtedly agrees well with his idea of a Fall prior to all human sinning, but nevertheless it seems to deprive sin of its essential character. It is in the relation of the ego to its object, in the region of the true moral choice, that we must seek to understand not only the gravity of sin but also its origin. It does not help matters to transfer the issue to ‘ this deep level in the structure of the soul, beneath the area of the pre-conscious and lying in the obscure recesses of the Unconscious ’ (ibid) . It is not in the instinctive life as such, but somewhere in the process whereby instincts are built up into sentiments, that the problem lies. ↩︎
James, Varieties of Religious Experience, pp. 326 ff., esp. p. 376. ↩︎
The point is sharply made in the remark that when the devil would tempt an Englishman he takes the shape of his wife and family. ↩︎
Mt. x. 37 ; cf. i Cor. vii. 32, 33. ↩︎
See p. 52. ↩︎
There has been much confusion as to the terms ‘ sentiment ’ and ‘ complex,’ The distinction is purely artificial, but the majority of modern writers use the term ‘ complex ’ only for dispositions in which there is an element of pathological repression. It is better to adhere strictly to this usage, which at least provides a suitable terminology for the discussion of the psychology of sin. Hart, Tansley, and some others use the term ‘ complex ’ in a broader sense which includes the ‘ sentiments,’ and it is essential to bear this in mind in reading their books. For a full discussion of the subject cf. the important symposium in the Journal oj Psychology, xiii. 2. ↩︎
Hadfield, Psychology and Morals, p. 48. ↩︎
Freud, The Ego and the Id, p. 45 : ‘ The super-ego retains the character of the father, while the more intense the Oedipus-complex was and the more rapidly it succumbed to repression (under the influence of discipline, religious teaching, schooling, and reading) the more exacting later on is the domination of the super-ego over the ego in the form of conscience or perhaps of an unconscious sense of guilt,’ Cf. p. 73. Also Introductory Lectures on Psycho-analysis, p. 358, and Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego, pp. 68 f., where a rather different turn is given to the analysis, stress being laid on ‘ the original narcissism in which the childish ego found its self-sufficiency ’ ; cf. pp. 10 and 75. ↩︎
Bunyan is a typical example of such ‘ religious ’ fear. Cf. James, Varieties of Religious Belief, pp. 157 and 187. I have myself, in a very limited experience of psychological treatment, come across more than one case in which this teaching has been a predominant factor in producing a neurotic condition, and friends engaged in psychological practice constantly tell me of others. There are always, of course, other factors involved, but to admit this does not justify the preaching. ↩︎
Pratt, The Religious Consciousness, p. 178. ↩︎
Mt. vii. i. ↩︎
It is impossible to prove (or to disprove) the sinlessness of our Lord by any application of moral standards to the series of actions recorded in the Gospels. The attempt to do this has led to quite unnecessary problems, e.g. as to the cursing of the barren fig-tree, and the denunciations of the Pharisees. The problems simply do not arise if we start from His unique Filial consciousness. ↩︎
These difficulties apply with even greater force to the problem of the existence of a personal devil. The very possibility of the devil’s existence seems to be bound up with the possibility of his loving and being loved, that is with the possibility of his salvation. It is not absurd logically to suppose that there may be a spiritual being who will, in fact, continuously and consistently reject that possibility. But this is in no sense a necessary postulate for the explaining of evil and its strange power. Milton’s Satan, with his ’ Evil, be thou my good,’ is actually more tragic than evil. ↩︎
The distinction between anxiety-states and hysteria is of the greatest practical importance, since quite different treatment is demanded in the two cases. It is bound up with Jung’s distinction between introversion and extraversion ; cf. his classical discussion in Analytical Psychology, pp. 287 ff., developed at length in his Psychological Types. Freud has sought to give an explanation of anxiety in terms of hysteria, but his views have undergone considerable modification (for a good summary seeE. Jones, Papers on Psycho-analysis, pp. 500 ff.), and both in his Beyond the Pleasure Principle and in his Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego he recognizes that the psychoses proper present problems not readily explained along these lines. The problem is confused by the undoubted fact of hysterical anxiety (Angst), but this should hardly have the same name as the anxiety of the psychasthenic. Those who desire a detailed account of the symptoms of different types of disorder should consult Henderson and Gillespie, A Text-book of Psychiatry , or the brief outline in W. Brown, Psychology and Psychotherapy. ↩︎
See p. 119. ↩︎
The literature of this subject is enormous. For extreme cases cf. James, Principles of Psychology, i. pp. 379 ff. ; Janet, L’Automatism Psychologique ; T. W. Mitchell, Medical Psychology of Psychical Research, pp. 69218. A very interesting case, admirably illustrating the argument above, is that of ‘ Mlle. Vé,’ described by Flournoy in Archives de Psychologic de la Suisse Romande for 1915, usefully summarized by Thouless, An Introduction to the Psychology of Religion, pp. 242 ff., and more fully and critically by Leuba, The Psychology of Religious Mysticism, pp. 226 ff. ↩︎
Report of the Lambeth Conference, 1920, p. 125. ↩︎
Janet, Psychological Healing, p. 136 : ‘ When the doctor thinks that religious instruction is indicated, let him send the patient to the priest, who can speak of religion as a priest without intruding into the domain of medicine. When the doctor thinks that enough religious instruction has been given, and that more might become dangerous, he can withdraw his patient. The priest will not have to bother about dosage, or to nip faith in the bud. If the religious instruction fails to cure the patient, neither the priest nor the religion can be blamed for this, seeing that the doctor is responsible,’ In which Janet shows a lamentable misunderstanding both of religion and of psychology. He completely ignores the inevitable complications of the ‘ transference.’ Nevertheless his warning is of real weight. For a far more adequate statement of the difficulties, together with an entirely sympathetic desire for co-operation, cf. W. Brown, Science and Personality, pp. 170 ff. ↩︎
It may be added that those suffering from some of the most severe and dangerous disorders frequently, and perhaps even usually, come first to parson or priest, viz. the cases of melancholia, of persecutional or delusional paranoia, and of so-called ‘ religious mania.’ The doctors, in actual practice, get the easiest part of the work. When these severe disorders reach them it is usually too late to do much more than send the case to an institution, It is a matter of real urgency, from the medical side, that the clergy should have the knowledge which will enable them to understand the nature of these difficult types, and should be in the closest touch with doctors who also have this knowledge. ↩︎
So Hadfield, Psychology and Morals, p. 48 : The treatment for sin is ‘ the persistent presentation of a higher ideal.’ ↩︎
Jn. xii. 32. ↩︎
It is undoubtedly the original view of the Anglican Reformers that the function of the priest is to declare God’s forgiveness. In the Exhortation inserted into the Communion Service the penitent is told to ‘ open his grief ’ to the ‘ minister of God’s Word ’ that ‘ by the ministry of God’s holy Word he may receive the benefit of absolution,’ and this language is an intentional reply to the claim of the Council of Trent that the priest not only confers a benefit but acts as a judge; cf. esp. Conc. Trid. sessio xiv. c. 5. Unquestionably a secondary judicial function remains in the obligation to exclude from Communion ‘ open and notorious evil livers,’ but this is not the ‘ judicium ’ intended by the Council of Trent. Even the very definite ‘ By His authority committed unto me, I absolve thee,’ in the office for the Visitation of the Sick, was not meant in the Roman sense, but is simply an extension of ‘ He pardoneth and absolveth all them that truly repent,’ as in the Order for Morning Prayer, and its directness is intended as a support and assurance to the dying. All this is entirely sound psychologically, as well as spiritually (cf. Kirk, Some Principles of Moral Theology, p. 223). ↩︎
A valuable contribution on this side is Spiritual Direction, by T. W. Pym. ↩︎
On the whole question of sin and its psychology cf. Hodgson, Essays in Christian Philosophy , pp. 15-23. ↩︎