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We would not be understood to assert that Christianity presents a universal cure-all for diseases of the nervous system; neither does our thesis mean that it can altogether prevent the fruition of degeneration and atavism as we find them in any given individual. We do assert, on the other hand, that, if we take conditions as we find them, the only revelation of an absolutely wholesome soul life for ourselves and for those who will come after us is the revelation of the Nazarene. The conception of the Christ as a teacher of mental hygiene is not nearly so unnatural or forced as it may at first appear. On the contrary, we are thoroughly accustomed to think of the Christ as Saviour and Physician; so accustomed, I fear, to the words that we seldom ask seriously what they mean. Even in the Mosaic law there was a close relation between religion and wholesome life. Not the least of the wonderful features of the grand old body of traditions of ancient Judaism is the insight into the origin and prevention of disease. Unquestionably the Jewish race feels the influence of that insight down to the present time in its heritage of vitality and endurance. It almost seems as though those ancient lawgivers must have had some prevision of the facts brought to light by our modern bacteriology. Christ's power over disease is surely one of the most prominent characteristics of his work. Wherever he was he healed their infirmities, both bodily and mental. But Christ's emphasis was always on the soul life rather than the physical. Over and over again he insisted that his cure of physical disease was only an accident of his mission. It is doubtless this change of emphasis from physical well-being to spiritual well-being that most markedly differentiates Christ's teaching from the ancient Jewish tradition. The ancient law condemned the libertine and murderer to death; Christ condemned the libidinous and the angry thought. The early Jews worshiped the God of battles with bloody sacrifice and complicated temple ritual; Christ revealed a God of love and peace to be worshiped exclusively neither in the temple at Jerusalem nor in the holy mountain in Samaria, neither with sacrifice of burnt offering, but in spirit and in truth, with humility and a pure heart. At no time, however, is the physical ignored. The service of the temple he would purify and spiritualize, not abolish. The subordination of the physical to the spiritual does not degrade it, but puts it in a new light of perpetual transfiguration. Not in precept alone, but also in his life is the spiritual supremacy evident. Christ chose deliberately to be king, not of material empire, but of the hearts of men. He suffered physically even unto death for that spiritual supremacy which, doubtless, could never have been otherwise realized. If Christ's mission really was to fulfill the law and spiritualize it, we should naturally expect to find in his teaching some spiritual analogues of the hygienic precepts in the older revelation. Our contention here is that this expectation is justified by the facts.

It would be amply worth our time to point out what I may call the lesser hygienic principles of Christ's teaching. Take, for example, the lesson of the lilies, with its principle of implicit trust and freedom from worry both physical and spiritual. True, it is not altogether new. There are similar precepts in the Psalms and prophets. There are similar precepts in pagan literature. But what we now seek to impress is the essential fact that it is altogether wholesome. The psychiatrist doesn't ordinarily fear the strain of honest work. It is good for one. And nature may usually be depended upon to make her demands for rest and relaxation in no uncertain voice. That part of our duties which rightfully belongs to any given moment is never oppressive. It is the emotional disturbances of the accumulated duties of the next week or month heaped together into one overwhelming present that is unbearable. It is congested worry that chokes and kills. But the lesson of the lilies is not limited to the worry of toiling and spinning. It is the principle of universal peace. This is not to be confounded with Stoic indifference. Notwithstanding the misconceptions of the early Church, Christianity has little in common with the philosophy of repressed emotions and shirked social responsibilities. The Christ was thoroughly alive to every duty from his childhood. He rejoiced and wept. He pitied and he loved. His emotional life was rich and full. Only the unwholesome was banished. He never hated, he never worried; no, not when he journeyed toward Jerusalem for the last time or supped with his disciples in the upper chamber under the shadow of a disciple's faithlessness and of a bitter death.

Even more important to our thesis is the Christian antagonism to selfishness. The ego-centric consciousness is always conspicuously unwholesome. It is typical of almost every form of insanity from the megalomania of dementia to the contracted consciousness of the degenerate. Egotism is not only typical of developed mental diseases, it is also characteristic of their early stages. It is the constant and often absurd reference of casual occurrences to the self that marks the beginning of the manias of persecution, as well as the insanities of degeneracy. Christ's emphasis on humility and a life of service to others is not an arbitrary barrier to his kingdom. It lies in the very nature of things that selfishness and egotism are always morbid and unwholesome.