Is Life Worth Living
Without Immortality?

A Lecture Delivered Before
the Independent Religious
Society, Chicago

By

M. M. MANGASARIAN

I may be doing you an injustice, Bertie, but it seemed to me in your last that there were indications that the free expression of my religious views had been distasteful to you. That you should disagree with me I am prepared for; but that you should object to free and honest discussion of those subjects which above all others men should be honest over, would, I confess, be a disappointment. The Free-thinker is placed at this disadvantage in ordinary society, that whereas it would be considered very bad taste upon his part to obtrude his unorthodox opinion, no such consideration hampers those with whom he disagrees. There was a time when it took a brave man to be a Christian. Now it takes a brave man not to be.

SIR A. CONAN DOYLE,
The Stark Munro Letters—Fourth Letter.

Is Life Worth Living Without Immortality?

Is life worth living? If we are in good health, it certainly is. In a certain sense, even to ask such a question implies that we are not at our best. It is the sick, mentally as well as physically, who question the value of life. We cannot appreciate health too highly. Our philosophy of life is more profoundly affected by the condition of our body than we have any idea. If I were composing a new set of beatitudes, one of them would be in exaltation of health:

Blessed are they that have health, for they shall take pleasure in life.

Health also inspires faith in life. The first commandment of the decalogue, instead of reading, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me," which is metaphysical and without definite meaning, could with much advantage be altered to read:

Thou shalt not trifle with thy health.

How fortunate it would have been for man had the "Deity" given that as his first and best thought to the world! Then, indeed, would he have been the friend of man. We cannot preserve our health without observing all the other commandments—of temperance, purity, sanity, self possession, contentment, and serenity of mind. "Behold I bring unto you health" ought to be the glad tidings of salvation. Give us that, and all the rest will be added unto us. Health is the foundation of character. If the foundation is insecure—if we have inherited disease and corruption, we can be sound, neither in our thoughts nor in our actions. The time may come when to be sickly will be considered a crime. A revolution in our feelings in this matter is already taking place. Formerly it was thought that the path to self-development is through sorrow and suffering, and that the sick were the saints. The verdict of science today, which has been confirmed by the growing experience of man, is that pleasurable activity is the most wholesome environment for man. Happiness has upon human nature the same effect that the sunshine has upon the soil. Man is a failure if he is not happy. The highest accomplishment is the ability to enjoy life. To those who say that service or usefulness is the noblest aim of life, we answer, "Why should those who serve the noblest ends of life be unhappy?"

But let me first present to you the answer which one of America's best known psychologists, Prof. William James, of Harvard, gives to this most interesting question. Prof. James is a teacher not only of the young men in one of our leading Universities, but his ideas have become a part of the furniture of the American mind. Both his thought and the candor with which he expresses himself have secured for him a large following. Prof. James has an engaging style. Not that he is not also a profound thinker, but his sentences are as symmetrical as they are solid. He writes to be understood. That, I take it, is the secret of the masters of style. The gods always speak from behind "clouds and darkness." That explains why it is so difficult to understand what they say. But the great teachers permit no screens, draperies, curtains, or hangings of any sort to come between them and the public. There is nothing hidden about their thoughts. Neither do they speak in parables. Whoever can not make himself understood should hold his peace.

The parents of this renowned psychologist were Swedenborgians, and I believe the professor is still, nominally, at least, a member of the Swedenborgian church. Swedenborg, as you know, was a mystic; he was, indeed, a sort of a medium, who claimed to have seen and conversed with God face to face, and to have received from him a supplementary revelation, in some such sense that Mrs. Eddy or Joseph Smith received one. Of course, Swedenborg was also a philosopher, which Smith and Eddy are not. The early connections and training of Prof. James explain in part his interest in the work of the Psychical Research Society, of which he is one of the officers. So-called spiritist or occult phenomena, such as automatic slate writing, table tipping and telepathy, have always interested Prof. James, but he is by no means an easy victim, though he looks forward hopefully to the time when science will definitely locate the undiscovered country whose bourne has not yet been sighted.

Some years ago when Prof. James and I were summer neighbors in New Hampshire—near Chocorua lake—I heard the professor deliver a lecture on hypnotism in the village church of Tamworth. An incident occurred at the time which has its bearing on the experience our Society is having with the directors of the Orchestral Association. While Prof. James was explaining the phenomena of hypnotism from the pulpit, I saw, from where I was sitting, an elderly woman showing signs of restlessness in her seat. Presently she rose to her feet, walked up the aisle slowly, and taking her stand directly in front of Prof. James on the platform, she upbraided him for desecrating the House of God by delivering in it a lecture on hypnotism. In clear, though trembling tones, she ordered him out of the church. Naturally the professor was greatly embarrassed, as was also his audience. The old woman, however, was soon prevailed upon by the elders of the church to resume her seat and keep the peace. But she was trying to oust Prof. James from the church, as the trustees of this building are trying to oust our Society from this hall, on account of religious differences. The old woman of New Hampshire was not successful, and I trust that the old woman of Chicago will not fare any better. To close a hall to a movement is an easy thing, but to close the ear of the world to its message is not so easy.

I have spoken of the early education of Prof. James in order to explain the metaphysical bent of his mind. As a psychologist, he has an international reputation, but his greatest vogue is among, what are called, the liberal Christians. The orthodox have no use for him, but to those who are endeavoring to interpret Christianity so as to make it harmonize with modern thought—who are filling the ancient skins with wine newly pressed—he is a defender and a champion of the faith. Prof. James seems to have discovered a way by which one can be a scientist and a supernaturalist at the same time. He appears to be of the opinion that a person may deny or reject many of the orthodox dogmas, and still be justified in calling himself a Christian. He is, in fact, one of the New Theologians, who are supposed to have reconstructed Christianity, and saved the supernatural. For this service, Prof. James and his