70THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
child who is early taught that he is God’s child, that he may live and
move and have his being in God, and that he has, therefore, infinite
strength at hand for the conquering of any difficulty, will take life more
easily, and probably will make more of it, than one who is told that he is
born the child of wrath and wholly incapable of good.”
1
One can but recognize in such writers as these the presence of a
temperament organically weighted on the side of cheer and fatally
forbidden to linger, as those of opposite temperament linger, over
the darker aspects of the universe. In some individuals optimism
may become quasi-pathological. The capacity for even a transient
sadness or a momentary humility seems cut off from them as by a
kind of congenital anæsthesia.
2
The supreme contemporary example of such an inability to feel
evil is of course Walt Whitman.
“His favorite occupation,” writes his disciple, Dr. Bucke, “seemed to be
strolling or sauntering about outdoors by himself, looking at the grass, the
trees, the flowers, the vistas of light, the varying aspects of the sky, and
listening to the birds, the crickets, the tree frogs, and all the hundreds of
natural sounds. It was evident that these things gave him a pleasure far
beyond what they give to ordinary people. Until I knew the man,” con-
tinues Dr. Bucke, “it had not occurred to me that any one could derive
so much absolute happiness from these things as he did. He was very fond
of flowers, either wild or cultivated; liked all sorts. I think he admired lilacs
and sunflowers just as much as roses. Perhaps, indeed, no man who ever
1
S
TARBUCK
: Psychology of Religion, pp. 305, 306.
2
“I know not to what physical laws philosophers will some day refer the feelings of
melancholy. For myself, I find that they are the most voluptuous of all sensations,” writes
Saint Pierre, and accordingly he devotes a series of sections of his work on Nature to the
Plaisirs de la Ruine, Plaisirs des Tombeaux, Ruines de la Nature, Plaisirs de la Solitude —
each of them more optimistic than the last.
This finding of a luxury in woe is very common during adolescence. The truth-telling
Marie Bashkirtseff expresses it well: —
“In this depression and dreadful uninterrupted suffering, I don’t condemn life. On the
contrary, I like it and find it good. Can you believe it? I find everything good and pleasant,
even my tears, my grief. I enjoy weeping, I enjoy my despair. I enjoy being exasperated and
sad. I feel as if these were so many diversions, and I love life in spite of them all. I want to
live on. It would be cruel to have me die when I am so accommodating. I cry, I grieve, and
at the same time I am pleased — no, not exactly that — I know not how to express it. But
everything in life pleases me. I find everything agreeable, and in the very midst of my prayers
for happiness, I find myself happy at being miserable. It is not I who undergo all this — my
body weeps and cries; but something inside of me which is above me is glad of it all.” Journal
de Marie Bashkirtseff, i. 67.
THE RELIGION OF HEALTHY-MINDEDNESS
71
lived liked so many things and disliked so few as Walt Whitman. All
natural objects seemed to have a charm for him. All sights and sounds
seemed to please him. He appeared to like (and I believe he did like) all
the men, women, and children he saw (though I never knew him to say
that he liked any one), but each who knew him felt that he liked him or
her, and that he liked others also. I never knew him to argue or dispute,
and he never spoke about money. He always justified, sometimes play-
fully, sometimes quite seriously, those who spoke harshly of himself or his
writings, and I often thought he even took pleasure in the opposition
of enemies. When I first knew [him], I used to think that he watched
himself, and would not allow his tongue to give expression to fretfulness,
antipathy, complaint, and remonstrance. It did not occur to me as possible
that these mental states could be absent in him. After long observation,
however, I satisfied myself that such absence or unconsciousness was
entirely real. He never spoke deprecatingly of any nationality or class of
men, or time in the world’s history, or against any trades or occupations
— not even against any animals, insects, or inanimate things, nor any of
the laws of nature, nor any of the results of those laws, such as illness,
deformity, and death. He never complained or grumbled either at the
weather, pain, illness, or anything else. He never swore. He could not
very well, since he never spoke in anger and apparently never was angry.
He never exhibited fear, and I do not believe he ever felt it.”
1
Walt Whitman owes his importance in literature to the systematic
expulsion from his writings of all contractile elements. The only
sentiments he allowed himself to express were of the expansive
order; and he expressed these in the first person, not as your mere
monstrously conceited individual might so express them, but vicari-
ously for all men, so that a passionate and mystic ontological emotion
suffuses his words, and ends by persuading the reader that men and
women, life and death, and all things are divinely good.
Thus it has come about that many persons to-day regard Walt
Whitman as the restorer of the eternal natural religion. He has
infected them with his own love of comrades, with his own gladness
that he and they exist. Societies are actually formed for his cult;
a periodical organ exists for its propagation, in which the lines of
orthodoxy and heterodoxy are already beginning to be drawn;
2
hymns are written by others in his peculiar prosody; and he is even
1
R. M. B
UCKE
: Cosmic Consciousness, pp. 182–186, abridged.
2
I refer to The Conservator, edited by Horace Traubel, and published monthly at
Philadelphia.