Showing posts with label Mark Twain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark Twain. Show all posts

Friday, October 11, 2013

Reading Mark Twain...'Christian Science'

Reading Mark Twain...'Christian Science'
     'Christian Science'....Mark Twain, Harper & Brothers, New York, 1907

     I was continuing my task of reading anything available, in print or on the internet, when I came upon this book, over a century old, in the recesses of one of my storage boxes. The volume life in 1899 in The Cosmopolitan magazine. This is the first half of the book. The second half, a worthy addendum to the first, also began life as a periodical series in the North American Review in 1907 even though it had been written about 4 years (Twain's estimate) earlier. The two halves were collected into book form in  the same year.

     At the time of composition Christian Science was the "cult of the day" in the USA, the very heartland of cults. It was actually newsworthy unlike its embalmed modern cadaver. A few decades earlier the Mormons were the most prominent item in the American bestiary of outrĂ© religious opinion, but their appeal was minimal in comparison to Mary Eddy's creation.

     The appeal was so great put forward his opinion that CS would grow powerful enough to challenge the Catholic Church itself. He was obviously mistaken on that point, probably because as an American he had a poor appreciation of more sophisticated ways for shepherds to fleece their flocks than those employed by upstart cults in the USA. He based his belief on the supremely authoritarian organization of Christian Science, and the well demonstrated business acumen of its founder.

     The latter was pretty well the only thing that he found to praise Eddy's cult. His book is an extended demolition of the honesty, consistency and writing ability of Eddy. It also touches on Eddy's pretense to originality. As he drives his bulldozer through the Church's edifice the whole polemic is enlightened by Twain's well known wit and sarcasm.

     An examination of CS' documents and Eddy's other writings presents a picture of a very poorly disguised totalitarianism. Eddy is seen to be a grasping tyrant who evolved from a desire for riches to a person whose main desires were for fame and worship. She, in fact, evolved towards an underhanded claim to divinity. In the end she was divided between seeing herself as the modern Christ and seeing herself as the modern equivalent of her Virgin Namesake.

     Twain tears her written output to shreds. Probably an easy task. He does, however, have an admiration for the writing skills of the author of 'Science and Health', the cult's second Bible. He found it impossible what he considered the lucid and coherent style of this book with the confused muddle of pretty well everything else that Eddy put to paper. Thus he formed the opinion that Eddy's book was either ghost written or lifted in bulk from another author.

     While it is obvious true that Eddy borrowed the ideology of her cult from others - some of this Twain mentioned - I think that MT goes a bit too far in attempting to prove that 'Science and Health' had a hidden author. He relied on literary detective work that left too much to the imagination.

     Twain made one major concession to CS' methods. He recognized the power of suggestion and the efficacy of the placebo. Christian Science's methods of "healing" do occasionally seem to work. They are, however, no more efficient than those of a hypnotist. As an aside Eddy did have an earlier association with a hypnotist. In a later feat of bad temper (or bad faith perhaps) she forbade her devoted flock to have anything to do with hypnotism - on penalty of excommunication.

     Personally I think that MT goes too far in his estimation of what hypnotism could do. I am sure, however, that he would agree with the common sense observation that no hypnotist or purveyor of religion has ever performed the miracle...of...curing..an...amputee.

     Altogether this is an amusing little book on a topic that has, mercifully, shrunk into to obscurity. I wonder how Twain would treat the far more numerous cults of our own day.

Monday, January 01, 2007


THE WAR PRAYER
BY MARK TWAIN:
It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands played, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheered them with voices chocked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meeting listened, panting to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest depths of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and a half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrunk out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams-visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabres, the flight of the foe, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender ! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory ! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbours and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honour, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation:
God the all-terrible!
Thou who ordainest !
Thunder thy clarion and lightening thy sword !
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever merciful and benign Father of us all would watch over our young soldiers and aid, comfort and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory...
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body cloaked in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preachers side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer and at least finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, father and Protector of our land and flag".
The stranger touched his arm, motioning him to step aside- which the startled minister did- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said,
"I come from the Throne-bearing a message from Almighty God !"
The words smote the house with a shock, if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention.
"He has heard the prayers of His servant, your shepherd, and will grant it if such be your desire after I, his messenger, shall have explained to you its import-that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of-except he pause and think.
God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought ? Is it one prayer ? No, it is two-one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware ! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbour at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbour's crop which may not need rain and may be injured by it.
You have heard your servant's prayer- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it- that part which the pastor-and also you in your hearts-fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly ? God grant that it was so ! You heard the words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God' ! That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory- must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen !
O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle- be Thou near them ! With them- in spirit- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it-for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet ! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him who is the Source of Love, and who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen !
(After a pause) Ye have prayed for it; if ye still desire it, speak ! The messenger of the most high waits !"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.