The Church of St. Bunco. Gordon Clark

editions of Science and Health, the chief work of the adored "mother" and "founder" of Christian Science, Mrs. Mary Baker G. Eddy. As the latest edition of this sacred book is always the best, and as the holy author carefully recommends it as such to all the faithful—whatever other editions they possess—its very high price, under copyright,[1] as compared with undivine books, has rendered it a magnificent source of income. Then, as the average fee for blessing a disciple of Christian Science with a dozen lessons in "metaphysics" and "healing" has been three hundred dollars,[2] a grateful providence through long years, has not only provided food and raiment for "Mother Eddy," but a rich abundance, too, of such worldly goods as should adorn and stimulate perfect piety, not excepting the whitest of diamonds, as symbols of purity, for herself and the elect of her household. Why not? Her devotees are strict adherents of Scripture—always as she interprets it for them—and she believes, for all the text will yield, that "the laborer is worthy of his hire."

      Now, apart from the name and the church of Christian Science, there are many people in Boston and its universal radiations—very intelligent and honest people, too—who utterly discard Mrs. Eddy and her teachings, yet hold the general doctrine on which she speculates—the now well-known doctrine that mind governs matter, and that the soul can cure the body of disease. The teaching of these people may simply be termed "mental healing," though they say also "mental science," sometimes "metaphysics" and comprehensively "the new thought."

      Of late much has been said and written against Christian Science; but adverse criticism has proceeded mostly from physicians in the interest of their schools and theologians in the interest of their creeds. These good souls have taken Christian Science seriously, like the innocent followers of Mrs. Eddy herself. But as soon as a general investigator touches the fad, especially the history of it, he sees that, whatever its effects may have been—good, bad or indifferent—it began in false pretenses,[3] has been pushed for money, and is one of the most shallow humbugs that ever tricked an epoch in the cloak of religion, or reduced "metaphysics" to lunacy. Hence our title. The Church of St. Bunco is the name for the thing. "Christian Science," properly named, is simply Un-Christian Non-Science.

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

      THE ORIGIN OF THE NEW THOUGHT.[4]

      "Christian Science," "Mental Healing," "Metaphysical Treatment of Disease,"—where did these things come from, and how did they get here? The facts are peculiar; they are partly unpleasant; they are sometimes amusing; but they are not far to seek.

      In 1836, Charles Poyan, a Frenchman, introduced into the United States the practise of Mesmerism. In 1840 it was taken up, with great earnestness, by a Maine Yankee, named Phineas Parkhurst Quimby. He was a watch and clock maker, an inventor, and a natural reformer. In making his mesmeric experiments, he soon found an extraordinary subject of them in the person of a young man, Lucius Burkmar, with whom he traveled several years, giving, it is said, some of the most astonishing exhibitions of mesmerism and clairvoyance that had ever been known. As the substance of mesmerism, though under the newer name of hypnotism, has now been fully substantiated by the French Academy of Medicine, the highest authority in the world on such subjects, there seems to be no longer any reasonable question of its general claims.

      On taking up mesmerism in New England, Mr. Quimby had been very ill and given up by his physicians to die. By inquiring into his own condition through his clairvoyant subject, Lucius, and by the young man's laying-on of hands, Mr. Quimby, as he tells the story, recovered immediately from a long-standing and dangerous malady. Partly as a result of this cure, but much more because his whole life shows him to have been a natural exemplar of "the good physician," he took to "healing the sick." He held no diploma from any college of medicine; but his work and his thousands of patients inevitably conferred upon him the title of "Doctor."

      At first he merely co-operated with the regular medical faculty, who sometimes called upon him to have his subject, Lucius, examine their patients. Being put into the mesmeric state, young Burkmar would describe the disease, with the pains accompanying it, and would then go on and prescribe remedies, though he knew nothing about them.

      As a participant and student of this process, Dr. Quimby came, in a short time, to the conclusion that the diagnosis of the clairvoyant was not necessarily the true one, but was taken from the belief of the patient, or his physician, or some other person, and was, therefore, an impression of incidental mind, rather than a statement of fact. Such results would not do for a man like Quimby; so he dismissed mesmerism—such practise of it at least as depended on anybody but himself and those on whom he directly operated. Meanwhile, according to the best of testimony, there was developed in himself a faculty much more peculiar and effective than ordinary "mind-reading" and "second-sight." Gradually, too, he formed an entirely new and original theory of disease. In 1857, in a Maine paper, the Bangor Jeffersonian, his faculty and his theory were described thus:

      "It is universally acknowledged that the mind is often the cause of disease, but it has never been supposed to have an equal power in overcoming it. Quimby's theory is that the mind gives immediate form to the animal spirit, and that the animal spirit gives form to the body.... Therefore, his first course in the treatment of a patient is to sit down beside him, and put himself en rapport with him, which he does without producing the mesmeric sleep.... With the spirit form Dr. Quimby converses and endeavors to win it away from its grief; and, when he has succeeded in doing so, it disappears, and reunites with the body. Thus is commenced the first step towards recovery.... This union frequently lasts but a short time, when the spirit again appears, exhibiting some new phase of its troubles. With this he again contends until he overcomes it, when it disappears as before. Thus two shades of trouble have disappeared from the mind, and consequently from the animal spirit; and the body has already commenced its efforts to come into a state in accordance with them."

      In an article written by Dr. Quimby himself (in 1861), he explained his procedure in this way:

      "A patient comes to see Dr. Quimby. He renders himself absent to everything but the impression of the person's feelings. These are quickly daguerreotyped on him. They contain no intelligence, but shadow forth a reflection of themselves which he looks at. This contains the disease as it appears to the patient. Being confident that it is the shadow of a false idea, he (Dr. Quimby) is not afraid of it.... Then his feelings in regard to the disease, which are health and strength, are daguerreotyped on the receptive plate of the patient, which also throws forth a shadow. The patient, seeing this shadow of the disease in a new light, gains confidence. This change of feeling is daguerreotyped on the doctor again. This also throws forth a shadow, and he sees the change, and continues to treat it in the same way. So the patient's feelings sympathize with his, the shadow changes and grows dim, and finally disappears. The light takes its place, and there is nothing left of the disease."

      Dr. Quimby was not an educated man in the technical meaning of the term; but, through his experiments in mesmerism and his personal experiences, he was led directly to what in the history of philosophy is called "absolute idealism." Until his own conclusions were fully reached, he knew nothing, from literature, even of Berkeley; but when Berkeley's writings were unfolded to him, he at once said, in his plain, straightforward way, that they were true, and that he "agreed" with them. To him, the universe was mind, and all things were "ideas." Disease was an "idea," though he sometimes called it "matter," as being negative mind, or that which "could receive impressions" and "be changed by them." Hence he said:

      "The idea (disease) is matter; and it decomposes, and throws off an odor that contains all the ideas of the person affected. This is true of every idea or thought. Now my odor comes in contact with this odor, and I, being well, have found out by twenty years' experience that these odors affect me, and also that they contain the very identity of the patient whom this odor surrounds. This called my attention to it; and I found that it was as easy to tell the feelings or thoughts of a sick person as to detect the odor of spirits from that of tobacco. I at first thought I inhaled it, but at last found that my senses could be affected by it when my body was at a distance of many miles from the patient. This led to a new discovery;