What the Church Can Do
I
AXIOMS are supposed to be unquestionA able, self-evident. In our American democracy it is supposed to be axiomatic that Church and State are separate. With the objectivity that comes of being at safe (?) distance, we preen ourselves in the belief that the struggle of Church and State overseas can never threaten us. We suffer no Nazi regimentation of ecclesiastical affairs by a Reichsbischof, charged to reduce the Church to a propagandist agency for totalitarianism. We are in no danger of having Martin Niemöllers in concentration camps, or Brown Shirts or Gestapo spies in our congregations. Nor do we take seriously the explosive contentions of Ku-Kluxish or No-Name folk who accuse the Papacy of secret machinations to dominate our government. Whatever may be the status reached by concordat in Italy or Spain, we are reasonably sure that our Protestantism can freely continue to specialize in its Pro-testantism, rather than devote its energies mainly to Anti-testantism.
But can the line between Church and Slate actually be drawn? Granted that we are in no open struggle; granted that the issue is apparently minor because it seems undramatic; nevertheless, during times of international emergency the unthinking acceptance of a cliché may go dangerously far. The impotence of the divided Church, which makes it unable to speak with any inspirational prestige, is only one evidence out of many. What average American takes the Church’s voice as an august and authoritative word of spiritual guidance to the conscience of the nation in the formation of its policies? Have we any but an individualistic concept of the Church’s place in life, as the source from which we may hope to draw personal morale and ultimate but quite personal ‘salvation’?
The permission to worship according to the dictates of our own convictions has resulted in the subdivision of corporate religion into minute, small-change sectarianism which has practically made the Church a negligible element in public affairs.
Would such movements as communism have sprung up so mushroom-fast in our midst if there had been some truly impressive organ of spiritual idealism? At least such license would have been retarded, perhaps even obviated, if, theoretically, there could have been one flexible, continually modernized yet fundamentally unvacillating, eternalminded yet realistic Church, with liberty for variant temperaments in liturgy or method, but unity in team play. Oh yes, this is a Utopian dream, but Sir Thomas More may have had a true inspiration when in his Utopia he stipulated that every officeholder must qualify by a belief in immortality. A college crew — ‘eight men on a knitting needle’ — cannot row without a coxswain or train without a coach. Under our present go-as-you-please arrangement, the Church can never hope to coach the State. And the State sadly needs a Church that is a noble coach.
In these preliminary paragraphs the usual error of presupposition has crept in — namely, that the Church and the State are their officials. But the Church is really the Church people, to whom the officials render ministry; and the State is the total citizenry, to whom the officials pledge faithful service for the common good. You can’t separate the people who are the Church from the people who are the State: in theory they are identical. In actual life, too, at least all the Church personnel are of the State, even if only something like 60 per cent of the State’s personnel, we regret to admit, are even tenuously of any church. We often forget this double membership by the same people and that the professionals are only servants of the common weal. The real Church cannot define, enunciate, or act except by getting some formal or informal expression of common convictions from the rank and file of all its memberships. The State cannot speak except by its franchise, by surveyed public opinion, or by referenda. Therefore we have in the Church such clearinghouse agencies as the Federal Council of Churches of Christ in America; local Councils of Churches to obviate duplication of effort, to advance comity and coöperative planning; and, internationally, such accredited Conferences as those of Edinburgh, Oxford, and Madras, and the now set-up machinery of the World Council of Churches, representing at least all non-Roman Christianity, and in its dream open also to the Roman Catholic Church. Therefore we have in the State not merely representative government, but the quadrennial surge of popular emotion behind Presidential campaigns, the surveys by Fortune, the Gallup Polls.
It is bad for the clergy and for the Church if its officials get to thinking that they are the Church; just as it is bad for the ‘government’ to think it is the nation. The clergy are rightly named ‘ministers,’ but sometimes they are tempted to forget their ministrant function and to become professional in vocabulary, in power complex, and in polity. Many a layman cannot comprehend the esoteric subtleties or shibboleths which keep denominations apart, the dogmas of ‘grace,’ ‘orders,’ and ‘validity’ which seem to be the obstacles to a unity the layman thinks should be easy. Meantime, in the realm of statecraft, professionalism likewise grows too easily, to the deterioration of the public.
Robert Frost’s dictum that good fences make good neighbors is not applicable in this case. Rather may another analogy from Mid-Vermont be more apropos — slightly adapted. In back villages where plain horse sense is the norm of I. Q., the rumor runs, when two neighbors deadlock in a dispute about their mutual boundary line the town fathers take the far line claimed by each disputant, add ten feet beyond each of these lines, and make a strip of land twenty-plus feet wide which neither claimant may henceforth call his own. This insulating No Man’s Land is called ‘the Devil’s Strip.’ How apt an analogy this suggests! This strip is really Everyman’s Land wherein society dwells between areas occupied by opposing professionalisms, whose claims completely overlap. This double claim often leaves the citizen-churchman bewildered at the rivalry — but usually not so concerned as he might well be.
The parson is warned by his advisers not to preach politics from his pulpit. He is told that what his people want from him is ‘the simple Gospel.’ That simple Gospel is, one fears, interpreted to mean strictly personal religion, not any vital social program. The preacher must avoid ‘preaching off the front page of Saturday’s paper,’ must ‘deal with the eternities rather than the temporalities,’ and so forth.
Doubtless there is more than a little wisdom in this advice. Few preachers know more than their parishioners do about current events; surely few know more economics or business methods or market-place ethics than the men who are daily amidst their practice, who do not come to church to be told by an outsider how to run their business. Nothing is rightly more resented than the use of the pulpit as Coward’s Castle, wherefrom a man who has succumbed to the idea that anything he says there is invested with authority fulminates to a congregation that has no chance to answer back, unless by reduced support. The ‘hot gospelers’ who ride pet hobbies of partisan social theories, who become propagandists either for militarist or for pacifist programs, who read out of what they call real Christianity those who do not see eye to eye with them on intervention or conscription or Hitlerism — these have surely narrowed their function. The most constant temptation of the pulpiteer is to be sensational, under the illusion that he is thereby impressive. And sensationalism is a line of least resistance.
Yet there is a balancing consideration. The Christian Gospel is not merely an individualistic one. To make it a doctrine only for unit persons is to limit its essential scope. The Golden Rule is not merely between individuals; it should be taken as obtaining between labor and capital, political parties, denominations, and nations. History, in its crucial moments, must not put religion on one side as not pertinent. ‘Every great political issue involves a theological issue,’ ever so truly says Donoso Cortés. ‘In the vast and chaotic struggles of the present between political movements and ideals which fill men with glowing enthusiasm and the bitterest hate, ultimately it is problems of faith which are at stake,’ says Nils Ehrenstrom to the Oxford Conference. To forbid the pulpit to deal with the basic philosophy beneath current movements is to deny it realism. The separation of spiritualities from the temporalities would vitiate both.
The duty of the preacher is to make plain the major import — the spiritual import — of the events of the moment. He may not gleefully pounce on the day’s headlines as providing juicy material for his next Sunday’s exploitation. If he is to be at all a prophet like the ancient ones he must have deep enough insight to give foresight ere he cries, ‘Thus saith the Lord.’ He must grasp nettles. He must do careful, lonely, penetrative thinking. He must agonize. Before he glibly applies traditional churchianity to our searching, Missourian era he had best reëxamine his own concepts to be sure that he has not allowed inherited accretions and sacerdotal dogmatisms to make the religion about Jesus incongruous with the religion of Jesus, ‘in vain worshiping, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.’ We are suspicious of the man who is smoothly satisfied that he knows by the proof-text method what essential Christianity is; we listen openheartedly to the man who gives evidence in his whole bearing that he has wrestled his way through to a few simple but inescapable working principles. He cries, ‘This one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.’ And, hearing his modest witness, we say, ‘This kind cometh not forth save by prayer and fasting.’ But his will be a factual faith, separated by no sheet of glass from that which likewise concerns the body politic. No, for realists the line cannot be drawn ‘twixt spiritualities and temporalities, the realm of Church and the realm of State.
II
The founding fathers never foresaw or intended the plight into which education has fallen. To separate Church and State, to put religious education in the hands of denominationalism and leave secular education without the benefit of religious motivation, has resulted grievously. For to give skills and knowledge to a wrongly motivated person is to render him many times more dangerous. Skills and knowledge should belong only to those who will accept them as a stewardship for constructive, helpful use. To omit the religious aspects from education in our schools inevitably gives only fragmentary knowledge. The public school may teach all the outlines of geology, biology, and evolution, but may never mention the Creator. It may teach history in terms of Cæsarisms, explorations, wars, and other manifestations of force and romance, but it may not give the content of the message of Francis, Luther, the Wesleys, or Newman. It may teach all the lurid events of Nero’s reign except those which have to do with Saint Paul and Saint Peter and the martyrs’ creed. It may teach all English literature but the Bible and its derivative classics. And all because denominationalism has made the mention of such things contentious. So, for instance, a newspaper squib from Covington, Kentucky, informs its world that a copy of the Ten Commandments has been forbidden display in the schools! No matter whose the dangerous fault, the fact remains that secular education is without any absolute source of motivation. Thank Heaven that the average schoolteacher teaches as much by contagion of personality as by the book, and that this average teacher has idealism.
The muddle of religious education is abysmal. Its handicaps are drastic. To begin with, the Sunday school has no united public opinion behind it. It does not take long for Johnny to realize that day school is obligatory and Church school is optional: it is soon evident to him that he and his weekday cronies are separated on Sundays by invisible barriers into subdivided or rival camps. And he is not dressed for comfort and for work: he sits in makeshift quarters with a paper-covered lesson book; he has as teacher a sacrificial but probably half-trained maiden of ripening or uncertain years; he wriggles for a fortyminute lesson period, sings two hymns, and is dismissed. Small wonder he is not awed by Sunday school. Even if his Sunday school is far more ideal than I have indicated, with all the aids and psychologic efficiency that modern curricula and teacher training can give, the handicap remains — that religion is not a part of his business day. His Bible (in something other than limp leather and fine print, please!) is not strapped between a geography and an arithmetic for the kind of labor and interest the whole community backs with its taxes, equipment, parent-teacher organizations, and public prestige.
Sunday school being recognized as inept at its best, although in general a slice of a loaf that is better than none, sundry churches set up their own schools. In urban parishes, Roman Catholics have parochial schools, the more intense and conservative synagogues maintain their Talmud Torah classes, Lutherans here and there lengthen their weekday confirmation-class instructions, occasionally other churches set up their after-school or Saturday projects. But the handicaps remain. On the part of the churches the expense is severe. In particular the Roman Catholics find the double burden of public-school taxes and support for the parochial school very heavy. All honor to them in that they feel integrated religious instruction so essential that they carry this burden. Usually the parochial school is not large enough for all the parish lads and lassies, anyway. The after-school classes run by others have an initial ‘sales resistance’ to overcome on the part of scholars who cannot but feel that they have already done a full day’s work and that it is an imposition to add another hour or two under compulsion, while their friends, released to freedom, go skating. Also, if the classes are conducted by intense conservatives, — as they are likely to be, since ‘liberals’ do not usually work thus, — the boys and girls have the additional abused feeling of a fractional, defensive group.
Weekday religious education on excused time seems the most satisfactory expedient yet attempted. But at best the plan is awkward. Since the law forbids religious instruction under the school roof, it can be had only elsewhere. But the school must still grant excused time for those pupils whose parents request it. Thus extramural religious instruction can be supplied as a part of the youngsters’ business day, provided that some interchurch committee can be organized, and can persuade the school board, guarantee qualified teachers, arrange suitable quarters, and find lesson material for the sundry groups, all without raising denominational suspicions of propaganda — which indeed takes ‘the zeal of God, but according to tact.’ All this can be accomplished, however. It has been, though far too seldom.
There is a further complication when one comes to higher education. The privately endowed college may adopt its own policy, comparatively unimpeded; may teach what its freedom allows; may or may not keep religion a recognized cornerstone of its instruction and practice. The question is more than that of Chapel. Compulsory Chapel may still work in some colleges. I know of one where the student government determined that it is as legitimate to expect exposure to religion as it is to demand exposure to the English language — but Chapel in that college is unusually sane, varied, never routine. Yet even there the Archbishop warned the president that his students might be ‘physically present, but they must be mentally absent.’ When Chapel is not obligatory, it sinks into subsidiary importance in daily college life, even if on Sundays, with imported preachers, it does draw a congregation predominantly not of the college. The sad fact is that instruction in the world’s faiths bulks very minutely in the curriculum. How complex a snarl interested leaders at Harvard found last winter when they attempted to wedge into the list of courses for credit one whole course on religion!
But with a state university the stress grows more intense. Not only in the well-known Dayton case, where Bryan faced Clarence Darrow, has the teaching of evolution in state-supported institutions roused the Fundamentalists. Evolution seems to them to controvert the letter of Genesis; therefore they endeavor — as not so long ago even in Minnesota — to sway legislators to forbid this scientific hypothesis in any state-aided institution. Since when are legislators competent to determine the relations of science and religion?
III
Physicians are licensed by the State to practise after passing compulsory board examinations, following a rigorous, thorough, and comprehensive course in a medical school. Standards are constantly being raised. Psychiatry is the most intricate and delicate of all the physicians’ specialties, and is still a highly tentative branch of medical science. The great psychologists who provide the data and the diagnostic technique to the psychiatrists are themselves very modest in their claims, even in the face of the crescendo rate of mental unbalance in all lands, particularly in ours. It is only the very minor psychiatrists who assume infallibility. The risk of making bad matters worse for the morbid or the manic-depressive, or of failing to recognize the symptoms of incurable aberrations in time, makes real psychiatrists go very slowly. But let some parson get a smattering of psychiatric knowledge and he may glibly try out his little wisdom on warped parishioners with no one to say him nay.
Amateur ‘Life Adjustment Clinics’ within and without the orthodox church are dangerous in the extreme. Oxford Group leaders, and even more their firstflush followers, play with fire as they put naïve theories of psychology to work under the impetus of their unquestionably fine intentions. There are far too few technically prepared, accurately trained clerical experts in psychotherapy — men who, like Dr. Elwood Worcester in his Emmanuel Movement days, demand close coöperation with reputable physicians, preliminary medical diagnosis to ascertain that the applicant suffers from functional rather than organic illness, and the promise of long patience on the part of the patient. It makes one cringe with dread for the luckless human guinea pigs to hear some brash, quarter-prepared possessor of a brand-new vocabulary about complexes, neuroses, and schizophrenic phobias set himself up as a consultant, beyond the reach of any supervision or regulation because he is ecclesiastically immune. Heaven help the pathologic parishioner of the parson who has just read the latest book on pastoral psychiatry and has felt a great light break on him!
Hotel-parlor psychologists are even more ominous an influence for unbalance. Their exploitation of maladjusted folk is more plainly mercenary, and the hopeful ones who pay their ten dollars for ten lessons in ‘contacting the dynamic potences of the Infinite’ are probably more tangential to normal life than those who go to the usual church. The ‘miscellaneous corner’ of the church page’s advertisements gives minimum indication of the quackery which is going on. Traveling Indians, whom the reputable Swamis would be the first to brand as fakers, come to town, send out their preposterous fliers, give a free first lecture, dramatizing the exotic and promising esoteric secrets of the Yogis, get their money in advance, and then in carefully foreign accents vouchsafe ‘words, words, words’ of mellifluous buncombe, giving private lessons to ‘more advanced’ gullibles. Spiritualists whom no sane psychical research investigator could fail to recognize as crass tell lonely souls that their medium’s ‘control’ says a man named John, who ‘has a black mustache and a bald forehead, wants someone on this side named Jane to know that he is happy.’ Palm readers and tea-leaf interpreters ‘tell you very strange truths,’ and no authority can prevent. Mystics gaze into crystal balls. Numerologists do a land-office business. Astrologists spread their Babylonian theories of the zodiac with a zeal which is completely void of any astronomic knowledge since Copernicus. (How few of us have a really Copernican theology!) The astrologic pulp magazines sell by thousands in subway kiosks and corner drugstores; elaborate astrologic schemes are offered for astounding sums to bankers, to guide their investment policies, by men who are plainly not wealthy themselves. If Father Divine should add fortunetelling to his repertoire, who could touch him?
These all take advantage of that freedom of ‘religious’ thought which the State guarantees. But the State has a stake in their results. Meanwhile the statistics of insanity show continual increase, and the statistics of partial unbalance are unobtainable. But nervous breakdowns multiply and the tension of our corporate life intensifies, and jitters thrive. Can’t there be some discipline or standardization? Only the State can establish it. But it dare not! The line between the civil and the spiritual just cannot be sharply defined.
Then there is the issue of pacifism. But this subject has been most adequately treated in recent articles in the Atlantic, and it need not be re-treated here. Only we may pause to note with great satisfaction the tremendous advance in respect for sincerely conscientious objectors since the last war. Both Church and State have reached a new validation of sincerities, despite majority convictions that patriotic duty and religious integrity are not in conflict. Honest pacifism, however, is honored, because at all costs freedom must be maintained for the individual and his conscience. We are of a democracy. The State recognizes the liberties of the Church.
As a corollary to this comes the mention of Army and Navy chaplains. They are each given a ranking. The cross or Star of David on their uniform is not enough: they wear the insignia of some minor officership. That makes them a part of the fighting machine. The chaplain is under the regulations. Despite the church flag deferentially flown above Old Glory on Church Parade Days, the chaplain takes his subordinate place in the listings, in the giving and receiving of salutes, in the duties prescribed by the rule book. Many of these duties he may not conceive to be natural to his chaplaincy. Because he is relieved of drill routine and carries no sword he is not misled to feel he is free to work only as a churchman.
Most chaplains wish they could be without ranking. They are glad to wear the uniform, but they feel that a definite subordinate officership carries with it the unintentional but real implication that religion is a subordinate interest. In the day-by-day workout in the field or at sea the chaplain has exactly the influence that his individuality and the very variant religious loyalty of his commanders may gain him beyond or grudgingly within the regulations; nevertheless he knows he could better be ‘all things to all men’ if he were not specifically on some lower rung of the ladder of rankings. Yet he also knows that he must have accredited status with the outfit. No ‘Y’ secretary or Red Cross representative has the prestige of the Padre in his chaplain’s khaki or blue. The line should not be drawn. He must be in but not of the Army or Navy, for the reverence of his selfless Cause.
The vexed questions of divorce and remarriage are also in that ‘Devil’s Strip’ ‘twixt Church and State. We can do little more than mention them here, since they are obviously too complex to be treated at any adequate length in what must be a subsection of a list of illustrations to a thesis.
That the line cannot be drawn between the two authorities is self-evident. Each legislates without consultation with the other. The Church may have nothing to do with the legality of divorces, although it is gravely concerned to prevent them where possible. The Church may decree about remarriage after divorce, however, for its own people, since the minister is a legal marrying official and may lay down conditions for them. The State is not concerned to discriminate on remarriages, except for the item of interstate validity. With the State, any duly divorced person may be remarried.
There are two possible solutions, the first of which will probably never be feasible, although in some ways it would be ideal. That is for the Church to stop legislating for its people, since legislative regulation would seem to be a function of the State. The Church’s functions are pastoral, sacramental, mystic, inspirational. The Christian Church is under the command of One who said, ‘Who made me a judge or divider over you?’ Any neophyte in pastoral care should know that spiritual rightness never goes by stereotype. In its practice with its people the Church might well be law-less (using that term in its best sense). It is absolutely impossible even for a confessor objectively to judge who really merits the blessings of absolution, sacrament, and fellowship. Therefore it would be well to assume sincerity on the part of applicants and to leave the burden of proof Godward to them. Why should it be only a vain dream that ecclesiasticism should go all the way and say, ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out?’ As in a former article I dreamed that ‘Authoritative Discretion’ should take the place of rigid regulations, so now I dare plead for the willingness to meet applicants for blessing with individuated trust in their good faith.
The second solution is more practicably immediate: to separate the legal and the sacramental aspects of marriage, and establish a system whereby the State marries those it will and the Church then blesses whom of those it will. The State would act for those who desire the minimum of marriage — the economic and biologic arrangement, making for civil stability. The Church would act for those who hold a maximum spiritual ideal of family life. Its ceremony would be in addition to the legal one. This solution is already under consideration in some churches, and in some civil quarters as well. All any Church need do is to forbid its ministers to act as legal agents, bidding them use the Church’s ceremony only for those who have been just previously legally united, and that Church will be clear of the anomalous, embarrassing mixup of functions. We forget how recently the Church was granted the right to act legally in marriages. It is only during the past century or so that its ministry has been so commissioned.
If the present war had not interfered with the meeting of the Lambeth Council, that august body would have taken up this proposal. The only agreement between conservatives and liberals in many a communion on questions of marriage is on the advisability of this step. It would involve a minimum of legal or canonical adjustment. The machinery of justices of the peace and of the Church’s spiritual ministrants is already such that even now, if the individual couple so desires, the clarifying scheme may be worked. If an eloping pair married by some justice can return home and ask for the Church’s service for the public validation of their venture, surely it is feasible to lift the custom of the two services out of the realm of the sporadic and semiscandalous cases to the upper level wholesome community comprehension their meanings.
IV
We are engulfed in a world cataclysm. An Armageddon has come which brings the end of a familiar world. After this wrecking is over, there will be no automatic continuation of any traditions. The whole world, having risen from its stunned horror, will be back to elementals. We cannot even think beyond the present nightmare enough to hope, plan, or prophesy with any definiteness what will be the form of life in the day of resurrection. Only quacks and brash amateurs will presume to specify cureall panaceas. We are bound to see the unforeseeable in the prayed-for Peace. Yet this one thing we know, that a world without realistic and Golden Rule religion is confusion worse confounded.
This is a battle between ideologies. So we have been told and retold until we are sick of the word. We should by now be Platonists enough to realize, however, that ideas are more creatively real than the enginery they build; that the most vital necessity is right ideals. He is a fool who says that religion is now at its lowest ebb. There never was more religion in the world than at this moment. The anguish is that so much of it is mistaken, barbaric religion. We should have outgrown its savage passions and its primitive concepts long ago. But we haven’t. The religion which makes the State or the race the real God is the enlargement of merely tribal, chest-thumping egotism. Even a heavenly Deity is supposed to be the servant of such thrusting arrogance; God is not Lord enough to say ‘Thou shalt not!’ Conscience is not authoritative; wishthinking has taken its place. The Church brought to heel; its hands may seem to be the hands of a spiritual Esau, but its voice is nationalistic, Jacob’s voice. It preaches smooth propagandist things on order. Führers have no place for Niemöllers or Cardinal Merciers, nor for an untrammeled Papacy or an effective World Council of Churches.
The State’s temptation to use the churches to drum up their share of public opinion is inevitable. For, despite the sad fact that their membership is not even nominally two thirds of the citizenry, the churches do hold the type of citizen on which the State counts most for leadership in morale. The Church deals with emotions at their most intimate points. But a free pulpit is indispensable to noble motivations. To deal with the eternal verities need not mean otherworldliness; it should mean attack upon contemporary circumstance from the vantage ground of certitudes beyond momentary expediency. Thank God if the very agony of the present at least forces the Church to simplify, to rediscover its basic faiths, to unify its solidarity. To ’keep the faith’ must be to keep it safe through storm and turmoil, to keep it undiluted, unsmirched, and unperverted, to keep its sponsorship conscious of the time to come when it will be asked to render account of its stewardship, to keep faith for the age to come. The State will need the Church more than ever before in its re-formative new days — a Church that has kept itself, even by purgation, at the business of the simple humanities which are so entangled with the divine, the Alpha and Omega majesties of the transcendent God of the timeless æons of the universe, and the call to us on this grain of star-dust to grow a qualitative life. The era ahead is going to need a closer identification of faith and works, of inspirational discipline and practical coöperation, of Church and State consciousness. It must require that we shall take seriously the motto on the State’s coinage, ‘In God we trust.’
The story runs that in the earliest Prayer Book the rubric for optional prayers just preceded the collect for the President and other officers of state; also that Christ Church, Philadelphia, was the customary place of worship for George Washington. When the first revision of the Prayer Book was under way, he asked the rector if a door might be cut through the wall adjacent to the Presidential pew, through which he could slip out unobserved before the end of service. But he likewise requested that the rubric for optional collects should be moved to follow the prayer for the President, making that one obligatory. If these two things were done, he promised never to use the new door until after this prayer had been said. He needed the prayer, he affirmed. So did the State. It needed the Church.
The State is not a merely secular institution. Some of us believe that democracy (not as it is, but as it can be) is synonymous with the Republic of God, and that the citizen-churchman will not know on weekdays in which capacity he is acting. To insist that the line of demarcation be a fence is to secularize the State and to etherealize the Church, to the harm of both. Their ideals are one and indivisible. Their practice should likewise be so. The Church and the State are the same people, with the same concern, under the same urgencies, dedicated to the same worths. Law and conscience should be the same, patriotism and Golden Rule, mutuality in living and in mystical fellowship. The saints and the heroes are brothers. The rationale of individual character and of mutual team play is identical, whether it be called religious or economic. Except in a very limited way, the old axiom of separation does not and should not hold. The line cannot really be drawn.