As physician, I am primarily concerned with the creation of a society of individuals who possess sane minds in sound bodies, individuals who, in the parlance of the modern psychologists, are well integrated, who function as a smooth-running whole.
In these days of specialization, when the sum total of knowledge concerning the human organism is so vast that no one person, however conscientious and well trained, can ever hope to master it, we have come to rely more and more on "departmentalized" physicians. . . . After years of such specialized medicine, the pendulum is beginning to swing the other way, and we hear more insistently than ever before the need for the general practitioner, the old family doctor, the man who, because of his years of close contact with every phase of his patient's life, can evaluate his symptoms and realize how great is the interplay between the evidences of disease and his emotional pattern. . . .
Recognizing, then, the value to the patient of the family doctor in the diagnosis and treatment of organic disease, we find him far more important in the proper management of what we call "functional disorders." As functional disorders, we define those ailments for which we find no physical basis, no anatomic derangement, no definite pathology. These produce the symptoms which, after careful diagnostic research, we are prone to label "nerves," and cast aside as beyond the limits of our time and scope.
In this group we find the hypochondriacs, the chronic complainers, the hysterical, the shell-shocked sufferers, etc., each with symptoms that are real and frequently devastating in their effect, but with no true injured or diseased tissue to account for it. These patients are again the ones to find most help from the man who knows all about them, who knows their family background, their early hopes and disappointments, their emotional reactions, their loves and hates and resentments, their business worries and their financial disasters; for it is these factors which produce symptoms for which we can find no anatomical causes. . . .
It is common knowledge, too, among physicians, that a patient's mental state plays a tremendous part in his reaction to serious organic disease. We all recognize the indomitable will that refuses to die, sometimes for weeks on end and when the physical body has overreached its power of sustaining life. We also readily admit the hopelessness of curing disease when the will to die dominates the patient's being. I spent some months, years ago, in a tuberculosis sanatorium, and I was forcibly impressed with the relation between the so-called "cured" tuberculosis and the mental reactions of the patients. Those who were cheerful and confident, who were free from anxieties and fears, made far more satisfactory progress than did those who kept themselves in a turmoil of distress and worry.
The same holds true in any illness. Once we remove the conflicting emotions and maintain our patients in a peaceful, hopeful, f ear-less attitude, we have won more than half the battle. As yet science has not satisfactorily explained this interrelation between mind and body. We do not know why worry causes an increase of pain in angina, a recurrence of ulcers in a harassed businessman, an elevation of blood pressure in a diabetic, but we do know that it is true. And if it be true with a few easily recognizable diseases, may it not be equally true in dozens of obscure ones? Is man often the victim of his own mental and emotional turmoil? And wherein lies the healing value of religion?
Man, we are told, is fundamentally religious, and by that we mean that he has a need deep within him to worship some Being greater than himself, to bring his own spark of divinity into communion with the Divine Power of the universe. And as he seeks this power and strives to understand the meaning of his own soul in relation to it, he develops for himself a way of life, a spiritual code, to guide him in his relation with the rest of the world.
We who are Christians follow in the steps of Him who went about doing good and healing the sick, and we take our standards of spiritual development from Him. As we search through His teachings, what do we find? "Fear not," "Be of good cheer," "Let not your heart be troubled," "I have overcome." His whole attitude and emphasis were positive and constructive, fearless and full of infinite hope and confidence. He believed in a just and loving God, in the ultimate spirituality of man, and in everlasting life, He needed no more to bring radiance to His own soul, to trust His disciples, and to face death courageously. In its essence His attitude toward living and dying should be ours. If we believe in the goodness of God whom we worship as Christians, we should be able to live energetic lives, with a clear-cut purpose guiding our relations to our fellow men. We should not get emotionally tangled up and repressed, nor should we find ourselves with anxieties and fears that lead to functional disorders. Our religion should be our most effective preventive medicine against developing any of the ailments which we have previously discussed. A sincere Christian has no time for "nerves."
Likewise, religion should be one of the most effective weapons to fight organic disease, when and if it develops. A Christian does have resources within his spirit to conquer fear and disappointment, to endure pain cheerfully and patiently, and to accept whatever limitations may be placed upon him. Thus we see brave souls facing operations serenely, and their quiet courage aids the anesthetist in inducing sleep. We see chronic invalids radiantly greeting each new day, full of the glory of their Lord, with far less pain and discomfort than might be theirs were their spirits less serene. Examples are legion of the power of the spirit to dominate the life of man. —Reprinted by permission from Advance, the Pilgrim Press, Boston, Mass.
