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From time immemorial mankind has cherished the pathetic illusion that outward acts, which are so easy, can be made to take the place of an interior change in thought and feeling, which is so difficult. It is so easy to buy and wear ceremonial garments, to repeat set prayers by rote at certain times, to use stereotyped forms of devotion, to attend religious services at prescribed periods—and to leave the heart unchanged. The phylacteries of the Pharisees took but a moment to fasten on; but the cleansing of the heart takes hours and years of earnest prayer and self-discipline. A distinguished Quaker some years ago said: “In my youth we discontinued the distinctive Quaker costume and certain other usages, because we realized that people who were far from really caring for our Quaker ideals were joining us, nevertheless, for the sake of the educational facilities they could obtain so inexpensively for their children, as well as other advantages of our membership. It was so easy to style oneself a ‘Friend,’ to purchase and wear a coat without buttons or collar, and to interlard the conversation with a grammatical peculiarity, while leaving the character completely untouched.”

The Quakers are not the only people who have had to meet this problem. This danger was really the rock upon which Puritanism was ultimately wrecked. The Puritans came at last to insist upon an outer conformity in all sorts of inessential points, attaching civil and sometimes criminal penalties to their neglect. Even in matters to which no statute can well be applied, it came to be understood that a certain deportment, a style in dressing, the liberal use of an artificial phraseology, such practices as saddling one’s children with outlandish Old Testament names, would be so many passports to preferment in civil, ecclesiastical and often commercial life—as though such trifles could have any spiritual value in themselves, and were not, in reality, merely the simplest way of making an easy path for spiritual pride and blatant hypocrisy. It is unquestionable that the spiritualization of thought does, in practice, undoubtedly lead the student to simplify his mode of life, for so many things that previously seemed important are now found to be unimportant and uninteresting. It is unquestionable too, that he gradually finds himself meeting different people, reading different books, spending his time differently; and that his conversation naturally changes its quality too. “Old things are passed away.” “Behold I make all things new.” These things follow upon the change of heart; never can they precede it.

Now we see how vain is the foolish attempt to acquire popularity, or to cultivate the good opinion of other people under the impression that such a thing can be of any real advantage of us. Those who listened to the Sermon on the Mount had often seen the baser elements among the Pharisees performing good works in the most ostentatious way, in order to win the reputation of being exceptionally orthodox and saintly, and probably with a muddled impression that they were actually advancing their spiritual welfare as well. Jesus has analyzed and exposed that kind of fallacy once and for all in the this section. He says that the applause that follows upon outer acts is the only reward they ever bring, and that results worthwhile are only to be obtained in the Secret Place of Consciousness where, if we pray (scientifically) to our Father in secret, He will reward us openly with a genuine demonstration.

Jesus here also lays stress upon the need for keeping our prayers “alive.” Merely to repeat a phrase mechanically as a parrot does (vain repetitions) is of no use at all. When praying, one should be constantly “feeling out,” making himself receptive (not negative but receptive) to Divine inspiration. There is no objection to repeating a helpful phrase constantly, even without any realization at all, provided it does not become mechanical, Jesus himself repeated his words three times at the moment of his dire need in