The extent to which the Mystic Sense works toward a cure cannot be formulated. It varies with conditions. Of this we can be assured. It is always salutary, frequently indispensable. Diseases caused or induced by an abuse or morbid use of the imagination cannot be banished without the aid of the Mystic Sense as the chief agent. The imagination must be cured before the sickness can be cured, and there are instances when the cure of the imagination is the cure of the disease. That is none the less a disease, the seat of which is in the psychic, rather than in the physical part of self. Two things remain to be said. First, our day is laying a dangerous accent on the value of mere physical life in man. It tends to foster physical self-consciousness and is an aspect of degrading materialism. All the efforts being put forth in the direction of making it possible for the physically feeble to survive, are dangerous, unless followed up by commensurate efforts to make them lit as characters. Mere existence and mere longevity are false gods. It is haply justifiable for men of low breed, who honestly think this life the only one, to grasp at all its available gifts, and struggle to retain it on any terms for as long a period as may be. But not so among those who have risen to a knowledge of the meaning of immortality, even in its lesser aspects, of the perpetuation of the nation and the race, and the persistence of a man’s work and influence among men after he himself has vanished. For such there is a higher food than mere life, beside which mere survival looks cheap and worthless. “A man must live, we justify Low shift and trick to treason high, A little vote for a little gold To a whole senate bought and sold, By that self-evident reply. But is it so? Pray tell me why Life at such cost you have to buy? In what religion were you told A man must live? There are times when a man must die, Imagine, for a battle-cry, From soldiers, with a sword to hold,— From soldiers, with the flag unrolled,— This coward’s whine, this liar’s lie,— A man must live!”[10] There is, however, a type of heroism which is not as uncommon as it seems to be for it is hidden—the type to which Kipling refers when he says: “If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on, when there is nothing in you Except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’”— and once more we quote from another writer: