In Part 1 on mental illness and health, I argued that the language used to describe mental health lacks precision. Even the World Health Organisation (WHO) definition is unsatisfying. “Mental health is a state of mental well-being that enables people to cope with the stresses of life, realise their abilities, learn well and work well, and contribute to their community.”
Such a definition is unlikely to advance our understanding of mental health or mental illness. Rather, it serves as a broad, inclusive umbrella that may lead people to view everyday human struggles as severe health problems. Vague, descriptive language can hinder genuine sympathy. Victims are everywhere: sitting exams, trying to find employment, facing challenges in friendships, and struggling to meet family responsibilities.
At least two significant changes have contributed to the vagueness of contemporary mental health language: a dramatic shift in our understanding of what it means to be human and in our attitude to suffering. Indeed, these changes have been so profound that any definition of our humanity is now open to question. The old idea that human beings are embodied spirits (souls) responsible to their creator has little traction in the broader culture.
There is confusion about, or even resistance to, the traditional understanding of ‘soul’. Society has ceased to be sensitive to the Deuteronomy passage “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength”. In the New Testament, Jesus added ‘mind’, and we also have “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” Sensitivities towards the meaning of soul, of course, varied. Nevertheless, there was a general understanding that the soul was intrinsic to our humanity and that it had something to do with God.
I perceive a decline in personal restraint and emotional control. Honesty, respect for others’ opinions, trust, and sacrifice are increasingly scarce. This erosion of traditional virtue has not only compromised freedom of religion and speech but also fostered a moral and political environment that struggles to recognise their significance.
So how did this deep-seated shift in our understanding of the soul, and consequently of our humanity, come about? The obvious answer is that the Christian faith is no longer the tutor of society it once was. The human being is no longer a creature living within an objective moral order. Instead, s/he is an autonomous psychological individual primarily seeking to feel well. Dignity has been replaced by identity. We try to invent the unique meaning of our identity despite having rejected its original marker: God-given dignity. The psychological creature has replaced the spiritual creature. The soul is put into a case marked “Not wanted on voyage.” Like Madonna, we’re all ‘Material Girls’ now.
We are encouraged to turn inward for meaning instead of outward. Concepts like faith, love, repentance, courage, patience, self-control, and hope have not disappeared, but they have been diluted as we seek an alternative authority. Instead of asking, “How should I live?” we often ask, “How should I feel?”
Ironically, inwardness, like its predecessor, the neutral secular outlook, originated in Christianity and offers an alternative understanding of the good life, shaping ideas about the purpose of human society. For instance, Christianity emphasises personal conscience, faith, and the relationship with God. Inner experience and moral growth developed together throughout the human spiritual journey. Over time, inwardness has become detached from its Christian roots, and the idea of the soul has become less firmly anchored. We shifted from asking, “What does God tell me to do?” to “What does my conscience say I should do?” and ultimately to “What does my inner self reveal about who I am?”
An old but valuable reference here is Augustine’s “City of God,” where Augustine differentiates between the City of God and the earthly, or secular, city. He states that “The earthly city seeks an earthly peace.” Augustine (354-430) does not criticise the earthly city but notes a truth about the world. He considers earthly peace a real good, with political order, law, family life, commerce, and similar aspects all being divine-given goods. The issue arises when these relative goods are treated as absolute goods. In a Christian society, this distinction is clear; however, as society becomes more de-Christianized, the secular city loses its constraints, claims rational neutrality, and, in doing so, demands a worship of its own.
For Augustine, no sphere is genuinely neutral. He describes humanity as oriented towards the ultimate good and argues that the ultimate good determines the kind of city we belong to. The question is not, “Is this person religious or secular?” Rather, it is, “What does this person ultimately love and live for?”
Much could be said about the Enlightenment and its shift of intellectual authority away from God—as the foundation of truth and moral obligation—towards reason and, eventually, human autonomy. We might also trace how the Romantic movement sacralised the inner self, giving rise to phrases such as “be yourself,” “find your authentic self,” and “live your truth.” And maybe, to understand the final step towards the therapeutic or psychological man or woman, we would need to explore the impact of Existentialism, which was a big deal when I was at university in the 60s. We kept asking: “How does a human being live when there is no universally accepted transcendent meaning?” We were never given a satisfactory answer.
If our confusion about the nature of the soul is a fundamental issue, we face another: rejecting sin and misunderstanding guilt. For those who focus on the therapeutic solution, sin is non-existent. Instead, a new vocabulary centred on the authority of the self emerges—self-esteem, self-worth, self-confidence, self-expression, self-realisation, the authentic self, and similar terms. Human purpose is no longer defined by moral values or by what one loves. Instead, mental health, or psychological health, which seem interchangeable, becomes the primary good. Questions like “Is this true?” shift to “Is this validating?” and “Is this right?” becomes “Does this make me feel safe?”
The first two commandments of the Decalogue are rejected. If self-love is not the foundation of psychological well-being, it is certainly its driving force. The commandments that insist we love God and our neighbour are irrelevant. After all, we can love God and our neighbour only if we first learn to love ourselves. The Gospel message of self-denying love is sent to another planet.
Fortunately, not everyone yields to the propaganda of secular presumption. The human heart retains a suggestion of its God-given radar, albeit in a fog. Back to Augustine, this time to his “Confessions”. He wrote, “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” That is not a design flaw; it’s a compass. We all know that, whether in submission or rebellion. Alas, the language of mental health makes finding and using that compass very difficult indeed.
Some readers might find it pleasing to further examine the joy of REST in this poem by George Herbert (1593-1633). Read it slowly and enjoy the subtle imagery.
The Pulley
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
- “Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we can.
Let the world’s riches, which dispersèd lie,
- Contract into a span.”
- So strength first made a way;
- Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure.
- When almost all was out, God made a stay,
- Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure,
- Rest in the bottom lay.
- “For if I should,” said he,
- “Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
- He would adore my gifts instead of me,
- And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature;
- So both should losers be.
- “Yet let him keep the rest,
- But keep them with repining restlessness;
- Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
- If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
- May toss him to my breast.”
*Bruce Logan is a Family First board member
