One of the most striking developments on the mid-20th-century American social scene is that of religion—perhaps never before, writes Will Herberg, has religion enjoyed such influence and esteem. Yet there are aspects of this revival which lead Mr. Herberg to ask if religion has not been rather seriously misunderstood in America. This article, like Mr. Herberg’s previous one in our August issue, is taken from Protestant-Catholic-Jew: An Essay in American Religious Sociology, to be published by Doubleday in the fall. Both articles are copyright (1955) by Will Herberg.

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Judaism and Christianity are two religions sharing a common faith. This Jewish-Christian faith is God-centered, holding that all being finds its beginning and its end in God, and its unity, reality, and order in its ordination to Him. Jewish-Christian faith sees man’s proper life as that of responsive love of God and hence love of fellow man. But it also knows that man’s actual life is corrupted by self-love. We are always prone to idolize ourselves and our works, to attribute final significance to our own interests, ideas, and institutions. Sinful egocentricity invades all areas of life, not excepting the religious. Man is homo religiosus, by “nature” religious. He is always striving to find a larger whole transcending the self in which to ground the meaning and security of existence; he is always searching for some god and some way of salvation from the fears, futilities, and frustrations of life.

But—and this is the challenging word of Jewish-Christian faith—so long as he pursues this search in reliance on his own virtue, wisdom, or piety, it will not be God that he finds, but an idol—the self, or some aspect of the self, writ large, projected, objectified, and worshiped. “There is nothing in the Bible to support the view that religion is necessarily a good thing. Scripture has no axe to grind for religion; on the contrary, it is highly suspicious of much that passes for religion,” A. Roy Eckhardt has noted. “Religion qua religion,” writes Reinhold Niebuhr, “is naturally idolatrous, accentuating rather than diminishing the self-worship of men, [institutions] and nations by assuring them of an ultimate sanction for their dearest desires. . . . Religion per se and faith per se are not virtues, or a cause of virtue. The question is always what the object of worship is, and whether the worship tends to break the pride of the self so that a truer self may arise, either individually or collectively.”

The ambivalence of religion extends to the church and synagogue. In the temporal, institutional sense, church and synagogue are human and subject to all of the temptations and corruptions of human institutions. Indeed, precisely because in the church and synagogue man confronts God in a quite unique way, they may well become the “final battleground between God and man’s self-esteem” (Reinhold Niebuhr), where “the hostility of men against God is brought to a head” (Karl Barth).

Religion, then, is an ambiguous and doubtful thing, requiring careful scrutiny on the part of the man of faith. And what is true of religion in general is particularly true of religion in contemporary America, where the great and almost unprecedented upsurge of religiosity under way today stems from so many diverse sources and manifests itself in so many contradictory forms.

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I

The outstanding feature of the religious situation in America today, as we have seen in my previous article (“The Triple Melting Pot,” August), is the pervasiveness of religious self-identification along the tripartite scheme of Protestant, Catholic, Jew. This transformation of the “land of immigrants” into a “triple melting pot” of three great communities defining three great “communions” or “faiths” has been greatly furthered by what may be called the dialectic of “third-generation interest”; the third generation, coming into its own with the cessation of mass immigration, tries to recover its “heritage,” so as to give itself some sort of “name,” or context of self-identification and social location, in the larger society. “What the son wishes to forget”—so runs “Hansen’s Law”—“the grandson wishes to remember.” But what he can “remember” is obviously not his grandfather’s foreign language, or even his grandfather’s foreign culture; it is rather his grandfather’s religion—America. does not demand of him the abandonment of the ancestral religion as it does of the ancestral language and culture. This religion he now “remembers” in a form suitably “Americanized,” and yet in a curious way also “retraditionalized.” Within this comprehensive framework of basic sociological change operate those inner factors making for a “return to religion” which so many observers have noted in recent years—the collapse of all secular securities in the historical crisis of our time, the quest for a recovery of meaning in life, the new search for inwardness and personal authenticity amid the collectivistic heteronomies of the present.

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Self-identification in religious terms makes for religious belonging in a more directly institutional way, impelling one to institutional affiliation. These tendencies are reinforced by external and conformist pressures, which today increasingly require religious identification and association with some church. Thus a pattern of religious conformism develops, most pronounced, perhaps, among the younger, “modern-minded” inhabitants of Suburbia, but rapidly spreading to all sections of the American people.

Not to be—that is, not to identify oneself and be identified as—either a Protestant, a Catholic, or a Jew is somehow not to be an American. It may imply being foreign, as is the case when one professes oneself a Buddhist, a Moslem, or anything but a Protestant, Catholic, or Jew, even when one’s Americanness is otherwise beyond question. Or it may imply being obscurely “un-American,” as is the case with those who declare themselves atheists, agnostics, or even “humanists.” Sidney H. Scheuer, a leading Ethical Culturist, stated recently: “There is a tendency to regard all people who are not committed to one of the three great faiths as being disloyal to American principles and traditions.” To be a Protestant, a Catholic, or a Jew are today the alternative ways of being an American.

This religious normality implies a certain religious unity in terms of a common “American religion” of which each of the three great religious communions is regarded as an equal and legitimate expression. The Protestant, the Catholic, and the Jew may each regard his own “faith” as the best or even the truest, but unless he is a theologian or affected with a special theological interest, he will quite “naturally” look upon the other two as sharing with his communion a common “spiritual” foundation of basic “ideals and values”—the chief of these being religion itself. America thus has its underlying culture-religion—best understood as the religious aspect of the American Way of Life—of which the three conventional religions are somehow felt to be appropriate manifestations and expressions. “Recognition of the Supreme Being,” President Eisenhower declared early in 1955 in his address launching the American Legion’s “Back to God” campaign, “is the first, the most basic, expression of Americanism. Without God, there could be no American form of government, nor an American way of life.”

The religious unity of American life implies an institutional and ideological pluralism. The American system is one of stable coexistence of three equal religious communities grounded in the common culture-religion of America. Within this common framework there is persistent tension and conflict, reflecting the corporate anxieties and minority-group defensiveness of each of the three communities. To mitigate these tensions and prevent the conflicts from becoming too destructive, American experience has brought forth the characteristically American device of “interfaith,” which, as idea and movement, has permeated broad areas of national life. Interfaith is the religiously oriented civic cooperation of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews to bring about better mutual understanding and to promote enterprises and causes of common concern. The interfaith movement is not secularistic or indifferentist but in its own way quite religious, a joint enterprise of representative men and women of the three religious communities. Interfaith is thus the highest expression of religious coexistence and cooperation within the American understanding of religion.

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II

The new status of religion as a basic form of American “belonging,” along with other factors tending in the same direction, has led to the virtual disappearance of anti-religious prejudice, once by no means uncommon in our national life. The old-time “village atheist” is a thing of the past, a curiosity like the town crier; Clarence Darrow, the last of the “village atheists” on a national scale, has left no successors. The present generation can hardly understand the vast excitement stirred up in their day by the “atheists” and “iconoclasts” who vied for public attention less than half a century ago, or imagine the brash militancy of the “rationalist” movements and publications now almost extinct.

Yet it is only too evident that the religiousness characteristic of America today is very often a religiousness without religion, with little content or none, a way of sociability or “belonging” rather than a way of reorienting life to God.¹ It is thus very frequently a religiousness without serious commitment, without real inner conviction, wtihout genuine existential decision. What should reach down to the core of existence, shattering and renewing, merely skims the surface of life, and yet succeeds in generating the feeling of being religious. Religion thus becomes a kind of protection the self throws up against the radical demand of faith.

Where religiousness is a matter of mere conformity, the discrepancy becomes even more serious. The “other-directed” man or woman is eminently religious in the sense of being religiously identified and affiliated. But what can the other-directed man or woman make of the prophets and the prophetic faith of the Bible, in which the religion of the church he joins is at least officially grounded? The very notion of being “singled out,” of standing “over against” the world, is deeply repugnant to one for whom well-being means conformity and adjustment. Religion is valued as conferring a sense of sociability and “belonging,” a sense of being really and truly of the world and society; how can the other-directed man then help but feel acutely uncomfortable with a kind of religion—for that is what Biblical faith is—which is a declaration of permanent resistance to the heteronomous claims of society, community, culture, and cult? The other-directed man, no matter how religious, simply cannot understand an Elijah or an Amos, a Jesus or an Isaiah; nor can he conceivably feel any warmth of admiration for these “zealots of the Lord.” Zeal, nonconformity, uncompromising witness are so “unsociable,” so terribly “unadjusted”! The very purpose of the other-directed man’s built-in radar apparatus is to protect him against such perils; it protects him so well that it makes the prophetic faith of the Bible almost unintelligible to him. It is thus not too much of a paradox to assert that many of the inner-directed “unbelievers” of the 19th century in a sense stood closer to, or at least less distant from, authentic Biblical faith than do so many of the religious people of our time, whose religion comes to them as an aspect of other-directed conformism and sociability.

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Equally dubious from the standpoint of Jewish-Christian faith is that aspect of the present religious situation which makes religion in America so thoroughly American. On the one side, this means that no taint of foreignness any longer adheres to the three great American “faiths.” Catholics, Jews, Lutherans, and others, who remember how formidable an obstacle to the preservation and communication of their faith the taint of foreignness once was, will not be altogether ungrateful for this development. And all Americans may be thankful for the new spirit of freedom and tolerance in religious life that the emergence of the tripartite system of three great “religions of democracy” has engendered; it makes increasingly difficult the sinister fusion of religious prejudice with racist or nationalist chauvinism. But on the other side, the “Americanization” of religion has meant a distinct loss of the sense of religious uniqueness and universality: each of the three “faiths,” insofar as the mass of its adherents are concerned, tends to regard itself as merely an alternative and variant form of being religious in the American way. This is true even of rank-and-file American Catholics, whose official theology places the strongest possible emphasis on the uniqueness and universality of the Roman Catholic Church as the “one true church”; this is true even of the vast majority of American Jews, who possess so pronounced a sense of worldwide Jewish kinship. The common ground between Judaism and Christianity, and on another level between Protestantism and Catholicism, is real and important, sufficiently real and important, indeed, to make it possible to speak significantly of Jewish-Christian faith in a way that no one could conceivably speak of Jewish-Buddhist or Christian-Hindu faith; yet the very existence of this common ground makes the unique and distinctive witness of each communion, even the advocacy of universal claims where such are felt to be justified, all the more necessary for the life of faith. Insofar as the “Americanness” of religion in America blunts this sense of uniqueness and universality, and converts the three religious communions into variant expressions of American spirituality (just as the three religious communities are understood to be three subdivisions of American society), the authentic character of Jewish-Christian faith is falsified, and the faith itself reduced to the status of an American culture-religion.

It will be recalled that President Eisenhower declared “recognition of the Supreme Being” to be “the first, the most basic expression,” not of our historical religions, although undoubtedly Mr. Eisenhower would agree that they are, but of . . . Americanism. Americanism thus has its religious creed, evoking the appropriate religious emotions; it may, in fact, be properly characterized as the civic religion of the American people.

But civic religion has always meant the sanctification of the society and culture of which it is the reflection, and that is one of the reasons why Jewish-Christian faith has always regarded such religion as incurably idolatrous. Civic religion validates culture and society without bringing either under judgment. It lends an ultimate sanction to culture and society by assuring them that they constitute an unequivocal expression of “spiritual ideals” and “religious values.” Religion becomes, in effect, the cult of Culture and society, in which the “right” social order and the received cultural values are divinized by being identified with the divine purpose. Any issue of Christian Economics, any pronouncement of such organizations as Spiritual Mobilization, will provide sufficient evidence of how Christian faith can be used to sustain the civic religion of “laissez-faire capitalism.” Similar material from Catholic and Jewish sources comes easily to hand, from “liberal” quarters as well as from “conservative.” On this level at least, the new religiosity pervading America seems to be very largely the religious validation of the social patterns and cultural values associated with the American Way of Life.

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In a more directly political sense, this religiosity very easily comes to serve as a spiritual reinforcement of national self-righteousness and a spiritual authentication of national self-will. Americans possess a passionate awareness of their power and of the justice of the cause in which it is employed. The temptation is therefore particularly strong to identify the American cause with the cause of God, and to convert our immense and undeniable moral superiority over Communist tyranny into pretensions to unqualified wisdom and virtue. In these circumstances, it would seem to be the office of prophetic religion to raise a word of warning against inordinate national pride and self-righteousness as bound to lead to moral confusion, political irresponsibility, and the darkening of counsel. But the contemporary religious mood is very far indeed from such prophetic transcendence. Aside from occasional pronouncements by a few theologians or theologically-minded clergymen, religion in America seems to possess little capacity for rising above the relativities and ambiguities of the national consciousness and bringing to bear the judgment of God upon the nation and its ways. The identification of religion with the national purpose is almost inevitable in a situation in which religion is so frequently felt to be a way of American “belonging.” In its crudest form, this identification of religion with national purpose generates a kind of national messianism which sees it as the vocation of America to bring the American Way of Life, compounded almost equally of democracy and free enterprise, to every corner of the globe; in more mitigated versions, it sees God as the champion of America, endorsing American purposes and sustaining American might.² The God of judgment has died,” to quote A. Roy Eckardt again.

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Insensibly, this fusion of religion with national purpose passes over into the direct exploitation of religion for economic and political ends. A good deal of the official piety in Washington, it is charged, is of this kind, and much of the new religiousness of businessmen and business interests throughout the country. Certainly, when we find great corporations such as U. S. Steel distributing Norman Vincent Peak’s Guideposts in huge quantities to their employees, when we find increasing numbers of industrial concerns placing “plant chaplains” on their staffs, we are not altogether unjustified in suspecting that considerations of personnel policy have somehow entered into these good works of religion.

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Religion is taken very seriously in present-day America, in a way that would have amazed and chagrined those who were so sure not very long ago that the ancient superstition was bound to disappear very shortly in the face of the steady advance of science and reason. Religion has not disappeared; it is probably more pervasive and influential than it has been for generations. The only question is: What is it that Americans believe in when they are religious?

“The ‘unknown God’ of Americans seems to be faith itself,” Reinhold Niebuhr remarks. What Americans believe in when they are religious is religion itself. Of course, religious Americans speak of God, but what they seem to regard as really redemptive is primarily religion, the “positive” attitude of believing. It is this faith in faith that is the outstanding characteristic of contemporary American religiosity. Daniel Poling’s formula: “I began saying in the morning two words, ‘I believe’—those two words with nothing added. . . .”³ (emphasis mine) may be taken as the classic expression of this aspect of American faith.

As one surveys the contemporary scene, it appears that the “results” Americans want to get out of faith are primarily “peace of mind,” happiness, and success. Religion is valued too as a means of cultural enrichment. There is ordinarily no criticism of the ends themselves in terms of the ultimate loyalties of a God-centered faith, nor is there much concern about what the religion or the faith is all about, since it is not the content of the belief but the attitude of believing that is felt to be operative.

Almost as much as worldly success, religion is expected to produce a kind of spiritual euphoria, the comfortable feeling that one is all right with God. Roy Eckardt calls this the cult of “divine-human chumminess” in which God is envisioned as the “Man Upstairs,” a “Friendly Neighbor,” Who is always ready to give you the pat on the back you need when you happen to feel blue. “The ‘gospel’ makes [us] ‘feel real good.’”⁴ Again, all sense of the ambiguity and precariousness of human life, all sense of awe before the divine majesty, all sense of judgment before the divine holiness, is shut out; God is, in Jane Russell’s inimitable phrase, a “livin’ Doll.” What relation has this kind of god to the Biblical God Who confronts sinful man as an enemy before He comes out to meet repentant man as a Savior? Is this He of Whom we are told, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (Heb. 10:31)?

The cultural enrichment that is looked for in religion varies greatly with the community, the denomination, and the outlook and status of the church members. Liturgy is valued as aesthetically and emotionally “rewarding,” sermons are praised as “interesting” and “enjoyable,” discussions of the world relations of the church are welcomed as “educational,” even theology is approved of as “thought provoking.” On another level, the “old-time religion” is cherished by certain segments of the population because it so obviously enriches their cultural life.

But, in the last analysis, it is “peace of mind” that most Americans expect of religion. “Peace of mind” is today easily the most popular gospel that goes under the name of religion; in one way or another it invades and permeates all others forms of contemporary religiosity. It works in well with the drift toward other-direction characteristic of large sections of American society, since both see in adjustment the supreme good in life. What is desired, and what is promised, is the conquest of insecurity and anxiety, the overcoming of inner conflict, the shedding of guilt and fear, the translation of the self to the painless paradise of “normality” and “adjustment.”

On every ground, this type of religion is poles apart from authentic Jewish-Christian spirituality, which, in the words Ernest Renan is said to have used describing the “true Israelite,” is “torn with discontent and possessed with a passionate thirst for the future,” a future in which all things will be renewed and restored to their right relation to God.

The burden of my criticism of American religion is that contemporary religion is so naively, so innocently man-centered. Not God, but man—man in his individual and corporate being—is the beginning and end of much of present-day American religiosity. In this kind of religion there is no sense of transcendence, no sense of the nothingness of man and his works before a holy God; in this kind of religion the values of life, and life itself, are not submitted to Almighty God to judge, to shatter, and to reconstruct; on the contrary, life, and the values of life, are given an ultimate sanction by being identified with the divine. In this kind of religion it is not man who serves God, but God who is made to serve man and his purposes—whether these purposes be economic prosperity, free enterprise, social reform, democracy, happiness, security, or “peace of mind.” God is conceived as man’s “omnipotent servant,” in Jules H. Masserman’s phrase, faith as a sure-fire device to get what we want. The American is a religious man, and in many cases personally humble and conscientious. But religion as he understands it is not something that makes for humility or an uneasy conscience: it is something that reassures him about the essential lightness of his nation, his culture, and himself; something that validates his goals and his ideals instead of calling them into question; something that enhances his self-regard instead of challenging it; something that feeds his self-sufficiency instead of shattering it; something that offers him salvation on easy terms instead of demanding repentance and a “broken heart.” Because it does all these things, his religion, however sincere and well meant, is ultimately vitiated by a strong idolatrous element.

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III

Americans are, in the words of Reinhold Niebuhr, at one and the same time, among the most religious and most secular of nations. They fill the houses of worship, but their conceptions, standards, and values, their institutions and loyalties, bear a strangely ambiguous relation to the teachings that the churches presumably stand for. The goals and values of life are apparently established autonomously, and religion is brought in to provide an enthusiastic mobilization of human resources for the promotion of the well-being of the individual and society. Of the very same Americans who so overwhelmingly affirmed their belief in God and their membership in the historic churches in a recent poll, a majority also affirmed, without any sense of incongruousness, that their religion has little to do with their politics or business affairs, except to provide an additional sanction and drive. Most of the other activities of life—education, science, entertainment—could be added to the list; they too apparently operate under their own rules, with religion invoked as a “spiritual” embellishment and a useful sustaining force. This is not felt as in any sense a disparagement of religion; it is merely America’s way of defining for itself the place of religion in the scheme of things. But this way of looking at things is precisely the way of secularism, for what is secularism but the practice of the absence of God in the affairs of life? The secularism characteristic of the American mind is implicit and is not felt to be at all inconsistent with the most sincere attachment to religion. It is, nevertheless, real and pervasive, and in this sense Oscar Handlin is certainly right in saying (in The American People in the Twentieth Century) that America is growing more secularist, at the very time when, in another sense, in the sense of affiliation and identification and of the importance attributed to religion, America is becoming increasingly more religious.

So thoroughly secularist has American religion become that the familiar distinction between religion and secularism appears to be losing much of its meaning. Both the “religionists” and the “secularists” cherish the same basic values and organize their lives on the same fundamental assumptions—values and assumptions defined by the American Way of Life. What really seems to distinguish one from the other is that the avowed secularists are suspicious of, sometimes even hostile to, institutional religion and its influence in public life, while the implicit secularism pervading American religion identifies itself wholeheartedly with the religious institutions of the nation. The tension between the two is no less sharp, though the issues that divide them are rather different than the simple distinction between religion and secularism would imply.

The widespread secularism of American religion is often difficult for Europeans to understand, since in Europe the confrontation between secularism and religion tends to be much more explicit and well defined. In the United States, explicit secularism—hostility or demonstrative indifference to religion—is a minor and diminishing force; the secularism that permeates the American consciousness is to be found within the churches themselves and is expressed through men and women who are sincerely devoted to religion. The witness to authentic Jewish-Christian faith may well prove much more difficult now than when faith had to contend with overt and avowed unbelief.

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The spirit of secularism has always been pervasive and powerful and has always had its effect on religious institutions. The unique feature of the present religious situation in America is that this secularism is being generated out of the very same conditions that are, in part at least, making for the contemporary religious revival. The sociological factors that underlie the new urge to religious identification and affiliation are also factors that enhance the secularization of the religiousness they engender. It is not secularism as such that is characteristic of the present religious situation in this country, but secularism within a religious framework, the secularism of a religious people.

Yet there are signs of deeper and more authentic stirrings of faith. Duncan Norton-Taylor, in his comments on the new religiousness of businessmen (Fortune, October 1953), may not be altogether wrong in noting that “particularly among the younger men, there is a groping for a spiritual base.” Norman Thomas, though recognizing that the “return to religion,” which is “one of the significant phenomena of our confused and troubled times,” is a “phenomenon of many and contradictory aspects,” nevertheless finds it, in part at least, “definitely characterized by an awareness of, or search after God.” Certainly among the younger people, particularly among the more sensitive young men and women on the campuses of this country, there are unmistakable indications of a concern with religion that goes far beyond the demands of mere social “belonging.”⁵ These stirrings are there; they are not always easily identified as religion on the one hand, or easily distinguishable from the more conventional types of religiousness on the other—but they constitute a force whose range and power should not be too readily dismissed. Only the future can tell what these deeper stirrings of faith amount to and what consequences they hold for American religiousness.

But even the more conventional forms of American religion, for all their dubiousness, should not be simply written off by the man of faith. Even in this ambiguous structure there may be elements and aspects—not always those, incidentally, that seem most prepossessing to us today—which could in the longer view transform the inner character of American religion and bring it closer to the faith it professes. After all, the God Who is able to make the “wrath of man” to praise Him (Ps. 75:10) is surely capable of turning even the follies of religion into an instrument of His redemptive purpose.

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¹ The contentlessness of American religion is curiously illustrated by the confessions of faith of a hundred “thoughtful men and women in all walks of life” in the volume This I Believe, edited by Edward R. Murrow. As one reads these statements, perplexity grows. The great majority of the hundred men and women who present their “philosophies of life” are unquestionably professed Christians or Jews, yet barely half of them find it necessary so much as to mention God, and only ten make reference to their formal religious beliefs. These eminent citizens proclaim their faith in many and diverse things—in “brotherhood,” “service,” “idealism,” and “spiritual values,” in “life,” “reason,” and “tolerance,” in “freedom,” “self-reliance,” “democracy,” and, of course, in “faith”—but only incidentally, if at all, in God. Not that they do not believe in God; of course they do—between 95 and 98 per cent of the American people, surveys show, cherish this belief. But somehow their belief in God, and the God they believe in, do not seem to be central to whatever it was that they had in mind when they stood up to tell the world “This I Believe.” The popularity of the radio program conducted by Mr. Murrow, and the praise and applause it has received from all quarters, religious and secular, lay and clerical, would seem to indicate that this kind of religiousness is accepted as quite normal and proper by Americans concerned with religion.

² National messianism is as old as America. Over a century ago, in 1850, Herman Melville delivered himself of the following impassioned outburst in White Jacket: “God has predestined, mankind expects, great things for our race; and great things we feel in our souls. . . . We are the pioneers of the world, the advance guard, sent on through the wilderness of untried things, to break a new path in the New World that is ours. . . . Long enough have we debated whether, indeed, the political Messiah has come. But he has come in us. . . . And let us remember that with ourselves, almost for the first time in history, national selfishness is unbounded philanthropy, for we cannot do a good to America but we give alms to the world.” Nor is national messianism today limited to the chauvinists and “imperialists”; it has its “liberal” version as well. “America,” writes Hugh Miller in An Historical Introduction to Modern Philosophy, “was not created to be supreme among the ‘great powers.’ It was created to inaugurate the transition of human society to just government. It is a missionary institution.”

³ “A Running Start for Every Day,” Parade, September 19,1954.

⁴ “The cult of the ‘Man Upstairs.’ A rhapsodic inquiry greets us from the TV screen and the radio: ‘Have you talked to the Man Upstairs?’ God is a friendly neighbor who dwells in the apartment just above. Call on him any time, especially if you are feeling a little blue. He does not get upset over your little faults. He understands. . . . Thus is the citizenry guided to divine-human chumminess. . . . Fellowship with the Lord, is, so to say, an extra emotional jag that keeps [the individual] happy. The gospel’ makes him ‘feel real good’” (“The New Look in American Piety,” The Christian Century, November 17,1954).

⁵ See my article, “The Religious Stirring on the Campus,” COMMENTARY (March 1952).

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