{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_31920/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_31920","id":"gutenberg_31920","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31920","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christianity","Humanism -- History -- 20th century","Religion"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEXT STEP IN RELIGION\n\n\nAN ESSAY TOWARD THE COMING RENAISSANCE\n\n\n\nBY\n\nROY WOOD SELLARS, Ph.D.\n\nAuthor of \"Critical Realism,\" \"The Next Step in Democracy,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nNew York\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n1918\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1918\n\nBY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n\nSet up and electrotyped.  Published, August, 1918\n\n\n\n\nTO\n\nHELEN STALKER SELLARS\n\nTHIS BOOK IS DEDICATED\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\nThe purpose of this book is positive and constructive, although it may\nnot at first appear such to the reader whose inherited beliefs are\nfreely challenged.  But let the reader ponder the fact that the deepest\nspiritual life has always concerned itself with the appreciation and\nmaintenance of values.  He who acknowledges, and wishes to further,\nhuman values cannot be said to be irreligious or unspiritual.\n\nThe center of gravity of religion has been openly changing for some\ntime now from supernaturalism to what may best be called a humanistic\nnaturalism.  The history of this change is traced in many of the\nchapters of the book.  There have been many steps forward in the past,\nfor every age must possess its own religion, a religion concordant with\nits knowledge and expressive of its problems and aims.  The sincerity\nand adequacy with which this necessary task is done measures the\nspiritual greatness of the particular age.\n\nI have called the book _The Next Step in Religion_ because the time is\nripe for one of the great steps forward.  The setting of religion must\nbe adjusted to man's knowledge.  Let it not be feared that man's\nspiritual life will be injured thereby.  Rather will it be made saner,\nhealthier and more creative.\n\nThe first phase of religion reflected man's helplessness and fear.  He\npeopled his surroundings with conscious powers, sometimes adverse,\nsometimes friendly, but always jealous.  Man became their slave.  As\nman became less of a savage, these gods of his fancy became nobler.\nBut they still acted like magnets to draw his attention away from his\nown problems.  The coming phase of religion will reflect man's power\nover nature and his moral courage in the face of the facts and\npossibilities of life.  It will be a religion of action and passion, a\nsocial religion, a religion of goals and prospects.  It will be a free\nman's religion, a religion for an adult and aspiring democracy.\n\nA book must in the main carry its own credentials.  But there may be\nthose who will wish to carry the quest further and deeper.  To those\ninterested in my share in this larger work I may mention my _Critical\nRealism_ and _The Next Step in Democracy_.\n\nR. W. SELLARS.\n\nAnn Arbor, Michigan,\n  August 5, 1918.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER                                                          PAGE\n\n    I  SUGGESTIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    1\n   II  THE AGE OF MYTH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   13\n  III  STORIES OF CREATION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   30\n   IV  MAGIC AND RITUAL  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   44\n    V  THE ORIGINS OF CHRISTIANITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   58\n   VI  THE PROPHET OF NAZARETH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   72\n  VII  THE EVOLUTION OF CHRISTIANITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   84\n VIII  THE CONFLICT BETWEEN SCIENCE AND THEOLOGY . . . . . . . .   98\n   IX  THE LIMITS OF PERSONAL AGENCY . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  110\n    X  DO MIRACLES HAPPEN? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  123\n   XI  THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  138\n  XII  THE PROBLEM OF EVIL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  153\n XIII  RELIGION AND ETHICS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  169\n  XIV  THE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--THE CATHOLIC CHURCH . . . .  187\n   XV  THE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--PROTESTANTISM . . . . . . .  198\n  XVI  THE HUMANIST'S RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  211\n\n\n\n\n{1}\n\nTHE NEXT STEP IN RELIGION\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nSUGGESTIONS\n\nMore than people are consciously aware, a new view of the universe and\nof man's place in it is forming.  It is forming in the laboratories of\nscientists, the studies of thinkers, the congresses of social workers,\nthe assemblies of reformers, the studios of artists and, even more\nquietly, in the circles of many homes.  This new view is growing\nbeneath the old as a bud grows beneath its covering, and is slowly\npushing it aside.  While the inherited outlook, still apparently so\nstrong, is losing effectiveness and becoming a thing of conventions and\nphrases, the ideas and purposes which are replacing it possess the\nvigor and momentum of contact with the living tendencies and needs of\nthe present.\n\nMankind grows away from its traditional beliefs as inevitably as does\nthe boy or girl from childhood fancies, and often with much the same\nlack of realization.  But the time is certain to come to both when the\nchange is pressed home and there is need for interpretation and serious\nself-communing.  At such a time, kindly--yet uncompromising and\nveracious--explanation of the nature and implications of the crisis is\nthe course dictated by wisdom.  Nothing can be more cruel,\ndisorganizing, and, in a way, insulting than the attempt to {2}\nharmonize what cannot in the long run be harmonized.  The agony is then\nsure to be long drawn out and the strength of soul, given by\nfearlessness, is lost.  I feel that the first law of personality is\n_spiritual courage_.  Actions and methods founded on a doubt of this\nprimary law lead to a blunting of the fine edge of the self, an injury\ngreater than which can scarcely be conceived.\n\nIn this day of testing, when so few have been found lacking in courage\nand the capacity for self-sacrifice, it seems peculiarly fitting that\nspiritual values and beliefs be boldly thrown into the arena, there to\nprove themselves.  In the years after the Great War, mankind must build\nits life afresh and it will be wisest to see that the foundation is a\nsound one.  And, as a matter of social psychology, I doubt that a\npeople which is unwilling to look carefully to the framework of its\nsocial and spiritual edifice can build a noble mansion.  Mechanical\nefficiency and cleverness will not be enough for this task of spiritual\ncreation.  We must find lasting values around which to build a humane\nlife.  And this, also, is a kind of warfare.  Some have expressed to me\na doubt whether America is prepared for this effort at reconstruction\nof a basic, yet intangible, sort.  I have hopes, although not blind\nones.  I refuse to take the vulgarities and ignorances of popular\nevangelists as completely diagnostic of America's soul.\n\nIn the following pages, which are devoted to a clear statement of the\nnew view of man and nature which, in its essentials, has come to stay,\nI shall act according to this law of personality, to wit, spiritual\ncourage.  I shall explain the spiritualized naturalism to which we are\nascending in the same spirit that the scientist presents his\nfacts--impersonally, calmly, and simply.  {3} Such, at least, is my\npurpose and desire.  What I write here is in its way a confession of\nfaith.  The values and loyalties which I shall proclaim as true,\nredemptive and invigorating are those which my own life and concrete\nreflection have selected.  In them I see the possibility of high\nspiritual attainment.\n\nThe new view of the universe is founded upon, influenced by, and has\nfor its necessary setting, the exact knowledge which the various\nspecial sciences, mental as well as physical, have been accumulating.\nThis knowledge is rounding into something of the nature of a whole\nwhose interpretation does not admit of doubt.  Incomplete in detail\nthough his knowledge be, man is no longer in the dark as to the main\nfeatures of the world and his own origin and destiny.  He knows that he\nis an inhabitant of a small planet in one of the many solar systems of\nthe stellar universe, that he is the product of an age-long evolution\nin which variation and survival have been the chief methods of advance,\nthat his mind as well as his body has its natural ancestry.  While it\nwill always remain a wonder, so to speak, that there is a universe in\nwhich and to which we awaken, it is equally certain that the only\nsensible thing to do is to seek to find out its character and laws.  Is\nit not like exploring the chambers and corridors of a house in which\none shall live for a stated period?\n\nAs a matter of fact, man has always been curious about his world.  Yet\nbefore he hit upon the proper methods of investigation, he could only\nguess and dream about it, under the sway of hopes and fears which too\neasily threw themselves like gigantic shadows before him.  The fire of\nhis untrained intelligence was feeble and unpenetrating and, so,\ndistorted the world which it {4} dimly revealed.  The result was what\nmust be called the older religious view of the world--a view which saw\npersonal and super-personal agency at the heart of things.  This\nprimitive interpretation of the world we shall be led to criticize,\nbut, in so doing, we shall be the servants of truth and of a more adult\nspirituality.\n\nIt is not surprising that the patiently acquired knowledge, obtained by\nscience, philosophy and a matured human wisdom, has been found to\nconflict with the first interpretation of the world.  The recognition\nof this conflict dates back now some centuries--the warfare between\nscience and religion also has its history--but each generation has seen\nthe addition made of some new element to the clash which is leading man\nto a new view of the world.\n\nWhat is striking about the present situation is the increase of the\npositive elements in the outlook which is forming in men's minds.  In\nthe past, the traditionalist had some justification in speaking of the\nopposed ideas as largely negative.  What positive doctrine there was in\nthe physical science which theology had to meet, to its discomfort, had\nonly an indirect bearing upon life.  But the nineteenth century was the\nwitness of a distinct revolution in this regard.  I do not refer merely\nto the fact that the idea of evolution was applied to man.  That was\nprophetic and strategic rather than revolutionary.  It symbolized the\npassage of science from the periphery to the center, from the outlying\nregions of the universe to man's very self.  All the time, however, a\nnew perspective had been arising in man's interests and values.  The\npossibilities and needs of this life were replacing the dream of\nanother life in {5} another world.  A busy concern with the things of\nthis world was everywhere evident.  Man was seeking to master his\nenvironment.\n\nDuring the first stage of this revolution, the industrial and political\nchanges were the most prominent.  A change in the instrumentalities of\nlife, physical, economic and political, occupied men's thoughts to a\nlarger degree than ever before.  But as the nineteenth century circled\nto the twentieth, deeper notes became audible.  Humanitarianism,\nconstructive reform, social democracy became the watchwords of the day.\nI do not think that it has yet been clearly realized how completely\nthese new aims and interests fit in with the results of science and yet\npass beyond them to the service of human values.  The truth seems to be\nthat, by an imperceptible process, new values and hopes have been\nreplacing the traditional ones, and that these values and aims both\nfind themselves in harmony with the new knowledge and rest upon it.\n\nIn spite of the conflict between the rising view of man and nature and\nthe traditional religious conception, there is yet, I believe, a\nprofound continuity in the genuinely spiritual achievements of\nhumanity.  It is a pity to be so ridden by the new that the noble in\nthe old is forgotten.  Tenderness and love, however obscured at times\nby formalism and bigotry, owe much to their nurture by Christianity.\nHence, the deeper and truer interpretation of all past movements\nregards them as varying expressions of humanity's growth in social and\nmental stature.  There is, in other words, no real discontinuity in\nhuman history.  The only difference is, that the dynamic of social\nconditions and intellectual heritage has varied.\n\n{6}\n\nBut this acknowledged continuity does not preclude that presence of\ngenuine and effective newness which is revolutionary in its effects.\n_The perspective, intention, and elements of religion are about to\nalter_.  In the following pages, I shall argue that the attachments of\npast religion were determined by a mythological, and essentially\nmagical, idea of man's environment.  Such attitudes and expectations as\nprayer, ritual, worship, immortality, providence, are expressions of\nthe pre-scientific view of the world.  But as man partly outgrows,\npartly learns to reject, the primitive thought of the world, this\nperspective and these elements will drop from religion.  That this\nalteration has, in surprisingly large measure, already taken place can\nbe seen from the following excerpts from the writings of the best known\nAmerican authority on Church History: \"Traditional Christian ideas, in\nfact, are undergoing extensive transformation as a result of the new\nsocial emphasis.  The individualism of evangelicalism, with its primary\nconcern for the salvation of the individual soul, is widely\ndiscredited.  The old ascetic ideal is everywhere giving way to the\nsocial.  Instead of holding themselves aloof from the world Christians\nare throwing themselves into it and striving to reform it.  Holiness in\nthe traditional sense of abstinence from sin is less highly valued than\nit was.  The test of virtue is more and more coming to be the social\ntest.  The virtuous man is he who makes his influence tell for the\nimprovement of society.  Personal probity and uprightness, dissociated\nfrom the active service of one's fellows, is frequently regarded to-day\nas 'mere morality' was by the Evangelicals.  As virtue had value to\nthem only in union with and subordination to piety, so without the\nspirit of service {7} personal morality seems to many a modern social\nreformer a mere empty husk.\"[1]  Obviously, the center of religious\ngravity has altered tremendously from what it was in the Victorian Age.\nWe are on the brink of a new period, the period of a realistic, and yet\nspiritual, social democracy.\n\n\"But,\" I will be asked, \"do you advocate a religion of humanity?  That\nis an old effort weighed in the balance and found wanting.\"  Comte's\nreform was, in a way, premature.  Society had not developed enough to\ngive his effort a concrete basis.  But, more than this, his mistake was\nthat he did not see that the elements of religion, as well as its\nperspective, must be altered.  Humanity is not an object to be\nworshiped.  The very attitude and implications of worship must be\nrelinquished.  In their place must be put the spiritually founded\nvirtue of loyalty to those efforts and values which elevate human\nbeings and give a quality of nobility and significance to our human\nlife here and now.\n\nThe positive note of the present work can now be given in a few words:\n_Religion is loyalty to the values of life_.  The idea of the spiritual\nmust be broadened and humanized to include all those purposes,\nexperiences and activities which express man's nature.  The spiritual\nmust be seen to be the fine flower of living, which requires no other\nsanctions than its own inherent worth and appeal.  We must outgrow the\nfalse notion that religion is inseparable from supernatural objects,\nand that the spiritual is something alien to man which must be forced\nupon him from the outside.  _The spiritual is man at his best, man\nloving, daring, creating, {8} fighting loyally and courageously for\ncauses dear to him_.  Religion must be concrete instead of formal, and\ncatholic in its count of values.  Wherever there is loyal endeavor, the\npresence of the spiritual must freely be acknowledged.  It would seem\nto follow that religion will have objects only in the sense of purposes\nto fulfill.  It will no longer have need of a special view of the world.\n\nThe religion of the past has had much to say about salvation.\nSalvation was only too often something which happened to a man from\noutside.  It was something capricious and uncontrollable like sudden\nfortune.  Let us see what the religion of the present with its more\nrealistic conception of life has to say about salvation.  I have\nwritten in the book as follows: \"Only that soul is saved which is worth\nsaving, and the being worth saving is its salvation.  Salvation is no\nmagical hocus-pocus external to the reach and timbre of a man; it is\nthe loyal union of a man with those values of life which have come\nwithin his ken.\"  Whatever mixture of magic, fear, ritual, and\nadoration religion may have been in man's early days upon this earth,\nit is now increasingly, and henceforth must be, that which concerns his\ncontact with the duties and possibilities of life.  Such salvation is\nan achievement which has personal and social conditions.  It is not a\nlabel nor a lucky number for admission into another world, but\nsomething bought and paid for by effort.  It is like character and\neducation, for these are but special instances of it.\n\nThe personal conditions of spiritual life are sanity, health, and a\ncapacity to be fired by consuming purposes.  No one can be greatly\nsaved who has not a {9} soul capable of being touched in some measure\nby what is sterling and significant.  But one of the discoveries of\ndemocracy is the wide distribution of this sensitiveness.  The\nspiritual is not something painful, but it is something which concerns\nthe quality of human life.\n\nThe social conditions of salvation are just as necessary.  They are the\npresence of institutions and arrangements which give opportunity to the\nindividual to develop himself.  The individual must have a certain\namount of leisure and a chance for a vital education.  He should have\nsome contact with beautiful things and the stimulus of association with\ngreat causes.  A healthy and sane society makes possible healthy and\nsane individuals.  It is especially desirable that society put its\nemphasis on the right things.  If it is permissible to speak of\nsociety's salvation, we would say that it consists in the wise relation\nof means to ends, the subordination of the economic side of life to the\nmoral, intellectual and artistic activities.  A society which does not\norder itself in this way is called materialistic; and such a society is\ncertain to contain numberless individuals who live at a far lower\nspiritual level than they should.  It is the very nature of religion to\ncondemn this falling short of loyalty to the finer values of life.\n\nWe have said that religion must be catholic in its count of values.\nMoral souls may still be comparatively starved souls.  One of the great\nmistakes religion has made in the past has been this very lack of\nsympathy for values of all kinds.  For this very reason, religion has\noften displayed a certain narrowness and harshness.  Its loyalty has\nfrequently been a one-sided loyalty which prided itself on its\nasceticism.  But the day of an irrational asceticism has passed.\nIntensity {10} is good, but intensity and breadth are better still.  A\nhumane religion will preach loyalty to many values, harmonized together\nby the work of a concrete reason and a living art.  When religion did\nnot consider itself of this world, it was passive and acquiescent\ntoward many features of human life.  But a truer idea of the nature of\nthe spiritual, united with a decay of the old supernaturalistic\nsanctions, will change all that.  Religion will become active and\nmilitant, intensely concerned with everything human, a loyal enthusiasm\nfor all the significant phases of life.  It will cease to be a matter\nof taboos, of ritual, of rather conventional routine and become a\nspirit of vigorous search for whatever elevates and ennobles human\nbeings in their day of life.  Into the service of such a religion\nreason and art will gladly enter.\n\nBut this interpretation of religion has its obverse side.  It is in\npart directed against the age-old, supernaturalistic perspective which\nhas done so much to render religion a hindrance to the growth of\nspirituality.  The growth of my own thinking has led me to see, ever\nmore clearly, the harm done in this day and age by that emphasis on\nsanctions for conduct which are not justified by the vital and concrete\nneeds of human life.  The appeal to tradition and authority abstracted\nreligion from that fresh contact with the movement of events which\nmakes the great causes of history so vivid and appealing.  This\nabstraction divided the spiritual life of man against itself and led to\ninefficiency and confusion.  What the world needs to-day is a rational\nenthusiasm for human values.  The thought of another world with its\nmelodramatic last judgment encouraged individualism, withdrew {11}\nattention from social problems and aspirations, made the conception of\nthe spiritual anaemic and vague.  The official spirituality of the\nChurch lacked the happy stimulus of a social setting.\n\nBad as this division of man's spiritual life against itself was, it was\nnot all.  Man had been taught to despise reason, almost his highest\nquality.  The consequence was, that reason passed into the service of\nthe mere technical arrangements of life.  Man rationalized nature and\nleft himself irrational, as can be seen in the Great War.  Because\nreligion ignored reason and slighted many sides of man's nature, it\npaid the penalty of abortiveness.  It is not a mere accident that\nChristianity has been so helpless in the present crisis.\n\nIn times of darkness, it is natural for the individual to seek ways of\nescape from the crushing load which has fallen upon him.  The student\nof the history of religion knows that the most popular way of escape\nhas been in terms of spiritualism and supernaturalism.  But the thinker\nknows that this is a search for a sedative rather than a remedy.\nMoreover, the growth of human knowledge has made such a refuge more\nstrained and artificial than it used to be.  Those few men of standing\nin the physical sciences who have lent the prestige of their name to\nfields in which they have little competence have done a grave\ndisservice to mankind.  Man must conquer his problems; he cannot find\nsalvation in a cowardly flight from them.  The teaching of this book is\nthat supernaturalism has prevented man from finding himself, and that\nthe spiritual task of the present generation is a re-interpretation of\nthe spiritual to take in all the significant features of human life.\nWe want a religion of present use, a religion {12} not concerned with\nmythological objects and hypothetical states of existence but with the\ntasks and needs of human beings in society.  Will not the next step in\nreligion be the relinquishment of the supernatural and the active\nappreciation of virtues and values?  It is my hope that the present\nsincere discussion will assist, in some small measure, the coming of\nsuch a religion.\n\n\n\n[1] McGiffert, _The Rise of Modern Religious Ideas_, p. 272.\n\n\n\n\n{13}\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE AGE OF MYTH\n\nWe must, perforce, admit that our ancestors awoke to consciousness of\nthemselves and their surroundings at a time when they knew practically\nnothing, as we understand knowledge.  Theirs was a world of sights and\nsounds, a world of woods and streams, of moving things, of growing\nthings, of things to be eaten, of things good and evil.  It was a\ndriving, fearful, fascinating world.  Unconsciously and inevitably, man\ninterpreted his surroundings in terms of his own eager, childish life.\nForce and desire peeped from every corner.\n\nThe sky was not very high above him for it seemed to touch the mountain\ntops; and yet he could never hope to climb there.  But he could see\nvery well that it was inhabited.  And was it not a wonderful place,\nsince the heat and light of the sun and the warm, fructifying rain came\nfrom it?  And what were the clouds that floated across it like huge\nbirds or strange, gigantic creatures?  Even the lush grass of the\nspring-time seemed full of a hidden life.  Everywhere was force and\nwill--the power for good and harm.\n\nPerhaps only an imaginative child, or an adult with something of the\npoet's gift, can appreciate vividly the type of world in which these\nearly men found themselves.  The city-dweller of to-day lives in a\nsubdued {14} and mechanically controlled region whose every clank and\nrattle speaks of routine and order.  The myth-making faculty of the\nstreet-urchin has little to feed upon--all is so obvious and open to\ninspection.  The ordinary lad, again, is so soon filled with the\nconventionalized views of his elders that the hand of fancy soon ceases\nto write upon his soul or give a touch of wonder to familiar things.\nThere can be no doubt, therefore, that a conscious effort is required\nbefore a man of to-day can give even a fleeting glimpse at the\ncapricious, magical, animated, and intensely personal world of his\ndistant ancestors.  And yet the guesses and surmises of these earlier\nmen were the source of more of his beliefs than he would care to admit.\nIn these pages we shall see how much of mythology still lingers with us.\n\nMythology is a product of the social group, of clans and tribes and\npeoples, and is of slow growth.  Story added itself to story, this\nfeature to that.  Hence it was often a work of art, though of\nunconscious art.  It was an expression of the life of groups who had\ngods and totems.  It was inextricably bound up with the whole savage\noutlook upon nature; and yet only recently has this setting been\nadequately appreciated.  Until the middle of the nineteenth century,\nknowledge of mythology was practically limited to the poetized\nmythology of the Greeks and Romans.  And so, because it was found in\nthe poets, it was thought of as an artificial product, as a series of\nstories invented and embroidered by the fancy of bards and narrators.\n\nBut the wider knowledge due to exploration changed this narrow\napproach.  The discoveries of travelers in the Americas, Africa, and\nOceania gave pause to this too {15} civilized and superficial theory of\nmyth.  Gradually, a more realistic view arose.  The idea of evolution\ngave a genetic way of approach and made investigators aware of the\nslowness of human advance.  The next steps followed quickly.  Social\npsychology replaced the individualistic and overly rationalistic\npsychology of the early nineteenth century.  All the phenomena of\nprimitive society were seen to be the products of relatively\nnon-reflective groups who felt and stumbled their way into rituals and\nbeliefs.  As the material accumulated, comparative methods were applied\nin the field.  The result has been astounding.  In place of the\nromantic conception of primitive life, which made the savage\nessentially a civilized child, a grimmer picture unfolded itself.\nFetichism, shamanism, magic, human sacrifice, totemism, ritualism, all\nwere found combined and interactive in a scheme of life alien to our\nown enlightened outlook.  In such an atmosphere it was that mythology\narose.  It arose as an account of acts and beliefs, and, as these were\npurified and deepened, it, also, advanced in purity and depth.  Yet,\nalways, there remained the trace of the savagery from which it had\nsprung.\n\nWhile primitive religion and mythology are not identical, they are\nclosely bound up with one another.  Both rest upon animism, totemism\nand magic as these are brought into relation with man's needs and\nfears.  Religion is chiefly an affair of sentiment and cult, actively\nguided by belief in superhuman powers capable of helping and hurting\nman.  Mythology, on the other hand, consists of the stories told about\nthese dynamic powers as they are more and more personified and given a\nhistory and a name.  And such stories are naturally {16} built up\naround acts whose significance has been forgotten, or around dramatized\ninterpretations of processes in nature.  Myths are explanations of acts\nand events and names which aroused curiosity and therefore demanded\nsome explanation.  It was only after modern anthropology had unearthed\nthe characteristic beliefs of primitive man that many myths became\nintelligible.  A few examples will make this relationship clearer.\n\nTotemism is a sort of cult rendered to animals and plants which are\nregarded as akin to the tribe.  It must be remembered that primitive\nman was not nearly so convinced of his superiority as is modern man.\nWolves and bears and foxes are strong and cunning, and seem to him to\nhave a power and knowledge even superior to his own.  Strange as it\nappears to us to-day, savages quite often assign their origin to some\nanimal and regard that animal as the possessor of a force which is\nvaluable to his kin.  This cult of totemistic animals and plants is at\nthe base of the tales of metamorphosis which we read in Classic\nliterature or in our own fairy tales.  \"Beauty and the Beast\" is an\nexample of this transformation, which our ancestors looked upon as\nquite natural; while the savage tales of the werewolf go back to the\nsame outlook.  The serpent in the Garden of Eden is another instance of\nthe same cycle of ideas.  The application of our present knowledge of\ntotemism to mythology has been very enlightening.  Students of Greek\nliterature used to wonder why all the gods had birds and animals as\ncompanions.  As a matter of fact, these animals were once sacred\ntotems.  The eagle and the swan were gradually displaced by Zeus, the\nsky deity.  But so gradual was {17} this displacement that the animals\nbecame attributes of the younger deity, while he was thought to change\nhimself at times back into the totem animal.  The story of Leda and the\nswan can, in this way, be easily understood.\n\nMany myths are explanations of rites which were no longer understood.\nSuch myths are called aetiological.  They are answers to questions which\nworshipers were bound, sooner or later, to ask.  The myth of\nPrometheus, the Titan who stole the fire from heaven to succor men, was\nconnected with the use of eagles on the front of temples to ward off\nlightning.  Originally, the story concerns the punishment of the eagle,\nbut is later attached to Prometheus.  It is, according to Reinach, the\ndevelopment of the following naive dialogue: \"Why is this eagle\ncrucified?  It is its punishment for having stolen the fire from\nheaven.\"  Other examples of aetiological myths are the Phaethon legend,\nthe story of Hippolyte, and some of the stories told about Heracles.\n\nAnother source of myth is to be found in the sacrifice of animal-gods\nwho are supposed to possess a secret strength.  Such animal-gods are\nnot anthropomorphized in early times.  They are simply regarded as\nseats of vital power or _mana_.  We must bear in mind the fact that\nsavage man would not have been shocked by Darwinism as Bishop\nWilberforce was.  No distinction worth mentioning was made between men\nand animals in those ancient days.  \"English-lore,\" writes Andrew Lang,\n\"has its woman who bore rabbits.\"  The religions of Greece and of Asia\nMinor had rites and myths which introduced the sacred bull.  In\nMithraism, a religion which almost won against Christianity, the\nsacrifice of the bull and the consumption of its {18} blood and flesh\nin a communion feast were prominent features.  Again, in the rites of\nDionysus Zagreus, a bull was torn to pieces and eaten.  From this arose\nthe myth of Dionysus Zagreus as a son of Zeus and Persephone changed\ninto a bull and eaten by the Titans.  He is born again under the name\nof Dionysus, yet carries horns on his forehead, evident signs of his\nanimal origin.  Thus different strata of religion and belief meet and\nblend and necessitate the growth of explanatory myths.\n\nBut we must not allow the newer recognition of the part played by\nmisinterpretation in the development of myths to obscure the genuine\nrole of naive reflection upon the phenomena of nature.  Yet the savage\nimagination was limited by the experience at its command.  The Homeric\nhymn to Helios \"looks on the sun as a half-god, almost a hero, who had\nonce lived on earth.\"  Still more naive are legends which make it a\nbeast which has once been trapped.  Myths arise to account for\neclipses, the waxing and waning of the moon, sunset, etc.  The\nexplanation of the rainbow as a sign of a covenant between Yahweh and\nNoah, is an excellent example of a nature-myth introduced as a part of\na legend.\n\nThere are many other sources of myths.  Around all striking events,\nsuch as the first punishment of homicide, legends arise.  Bellerophon\nand Ixion are compelled to flee into exile.  Again, the facts and\nritual of death are a fruitful center for the working of the\nimagination.  The _sheol_ of the Hebrews is first the grave; and only\nlater does it become even the shadowy underworld which is pictured in\nIsaiah.\n\nBut our purpose is not to present an exhaustive {19} analysis of the\ntypes of myth which early man wove about the world in which he found\nhimself.  What it is important to grasp is the slow growth from an\nalmost animal state of ignorance to a more enlightened, moral, and\nsocially ordered life.  This evolution took time, and such progress as\nwas made was always in danger of being overthrown by the hardening of\nmyth and cult into a strait-jacket of superstition and hysterical fear.\nThis danger was always great just because reason could secure no firm\nfoothold upon reality.  Man's life was one of constant fear.  He felt\nhimself assailed by evil spirits and surrounded by taboos and laws, to\nviolate which meant disaster.  When we glance over history, we find\nonly two things which have shown promise of power to raise man out of\nthis slough of fear,--ethical monotheism and reason.  How far is this a\ngenuine antithesis?  May it not be that the real strength and freeing\npower of ethical monotheism is due to the reason which created it and\nspeaks through it?\n\nUpon one set of myths of extreme importance for religion we have,\nhowever, scarcely touched.  Yet the study of this group and its\nexplanation has been a signal triumph for the science of comparative\nreligion.  It is a great pity that the general public knows, as yet, so\nlittle about the researches made by scholars into the wide-spread\nritual of communion and purification, by means of which the participant\nbecomes one with his deity and is even assured of salvation and\nimmortality.  The interesting fact is, that, here again, we find ideas\nwhich are essentially primitive and magical given a new setting.  What\nwas once social, and largely a ritual concerned with the re-birth of\nvegetation in the Spring, becomes personal, and a symbol of the\nresurrection of a {20} believer in another world.  In its first form\nand motivation, this set of ideas turns around the tribe's material\nneeds.  Only with the growth of self-consciousness is it applied to the\nindividual.\n\nWhy did this type of ritual arise?  And why was it celebrated with such\nfervor?  These questions lead us into the very heart of early religion.\nReligion was the expression of man's very real need, in the light of\nhis view of the world as the seat of spiritual agencies.  \"The\nextraordinary security of our modern life in times of peace makes it\nhard for us to realize, except by a definite effort of the imagination,\nthe constant precariousness, the frightful proximity of death, that was\nusual in these weak ancient communities.  They were in fear of wild\nbeasts; they were helpless against floods, helpless against\npestilences.  Their food depended on the crops of one tiny plot of\nground; and if the Savior was not reborn with the spring, they slowly\nand miserably died.  And all the while they knew almost nothing of the\nreal causes that made crops succeed or fail.  They only felt sure it\nwas somehow a matter of pollution, of unexpiated defilement.  It is\nthis state of things that explains the curious cruelty of early\nagricultural works, the human sacrifices, the scapegoats, the tearing\nin pieces of living animals, and perhaps of living men, the steeping of\nthe fields in blood.\"  To men at this stage, religion is the most\nnatural of attitudes.  It is the child of animism, of magic, of\nignorance and of need.  But to explain the origin of an attitude is not\nto explain it away.  May it not be that these sentiments can be given\nanother setting and other objects?\n\nWhile all races have passed through this myth-making {21} stage,\ncertain races have been more gifted, or else more favored by the\ncircumstances of their development.  A vivid imagination, a relatively\ncomplex society with different traditions, a diversified landscape, an\ninviting climate, and a leisurely, yet vigorous life were necessary to\nthe highest efflorescence of this poetic power to weave human motives\ninto nature and into the conduct of supernatural powers conceived after\nthe manner of men.  These conditions were fulfilled to a remarkable\ndegree among the Greeks, whose mythology constantly surprises us by its\nrichness, variety and delicacy.  As the years rolled by, every striking\naspect of nature or of traditional ritual was interpreted in terms of\nthe passion, plan or caprice of some being, different from, yet by no\nmeans alien to, man.  The daring and beauty of the legends woven by\nthis race and the immensity of their range have made them the\nadmiration and wonder of other times more given to reflection than to\nphantasy.  The childhood of the race was productive in a memorable\nfashion which has made art and literature forever its debtors.\n\nIn our admiration for Greek mythology, we must not forget that other\nraces and nations wove stories to account for human life and to\ninterpret those features of nature which aroused their fear, love or\nwonder.  Our own Northern mythology had its beauties and wild reaches\nof imagination which made it, in certain regards, a fit rival of that\nof the Mediterranean.  The story of Balder, the joyous and kindly god\nwhom all things loved, is evidently the mythical form of the passing of\nsummer sunshine and the coming of winter with its darkness and gloom.\nWe must always remember that our remote ancestors interpreted their\nworld concretely, {22} and mainly in terms of human life, because they\nhad no abstract ideas at their command.  Psychical and physical\nconcepts were interfused in their minds: prose and poetry, fact and\nfigure combined together without that feeling of disharmony which is so\ndistinctive of the modern mind.  Nature welcomed personification, and\nto read the conflict of light and darkness, warmth and cold, in terms\nof human struggles and hates was the inevitable course for human\nthought to take.  The simple grandeur of many of these tales of the\ngods comes from the poignancy of life itself.  Those events in nature\nwhich affected man intensely received an intense meaning.  We, who have\nconquered nature in large measure, or can so predict her convulsions as\nto escape the first shock of her rude forces; we, who think of her\nprocesses as ruled by impersonal laws, cannot appreciate the directness\nand unveiled immediacy of those ancient dramas which man saw around\nhim.  Darkness is for us the absence of light, not a mysterious and\nthreatening presence which fills the sky while the kindly god of day\nsleeps.  Light consists of vibrations in ether emitted from a\ntremendously hot, material substance instead of being a beneficent\nforce under the control of a radiant being.\n\nBut other races than the Aryan were less inclined to embellish and\nhumanize nature.  The imagination worked less freely to add to the\nvisible aspect of things.  The consequence of this thinness of reaction\nwas, that the mind rested in things as they appeared, although it could\nnot desist from assigning to them capacities and powers which were\nsuperhuman.  Nature was at least instinct with will, even while this\nvaguely stirring will did not clothe itself in definite forms.  Man\nbelieved {23} himself surrounded by forces which affected him for good\nand evil; he felt himself immersed in an ocean of life, yet he could\nnot discern any forms back of that which he saw with his bodily eyes.\nPerhaps these other races had less of the dramatic in their\ncomposition, less of that genial delight in far-fetched analogies and\nthe free play of ideas.\n\nAs time passed, the first stage of mythology with its simple naturalism\nand its relative lack of imaginative elements gave way to a more human\nstage.  Myths of the next world came to the front, and man became more\nand more concerned with his salvation in an afterlife.  Comparative\nreligion has proven how widespread was the belief in some sort of\nimmortality.  The Orphic cults in Greece, the Osiris and Isis cult in\nEgypt, the worship of Attis and Adonis in Syria, the purification and\ncommunion ceremonies of Mithraism, all turned about the idea of a\nsecret means of salvation.  A common set of ideas developed in the\nMediterranean basin and found expression in liturgies and phrases of a\nstriking similarity.  The god dies and is resurrected; the virgin\ngoddess gives birth to a son; the members of a religious community eat\nof their god and gain strength from the sacred meal.  The Church\nFathers were aware of these similarities and sought to explain away\ntheir resemblances with the Christian ritual by means of the theory\nthat the Devil had blasphemously imitated Christian rites and\ndoctrines.  Research has shown that this theory of parody is entirely\nunhistorical.  The fact is, that Christianity borrowed its ritual from\nthe cults among which it grew up.  For instance, the belief in the\ndeath and resurrection of a savior-god was very {24} prevalent in\nTarsus, Paul's own city.  The Attis mysteries were celebrated at a\nseason which corresponded to the end of our Lenten period and the\nbeginning of Easter.  They were preceded by fasting and began with\nlamentations, \"the votaries gathering in sorrow around the bier of the\ndead divinity; then followed the resurrection, and the risen god gave\nhope of salvation to the mystic brotherhood, and the whole service\nclosed with the feast of rejoicing, the Hilaria.\"  There can be little\ndoubt that this whole cycle of ideas represents a development of the\nprimitive ritual of eating the sacred animal or plant in spring in\norder to foster the re-birth of man's necessities.  From this germ\nsprang reflective ideas of atonement and communion and immortality.\n\nAlong with the growth of the mysteries went the introduction of more\nethical standards of conduct.  Ritual purity suggested the idea of\nspiritual purity.  This ethicizing of myth is very apparent in Greece.\nBy the time of the dramatists, moral judgments had become more severe,\nand the gods were looked upon as guardians of the moral law; and yet\nthis view was tragically thwarted by much of the old tradition.  The\nsavage inheritance and the later moral idealism found themselves in\nconflict.  The consequence was the gradual weakening of the older myths\nand the welcoming of new cults.\n\nEthical growth is usually in large measure unconscious.  Man reads\nideas into the world around him before he becomes conscious that they\nare his own.  His own development is thus reflected in the pantheon\nwith which he has peopled nature.  Zeus is at first the thunderer and\nthe cloud-gatherer; finally he represents {25} justice and those kingly\nqualities which social growth stresses.  Poets and philosophers refine\naway the grosser myths which shock the taste of a more advanced social\nlevel.  When we compare the conceptions of Euripides, of Plato, of\nCleanthes, of Marcus Aurelius, with the conduct of the Homeric gods, we\nrealize the distance traveled by the mind of man along ethical lines.\nMan is now a builder of ideals.  Yet the cosmic setting for these\nideals is virtually unchanged; the framework of man's universe has\nremained much the same.  It is at heart a realm of personal agents with\nwhich man is in communication.\n\nIn all the nations which advanced in civilization, this transformation\nwithin mythology makes itself felt.  Ormuzd, the Persian god, passes\nfrom a personification of the sunlight in its battle with darkness to a\nspiritual deity who is the guardian of all the virtues.  Indra, the\nVedic god, is likewise at first the sky through which the clouds move,\nand is later conceived as the creator and sustainer of the world.  The\nsame process reveals itself in Egyptian mythology for we pass from Ra,\nthe sun deity, to Neph and Pthah who represent creative energies and to\nOsiris, the god of truth and goodness.  Thus there is in mythology a\nuniversal movement, from the visible aspects of nature as personified,\nto supernal beings back of nature, protecting what is thought of as\nhighest and noblest in human conduct.  The setting remains constant\nwhile new wine is poured into the old bottles.  _The truth of the\nmatter is that man grew faster ethically than he did intellectually_.\nPhilosophy and science were far harder to achieve than glimpses of\njustice and kindness.  The very growth of society in numbers forced man\nto adapt his conduct to a {26} social life and to have regard to his\nneighbors.  The ideals advocated by Confucius, Buddha, Plato, Hosea and\nJesus are as noble as our own.  But advance in knowledge and its\npresuppositions is more revolutionary and extraordinary because more\nartificial and more alien to the psychological prejudices of the mass\nof the people.  Ethics, like religion, remained for ages peacefully\nwithin the mythological setting which primitive man unconsciously\nconstructed.\n\nWe have purposely omitted prior reference to the development of\nreligion among the Hebrews because their religion has been so important\nfor our own civilization.  The mythological element in it was\nrelatively small for various reasons; yet this is true only if we have\nregard to fable and aesthetic tale.  Their world was one of personal\nagency just as it was for other races.  But the Hebrews made a fresh\nstart long after they had isolated themselves from the general Semitic\nstock.  Their migration from their ancient home could not help but\nwither the more local myths, and this tendency was reenforced by the\nadoption of a new god, Yahweh, the God of the Kenites.  Yahweh was a\ngod of the lightning who thundered from Mount Sinai, and he was a god\nof battles, just as was Thor, the thunder-god of the Scandinavians.\nThis war god naturally obtained their allegiance during the years of\nconflict with the Canaanites, and gained in prestige as time elapsed.\nThe Canaanites had their local Baal cults and myths, and these were\nassociated with agricultural festivals and with that worship of\nfertility which was so wide-spread among the ancients.  The followers\nof Yahweh, on the other hand, were hillmen and shepherds and their\nrites were closely connected with sacrificial observances.\n\n{27}\n\nAs time passed, the two races mingled and the tendency was toward an\namalgamation of their respective cults.  But a storm of protest set in,\nled by the prophets and the simpler, less concretely naturalistic\nreligion prevailed.  The very simplicity of the cult of Yahweh made it\na fitting basis for that ethical development which we associate with\nthe names of Amos, Hosea, Isaiah and Jeremiah.  Only an ignorance of\nthe ethical deepening of other religions can excuse the belief that\nthis ethical development was absolutely unique.  Probably it is the\naspect of national monotheism, or henotheism, as it should more\naccurately be called, which impresses so many, whereas this feature was\nan historical accident.  To claim that the Hebrew development was\nunique and therefore supernatural is to assume that the relatively\nunique must be supernatural.  But such an assumption has no foundation\nin experience, for differences in the development of nations are the\nrule rather than the exception.  Shall we say that English\nconstitutional development is supernatural because no other nation\nachieved such a form of government by itself?  Shall we assert that\nGreek art was supernatural because it was unique?  Is it not evident\nthat the wish has been father to the thought in this case?  All early\npeoples have looked upon themselves as chosen and upon other peoples as\ngentiles and barbarians.  We have accepted this prejudice of the\nHebrews because we have adopted a modified form of their religion with\nits racial traditions.\n\nBut while conditions in Palestine were not favorable to the flowering\nof a rich and delicate mythology, it would be false to deny the\npresence of a mythological motive in the Hebrew outlook.  The whole\nstory of the {28} intimate relations of Yahweh to his people and to\ntheir ancestors is through and through mythological.  Milton's epic was\nmade possible by the folklore incorporated in the Bible.  There are\nmany traces in the Bible of a common Semitic tradition in spite of the\nreactions which it underwent.  Recent Semitic scholarship has made it\nevident that Babylonian beliefs had penetrated to this kindred people.\nThere are sun-myths and tales of semi-divine heroes.  After the exile,\nunder the influence of Persia and Babylonia, there arose a belief in\ndemons and angels as powers at work in the world for good and evil.\nThese mythical creatures passed into the outlook of the Western mind by\nway of Christianity, and offered fruitful material for art and poetry,\nand for the gradual blossoming of new myths around the Christian epic\nof the universe.  Milton and Dante unfold the inner meaning of life in\nterms which cannot be understood apart from beliefs which have their\nultimate roots in primitive conceptions of the world.\n\nChristian mythology, like Greek mythology, has its aesthetic value, but\nit is a mistake to assume that this value is removed when the old\ncredence has departed.  To appreciate the beauty of Botticelli's Venus,\nit is not necessary to believe that Venus arose from this sea-foam; in\nlike manner, to enjoy Christian art it is not required that we accept\nthe literal truth of its symbols.  Indeed, it seems to me very doubtful\nwhether many educated people to-day take the minor characters of the\nChristian pantheon very seriously.  We would be more than surprised to\nhear angelic messengers chanting in the heavens above us.  Only because\nthey are bound up with a system of attitudes and values dear to men,\nare these mystic beings given that half-belief which {29} prevents them\nfrom falling into that limbo to which dragons and griffins and nymphs\nhave descended.  That this will be their ultimate fate is certain.  In\nProtestant countries, in which moral values control religion and\nsensuous elements exercise little attraction, these figures have\nalready retreated far into the background.  Yet the average religious\nmind likes to dally with the thought of them, much as the child, who no\nlonger believes in fairies, still wishes to indulge in make-believe\nwhen the everyday world becomes too bare and well-ordered.\n\nThe age of myth, then, corresponds to a naive extension of human\ncharacteristics to natural phenomena.  The world becomes a drama to\nwhich man holds the key in his own life.  He feels himself surrounded\nby mysterious forces and agencies, far surpassing his own puny\nstrength, and inevitably conceives them in analogy with his own\nactivities.  They differ not so much in how they work as in what they\ndo.  In this way, the gods were born into the world--and once born man\nhas been unable to free himself from them.  As he has grown in mental\nand moral stature, he has unconsciously reflected into them this\nincreased knowledge and these higher ideals.  And the process, once\nbegun, has continued to the present.  _Not until he has outgrown old\nfears and relinquished unwarranted hopes will these beliefs lose their\npower.  Then and not till then, will reason be able to supplant\nmythology by knowledge._\n\n\n\n\n{30}\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSTORIES OF CREATION\n\nIn stories of creation we have the imagination of primitive man at\nwork, trying to answer questions which it was no more prepared to\nanswer than a child of seven is in a position to understand higher\nmathematics.  The savage has an answer for every question because he\nhas no idea of the difficulty of the problems involved.  A name or a\nstory will completely satisfy him because he is uncritical.  Now the\nstories of creation, or cosmogonies, as they are technically called,\nare peculiarly interesting because they give us an insight into the\nconcrete terms which the imagination was forced to use in its attempt\nto picture the past and the origin of things.  Moreover, we can trace\nthe changes these naive stories underwent as man's experience broadened\nand he was able to think more abstractly.  We can become acquainted\nwith the materials with which the poet-priest of the pre-scientific\npast worked to build himself a marvelous and soul-satisfying tale; and\nwe are able, as history unrolls, to watch myth gradually pass into\ntheology.\n\nThe desire to explain how nature came to be and how man arose was\nwell-nigh universal.  Everywhere we find accounts of a distant past\nwhen the gods walked on earth.  Egyptians, Hindoos, Greeks, Japanese,\nPolynesians, Hebrews and American Indians had tales of the origin of\nthings to tell.  This desire to account for {31} origins is not hard to\nunderstand.  The same psychological tendency is at work to-day and\ngives zest to the theory of evolution.  Why did the _Descent of Man_\nawaken such a storm throughout the Western World if not because it\nshook the story of man's first coming, which had been handed down from\ngeneration to generation since the mists of antiquity?  Man wants to\nknow about himself, how he came here, and whither he is going.  The\nvogue of the _Rubaiyat_ of Omar Khayyam is in large measure due to the\nhaunting sense of man's ignorance of his place in the world.  Who set\nthe stage and placed the puppets on it?  Primitive man always answered\nhis questions in terms of Beings like himself, although more powerful\nand longer lived.  _All agency was for him personal agency_.  And there\nare, even now, a surprisingly large number of people who can think in\nno other terms.  The universe is for them the playground of spirits who\nwork their will upon it.  Matter and energy and the slow growth of\nyears are ideas which strike them cold.  Their view of the universe is\ndramatic and even melodramatic; it is personal, mythical.\n\nLet us glance at some of these attempts to account for the world.  We\nshall not find them very coherent or deep, but we shall always find\nthem instructive for the light they throw upon man, himself, and the\nlimits set to his theories about origins by the concrete agency to\nwhich he perforce appealed.  We shall then realize how natural were the\nquestions which man asked and which he sought to answer, and how\nimpossible it was for him to offer any other solutions than those\nimaginative ones which grew up in folk-lore and which have been\ndeveloped and re-cast in the various religions.\n\nNo early race had the idea of an absolute beginning.  {32} The attempt\nmade was simply to carry things back to different conditions, to a less\ndeveloped state of things, and then to trace the larger steps by means\nof which the later world, as they saw it, came about.  Those races\nwhich had little power for abstract thinking and had achieved few\nimpersonal ideas kept very near to concrete phenomena and explained\ntheir own origin in terms of a mythical ancestor, or animal magician,\nwhile they left the earth and the sky very much as it was.  The\nIroquois Indians, for instance, believed that their original female\nancestress fell from heaven.  There was no land to receive her, but it\nsuddenly bubbled up under her feet and waxed bigger, so that ere long a\nwhole country was visible.  Other branches of the tribe held that\notters and beavers hastened to dig up enough earth from beneath the\nwater to provide her with an island on which to dwell.  The Athapascans\nof Northwestern Canada asserted that a raven, whose eyes were fire,\nwhose glances were lightning, and the clapping of whose wings was\nthunder, descended to the ocean.  Instantly, the earth arose and\nremained floating on the surface of the waters.  It was from this Being\nthat the tribe traced its descent.  We must remember how near akin are\nanimals and men at this stage of human development.  Once throw oneself\ninto the atmosphere of myth and it is not difficult to comprehend how\nsuch stories grew up.\n\nBut we are more interested in tracing the development of stories of\ncreation from primitive types to subtler and more abstract forms; and a\ncollection of savage folk-lore on the subject would, therefore, be of\nlittle value.  Let us pass, then, to the accounts given by races which\nhave played a part in history.\n\n{33}\n\nThe Egyptian account is as follows: In the beginning was the primitive\nocean, a wild waste of waters.  From this tossing chaos sprang land and\nsky, and it was from their embrace that other things arose.  The\ngeneral idea present in this account was probably derived from the Nile\nfloods or from glimpses of the ocean.  The lifting of the watery mists\nwhich are seen rising each morning from the Nile, the parting of them\nfrom the earth and the raising of them to the sky was a work variously\nattributed to Ra (the sun) or Shu (the atmosphere).  Gradually the\nEgyptians developed ideas of various deities all of whom derive from\nobjects and activities in nature.  To these were then assigned the work\nof creation.  At first this work was thought of as a shaping or\nfashioning in a literal sense.  Ptah, the Great Artificer, shapes the\nsun and moon eggs on his potter's wheel; Osiris, the god of vegetation,\nformed with his hand the earth, its waters, its air, its plants, all\nits cattle, all its birds, all its winged fowl, all its reptiles, all\nits quadrupeds.  Is this view very far different from the account given\nin the so-called second story of creation beginning with verse four of\nGenesis?  There it is written: \"And the Lord God formed man of the dust\nof the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and\nman became a living soul.\"\n\nSomewhat later developed the more priestly, or theological, account;\njust as it did for the Hebrews.  Creation was then conceived more\nmystically as an act of will issuing in a word of command.  We should\nremember that, for primitive thought, words were not mere verbal signs,\nuseful to man as means of communication, but were conceived, more\nrealistically and naively, as essential parts of things, bound up with\ntheir existence.  {34} This same fact will explain much of the ritual\nof magic.  When God says, \"Let there be light,\" light is selected and,\nas it were, coerced into existence by the name.  As time passed man\nbecame reflective and critical.  He had nothing essentially new to\noffer, yet he felt dissatisfied with the crude imagery of tradition.\nStep by step with the growth of society, we always find the passage\nfrom creation myths built around the idea of spontaneous generation to\nthe idea of a god who molds men as a potter does his clay, and thence\nto a _fiat_ in which the creative will of a supernatural and\ntranscendent deity finds expression.  There is a remarkable similarity\nin creation stories, just as we would expect.  The same few motives\nrepeat themselves with local variations.\n\nThe oldest of the Greek myths of creation are to be found in Homer and\nHesiod.  For Homer, Oceanus is the father of the gods, while Tethys,\ncalled the suckling or nursing one, is the mother.  Back of these\naugust, generative powers, however, lies Night whom even Zeus is afraid\nto offend.  We must remember that darkness is a presence for early man,\nas real as water or air, and that man feared it as mysterious and\nthreatening.  Always we must put aside the knowledge which science has\ngiven us and sink down into this vague world of the past, filled with\ntremendous shapes and forces.  Hesiod's view is best given in his own\nwords:\n\n  \"From chaos were generated Erebos and black Night,\n  And from Night again were generated Ether and Day,\n  Whom she brought forth, having conceived from the\n      embrace of Erebos.\"\n\nHere we have the same sexual motive at work as among the Egyptians; a\nmotive which, as we should expect, {35} is well-nigh universal.  During\nthe sixth century there was an efflorescence of creation myths among\nthe Greeks.  These are associated with the name of Orpheus, and are\ncommonly classed together as Orphic cosmogonies.  Soon after,\nphilosophic speculation began to come into its own and the Greeks \"left\noff telling tales.\"  Burnet, a famous student of Greek culture, asserts\nthat \"history teaches that science has never existed except among those\npeoples which the Greeks have influenced.\"  But we shall leave the\nGreeks for the present; it may be that we shall meet them, and their\ninfluence again.\n\nThe Hindoos passed from crude views to more abstract and refined\nconcepts just as the Egyptians and Greeks did.  In the Vedic period,\nthere are many contradictory statements about the creation of the world\nand of the gods.  Heaven and earth are spoken of as the parents of the\ngods, and at the same time the gods are said to have built, or woven,\nthe whole world.  When we remember that there was little distinction at\nfirst between nature and the gods, we are not surprised at this\ncontradiction.  Moreover, as one writer suggests, this contradiction\nseems only to have enhanced the mystery of the conception.  When\nreligion enters, logic is not always desired.\n\nAnother conception which we find in Hindoo thought is that of a\nworld-egg.  This analogy is so natural that we are not surprised to\ndiscover it.  Let us glance at one of the accounts given in the\nSatapatha Brahmana: \"In the beginning this universe was water, nothing\nbut water.  The waters desired, 'How can we be reproduced?'  So saying,\nthey toiled, they performed austerity.  While they were performing\nausterity, a golden egg came into existence.  Being produced, {36} it\nthen became a year.  Wherefore this golden egg floated about for the\nperiod of a year.  From it in a year a male came into existence, who\nwas Prajapati....  He divided this golden egg....  In a year he desired\nto speak.  He uttered 'bhur,' which became this earth; 'bhuvah,' which\nbecame this firmament; and 'svar,' which became that sky....  Desiring\nprogeny, he went on worshiping and toiling.  He conceived progeny in\nhimself; with his mouth he created the gods....\"\n\nThis account of the creation is characteristic of Hindoo thought as it\npasses from the frank admiration of nature, which distinguishes the\nVedic period, to what more nearly approaches theosophic speculation.\nYet there is no genuine break with the animism of primitive times.  The\nwaters are thought of as desiring, that is, they are held to be alive\nand vaguely conscious.  The belief that words are inseparable from\nthings should again be noted.  \"Bhur\" becomes the earth, and \"svar\"\nbecomes the sky.\n\nIn the course of time, Hindoo thought became more abstract and\nsophisticated without having achieved any method which would lead to\ntested knowledge.  An analogy may make clearer to the reader the\nvicious intellectual situation.  Imagine the subtle minds of the\nMediaeval scholastics, without the material furnished them by the Greek\nphilosophy, and obliged to exercise themselves upon magic, myth and\nlegend.  The very energy and subtlety of their intellects would lead\nthem into all sorts of phantasmagoria.  Theosophy--and a large share of\nwhat is called theology--is simply a refining and subtilizing of\nmythology.  The more difficult and abstract the thought, the more\nsignificance {37} it is assumed to possess.  The penetrative and\nexploring power of mere untested speculation is taken for granted.\nWords throw a spell over the mind because nothing of a more positive\ncharacter is before it to counteract their charm.  Even to-day we all\nknow of people who like to employ such terms as force, and unity, and\nspirit, and will.  The very vagueness of the words exercises a\nfascination which smothers the slight demand for explanation.  Just as\nthe Jews of the Dispersion spoke of Wisdom as the first-born creature\nof God and gave this abstraction an objective existence, so the Hindoo\npoets and theosophists explained the world in terms which seem to the\nscientifically trained mind subjective and irrelevant.  For all its\napparent profundity, such an outlook represents a lower stage than that\nwhich science has reached.  Subtlety is not enough; it must be a\nservant to the right methods of investigation.  Dialectic and\nimaginative vividness cannot give truth to ideas not adapted to explain\nthe sort of a world we live in.\n\nThose creation stories developed by the Hebrews with the aid of the\nBabylonians have had most influence on Western thought and, therefore,\ndeserve considerable attention.  The motives and mental processes at\nwork are, however, essentially those which we have already examined.\nUnfortunately, we have only hints here and there in the Old Testament\nof the more primitive traditions which were worked over and built upon\nby the priests and prophets.  Moreover, the Yahweh religion seems to\nhave been adopted quite late and to have made easy a break with the\nolder tales.  Probably few readers of the Bible, who have not made a\nsystematic study of Semitic literature, are aware that ancient strands\nof {38} folk-lore are scattered through it.  In Psalm 74, for instance,\nthere is a good instance of primitive views: \"Thou didst divide the sea\nby thy strength; Thou breakest the head of Leviathan in pieces....\nThou didst cleave fountain and flood.\"  In Job, likewise, there are\nreferences to these deeds of Yahweh in the far past.  Very few casual\nreaders ask themselves who Rahab and the Flying Serpent and Leviathan\nwere.  Now investigation has shown that we have, in these references to\nthe deeds of Yahweh, fragments of the Babylonian myth of creation.\nThese creatures are monsters whom Yahweh makes captive before he orders\nthe original chaos into a cosmos.  In doing this, he is a counterpart\nof Marduk, the Babylonian creator.  These monsters, like the gods who\nconquer them, are only personified forms of phenomena in the heavens\nabove and the earth beneath.  Let us now consider the stories of\ncreation given in Genesis.  It is not widely enough known that there\nare two distinct accounts which, although they are externally combined,\ncan easily be separated even in the English translation.  The oldest\nversion begins with chapter two, verse five.  This version is called\nthe prophetic account.  It assumes that the world already exists and\nconcerns itself only with man's appearance, the institution of\nmarriage, and the general features of man's life.  God forms man out of\nthe dust of the ground, as a potter molds his clay, and breathes into\nhim the breath of life.  He places him in a garden to dress and keep\nit.  But the incidents which follow are so familiar to every one that\nthere is no need to repeat them.  Scholars have pointed out that this\naccount is very similar to that current in Babylonia.  The motives are\nlike those found in the Gilgamish and Adapa {39} myths.  The\ndifferences in general tone and in geographical details can readily be\nexplained by the later date--about the eighth century--and the\ncharacter of the Palestinian landscape.  Those who read Hebrew will\nnote the difference in vocabulary between the second chapter in Genesis\nand the first, while those who are confined to the English translation\nshould especially note that the two words, Lord and God, are combined\nin the prophetic account.  There are many naive, and obviously\nprimitive, touches in this creation story which give it a quaint charm.\nOnly those, however, who are themselves naive in their outlook upon the\nworld can dream of taking it as other than folk-lore.  I must confess\nthat it is a mystery to me that so many fairly educated men can take it\nas anything but what it so obviously is, a creation myth.\n\nThe creation story, told in the first chapter, is called by scholars\nthe priestly account.  It is post-exilic and, so, relatively late.  The\nfoundation consists of mythical ideas which go back to the mists of\nantiquity.  From these were derived certain terms which are scarcely\ntranslatable into English.  The reader has been further confused by a\npoetic and inexact rendering of many Hebrew phrases.  The \"spirit of\nGod\" is literally the \"wind of God,\" an idea which probably is\nhistorically connected with the Babylonian tale of how Marduk uses the\nwind as his instrument in his fight against Tiamat, the monster of the\ndeep.  Tiamat has become Tehom, translated as the \"deep.\"\n\nIn spite of the lapse in verse 26, into the language of polytheism, the\npriestly account represents a late theological level in which creation\nis conceived as the passage of will and word into existence.  The\neffect is {40} majestic and intensely dramatic in its simplicity.  Yet\nhow else can critical thought portray creation?  An omnipotent,\npersonal God is necessarily conceived as one who has the power to call\nthings into being.  To ask how he does this is meaningless, for it\nignores the stark power which is assumed.  In accordance with the\ngenius of the Semite, then, God was pictured as a monarch whose very\nwill brought forth without effort.  But a little reflection must\nconvince us that this conception neither makes creation thinkable in\nany genuine sense nor proves its occurrence.  We have merely attained\nthe idealization of the creation myth, its most perfect form.\n\nThe Christian conception of the creation rests largely upon the Hebrew\naccount.  The uncritical way in which this was studied and accepted,\nprevious to the rise of modern science and the higher criticism,\nremains a marvel to those who are not acquainted with the psychology of\nreligion.  Sanctioned by religion, idealized myth naturally held its\nown until something positive arose to dispute it.  The Church Fathers,\nthe scholastics, and the leaders of the Reformation accepted the\nstories in Genesis as revelations.  They believed that there was a God\nand that he had revealed to man what he had done and what his plan of\nsalvation was.  These myths fitted into their view of the world as an\nessential and harmonious ingredient of it.  What motive would there be\nfor skepticism?  Luther states that \"Moses is writing history and\nreporting things that actually happened.\"  \"God was pleased,\" says\nCalvin, \"that a history of the creation should exist.\"  Of course, no\nreally educated man of to-day can accept this attitude unless he wishes\nto sin against his reason.  It is {41} unfortunate that there has not\nbeen sufficient openness of mind to make possible a wider extension of\nthe knowledge which scholars have been accumulating.  The only candid\nthing to do is to class these Hebrew stories of the creation with the\nmyths which grew up in other parts of the world.  All represent\nattempts to picture a beginning of things as they are, by appeal to a\nmagnified and magical personal agency.  Those early thinkers did the\nbest they could do with the ideas they had at hand.  They were innocent\nof our modern understanding of nature as a scene of impersonal, causal\nprocesses.  To try to find science in mythology is like looking upon\nDante's _Divine Comedy_ as a tale of real adventure.\n\nIt is interesting to study the speculations which Christian thinkers\nhave evolved upon the question of creation.  Usually, the idea of a\ncreation of the physical world out of nothing by a fiat has been\nfavored.  \"I am the Lord, that maketh all things; that stretches forth\nthe heavens alone; that spreadeth abroad the earth.\"  Such is the\nnatural goal of the idea of a creation.  Yet a moment's reflection\nmakes us realize that the position is entirely deductive and without a\nshred of evidence.  To assign to a hypothetical agent called God powers\nsufficient to produce what experience tells us exists explains nothing.\nThe primary assumption, of course, is that there must have been a\ncreation.  But the conception of evolution has attacked that assumption\nat its very foundation.\n\nOf late, there have been attempted compromises with the idea of\nevolution.  May not God guide the course of natural change?  But this\noutlook meets with certain difficulties.  In the first place, was the\nphysical {42} world created?  If so, it must have been the best of all\npossible physical worlds, or else God is either not omnipotent or not\nomniscient or not ideally good.  And when these questions are raised,\nwe pass immediately into a field of mere speculation.  The centuries\nhave been witnesses of disputes between advocates of different dogmas.\nAt present, there seems to be a revival of interest in the idea of a\nlimited and youthful deity struggling against odds to make the world\nlivable.  But God becomes a part of the universe in every sense, and so\nwe are led to the idea that the physical world was not created but is,\nrather, co-existent with deity.  Of course, there are many possible\nvariations on the theme, and human ingenuity will exhaust itself in\ncombining these possibilities in various ways.\n\nThe truth is, that these theological speculations carry us nowhere.\nMyth and dialectical acuteness, however skillfully blended, cannot add\nto our genuine knowledge of the world.  Instead, they create new\nproblems of their own which cannot be settled, because there is no way\nof testing and verifying the various solutions.  In short, the premises\nare at fault and must be outgrown and left behind.  Our experience no\nlonger suggests to us the idea of a supernatural agency at work, nor\nare we so prone to think of an act of creation some few thousands of\nyears in the past.  We have largely outgrown the mythological setting\nout of which theology arose, and it is tradition and the lack of a more\npositive view which enable it to retain for us any semblance of\nplausibility.  There is nothing inherently irrational in the idea of\ncreation; it simply bears witness to a looser, more personal world in\nwhich annihilation and {43} origination were familiar events, because\nman saw only the surface of things and was not able to follow the\ncontinuities which bind things together underneath.  The principle of\nconservation, which is one of the grand achievements of science, is\nlike a two-edged sword: it destroys not only the belief in an absolute\nannihilation but, likewise, the belief in an absolute beginning.\nSlowly, but surely, this new view of nature will have its effect and\nundermine the more naive hypothesis of a creation.  The emotional\nreverberation of the accustomed forms of speech, reenforced by the\nmental habits encouraged by religion, will die out only gradually.  Man\nis instinctively romantic and tends to dramatize the world.  His\nfavorite categories are personal, and he has a profound distaste for\nthe impersonalism of science.  Only the slow pressure of actual\nknowledge will lift him to a truer view of the world in which he finds\nhimself.\n\n\n\n\n{44}\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMAGIC AND RITUAL\n\nEarly man had not the conception of natural law that we now possess.\nIn order even partially to understand his attitude toward things, the\nman of to-day must abstract from the idea of law and regularity which\nhe has shot through nature, and ignore the knowledge about the\nantecedents of events which close observation and careful experiment\nhave furnished him with.  In the case of magic, just as in the case of\nmythology, he who wishes to see eye to eye with those who lived long\nago must rid himself for the time being both of the knowledge which\nscience has accumulated and of the mental habits of enquiry and causal\nexplanation which have been fostered by it.  These habits and this\nknowledge have become such a part of us that we are not fully conscious\nof them and of their importance.  They are like the clothes we wear or\nthe forms of politeness which we go through with automatically.  It is\nonly after the twentieth-century man delves into folklore or reads\naccounts of the beliefs and practices of the past, that he realizes\nthat he stands on the shoulders of innumerable generations as the\ninheritor of a long process of mental evolution.  Nothing, perhaps, can\nmake him realize this fact more vividly than a study of magic.\n\nWhat is magic?  The best answer is to give examples {45} of magic.  \"In\nthe Malay Peninsula the magician makes an image like a corpse, a\nfootstep long.  If you want to cause sickness, you pierce the eye and\nblindness results; or you pierce the waist and the stomach gets sick.\nIf you want to cause death, you transfix the head with a palm twig;\nthen you enshroud the image as you would a corpse and pray over it as\nif you were praying over the dead; then you bury it in the middle of\nthe path which leads to the place of the person whom you wish to charm,\nso that he may step over it.\"  Ancient agriculture is full of magic\nrites designed to ward off evils.  \"To this day a Transylvanian sower\nthinks he can keep birds from the corn by carrying a lock in the\nseedbag.\"  To this day, again, in Roumania, Serbia and parts of\nGermany, the peasants try to bring on a rain by sprinkling water on a\nyoung girl.  It is supposed that nature will follow suit, and send a\nbeneficent shower upon the thirsty earth.  Magic is, then, an ingenious\nway of making or leading nature to do what you want it to do.  As\nProfessor Murray writes: \"Agriculture used to be entirely a question of\nreligion; now it is almost entirely a question of science.  In\nantiquity, if a field was barren, the owner of it would probably assume\nthat the barrenness was due to pollution, or offense somewhere.  He\nwould run through all his own possible offenses, or at any rate those\nof his neighbors and ancestors, and when he eventually decided the\ncause of the trouble, the steps that he would take would all be of a\nkind calculated not to affect the chemical constitution of the soil,\nbut to satisfy his own emotions of guilt and terror, or the imaginary\nbeing he had offended.  A modern man in the same predicament would\nprobably not think of religion at all, at any rate {46} in the earlier\nstages; he would say it was a case for deeper plowing or for basic\nslag.\"\n\nMagic is a way of controlling things.  Imitate the act desired, in a\ncertain way, and it will come to pass.  Talismans and amulets, again,\npossess a secret power for good and evil.  Ancient societies built up a\nlore of this kind, adding to material objects the agency of demons\nunder the control of magicians.  This lore is practically a feature of\nthe past.  Even white magic is no longer good form, no longer\naccredited by the dominant social mind.  It slinks into out-of-the-way\nplaces beyond the public eye.  Yet research is showing that these\nseemingly discredited beliefs and points of view seldom completely\ndisappear.  They smolder beneath the surface and flame up now and then\nin a startling way to remind us that society in its evolution does not\ncarry all its members along at the same rate.  The historian is\nsurprised to find that rites which are given an exalted place in\nvarious religions are magical at heart, and go back to beliefs which\nhave long been discredited in other settings.\n\nSome who have specialized in folklore and anthropology are very\npessimistic as to the degree in which the scientific outlook upon\nnature is replacing the more primitive attitude associated with magic.\nOne of the greatest authorities upon primitive beliefs and customs\nwrites as follows: \"We seem to move on a thin crust which may at any\nmoment be rent by the subterranean forces slumbering below....  Now and\nthen the polite world is startled by a paragraph in a newspaper which\ntells how in Scotland an image has been found stuck full of pins for\nthe purpose of killing an obnoxious laird or minister, how a woman has\nbeen slowly roasted {47} to death as a witch in Ireland, or how a girl\nhas been murdered and chopped up in Russia to make those candles of\nhuman tallow by whose light thieves hope to pursue their midnight trade\nunseen.\"  The danger to civilization foreseen by the specialist in\nuncouth customs is undoubtedly exaggerated, but his warning should\nremind us that education has a very valuable function to perform in\ntraining an ever increasing number in scientific habits of thought.\n\nOne of the assumptions which underlie magic is the idea that two things\nare connected in nature because they are like one another.  Space is\nnot looked upon as a barrier to this connection.  So far as can be\nseen, anything can affect anything else; and the slightest suggestion\nof such a relation leads to the belief in its reality.  There is almost\nentire absence of any conception of systematic testing: any accidental\nassociation may lead the savage to be assured of an important sign.\nThus, if a man went out hunting and saw a rabbit cross his path, and\nthen had bad luck, he would be sure that a rabbit is a sign of bad\nluck.  Moreover, since individuals were on the lookout for hoodoos,\nthey would not tempt providence a second time.  This example\nillustrates the psychology rather than the sociology of the process.\nIt must be remembered that social groups developed what we call\nsuperstitions by way of social contagion and suggestion.  The laughing\nacquiescence of the present in hoodoos, mascots and lucky objects\ncannot be traced back to the credulity of any one individual.  Such\nthings come to pass by a process of accretion just as does the belief\nthat a particular house is haunted.\n\nMost writers on the subject classify magic into two {48} kinds,\nimitative and contagious.  These varieties are then carried back to two\nprinciples which seem to govern the association of ideas.  Imitative\nmagic follows the law of association by similarity, while contagious\nmagic is based on the law of contiguity.  To those who have studied\npsychology this classification will present no difficulties.  To others\na word of explanation is, perhaps, necessary.  Our minds connect things\nor acts which are similar (the principle of similarity) and those which\nare experienced or thought of together (principle of contiguity).\nConnections are thus made between things and, since the principles are\nso liberal, almost anything can be connected with anything else.  It is\nthis liberality which is alien to science.  Let us glance at some\nexamples of both kinds of magic.\n\nThe most familiar instance of imitative magic is the device by means of\nwhich an individual hopes to injure or kill an enemy.  A figure of the\nenemy is made and this is then stuck full of pins or else burned before\na slow fire.  \"In ancient Babylonia it was a common practice to make an\nimage of clay, pitch, honey, fat, or other soft material in the\nlikeness of an enemy, and to injure or kill him by burning, burying, or\notherwise ill-treating it.\"  This practice occurs in the highlands of\nScotland to-day as well as in Mexico, Italy, China and other countries.\nRossetti's poem, _Sister Helen_, has made this example of imitative\nmagic fairly familiar to those who would probably never otherwise have\nheard of it.\n\n  \"Why did you melt your waxen man,\n        Sister Helen?\n  To-day is the third since you began.\"\n\n{49}\n\n  \"The time was long, yet the time ran,\n        Little brother.\"\n  \"Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day,\n        Sister Helen;\n  Now like dead folk he has dropped away!\"\n  \"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,\n        Little brother?\"\n\nThere are many other curious instances of imitative magic.  A Bavarian\npeasant in sowing wheat will sometimes wear a golden ring, in order\nthat the corn may have a fine yellow color.  Similarly, in many parts\nof Germany and Austria, the peasant imagines that he makes the flax\ngrow tall by dancing or leaping high, or by jumping backwards from a\ntable.  Telepathic action, or action at a distance, was constantly\nbelieved in.  The hunter's wife abstained from spinning for fear the\ngame should turn and wind like the spindle and the hunter be unable to\nhit it.\n\nWhile imitative magic works through fancied resemblance, contagious\nmagic is based on the principle that what has once been together must\nremain forever after in a sympathetic relation, so that what is done to\none affects the other.  In Sussex some forty years ago a maid servant\nremonstrated strongly against the throwing away of children's cast\nteeth, affirming that should they be found and gnawed by any animal,\nthe child's new tooth would be, for all the world, like the teeth of\nthe animal that had bitten the old one.  It was quite the custom in\nformer years to anoint the sword which wounded a man instead of the\nwound itself.  In Bryden's play, _The Tempest_, Ariel directs Prospero\nto anoint the sword which wounded Hippolite and to wrap it up close\nfrom the air.  Footprints, pieces of {50} clothing, pictures, locks of\nhair, all are connected with the individual and what is done to them\nreacts on the individual no matter where he is.\n\nAt first, mankind resorted to magic as naturally as we resort to the\ninformation given us by science.  There was nothing nefarious about it.\nNot to use all the precautions in your power and employ all the means\nyou could think of was simply foolish.  As time went on, however,\nsocially approved magic became distinguished from black magic or that\nwhich it was wrong to resort to.  But magic, like every other activity,\ntended to become specialized.  Certain persons seemed to possess more\npower than others, and, since no one could tell what was impossible,\nwhat appear to us the most absurd claims were put forth.  Things were\nbelieved because they were impossible.  It was under the encouragement\nof this \"will to believe\" that magic flourished until the slow growth\nof civilization and the awakening reason of man cast doubts upon it.\n\nTo study the more technical developments of magic is extremely\ninteresting.  Magicians as a class evolved a lore which was looked upon\nby the uninitiated as occult and mysterious.  The mass of the people\ndid not know of any bounds which could be set to their power.  They and\ntheir deeds were shrouded in darkness and surrounded by all the\ngruesome associations which the awe-struck imagination could conjure\nup.  Such was the case especially when magic became outlawed as an\nunderhand means of obtaining things.  But magic had by then fallen on\nevil days.  It was not yet disbelieved but simply condemned because it\ndid not fit in with the dominant religious and social order.  The exact\n{51} relation of religion and magic is a somewhat complex problem which\nwe must postpone for a while.\n\nThe orient was always the fertile home of magic: here it reached its\nmore technical developments.  In _Lucian_ we read of the reputed power\nof the Chaldean wise men who were able to recite spells which would\nmove even the gods.  All through the East this esoteric science\nexisted.  In Egypt the magicians claimed to be able to compel the\nhighest gods to do their bidding.  By this time magic had, however,\npassed beyond its more primitive character.  So far as it involved\nsigns and acts, these were of a highly symbolic type.  Geometrical\nfigures of intricate construction, phrases consisting of apparently\nmeaningless words or of words supposed to have a peculiar significance,\nand the names of gods or demons were used with appropriate ceremonies.\nMany of these magical formulae have come down to us.  They are spells\nwhich are supposed to constrain even the highest gods.\n\nThe story of Faust reflects very well the notion of magic existing in\nEurope during the Middle Ages.  The reader will call to mind the scene\nin which Faust calls up the Earth-Spirit.  Devotees of Victor Hugo will\nremember the description given in his _Notre-Dame_ of Dom Claude's cell\nand this ecclesiast's unsuccessful attempts to use the hammer of\nEzekiel.  The important thing was to discover the magic word which this\nfamous rabbi pronounced as he struck upon the nail with his hammer.\n\nWe have frequently called attention to the close connection supposed to\nexist between name and thing.  The name is a genuine part of the nature\nof the thing.  {52} It was this assumption which lay at the root of the\nmore involved magic of spells and incantations.  \"This is why every\nancient Egyptian had two names,\" writes F. C. Conybeare, \"one by which\nhis fellows in this world knew him, and the other, his true or great\nname, by which he was known to the supernal powers and in the other\nworld.\"  He who possessed knowledge of the name of another had him to\nthat extent in his power.  Fear of such an eventuality led many nations\nto conceal the true name of their god.  That is why the real name of\nthe god of the Hebrews is a matter of conjecture to us, and why the\nRomans had an important deity whose name is completely lost.  In an old\nEgyptian legend, the goddess Isis asks herself this question, \"Cannot\nI, by virtue of the great name of Ra, make myself a goddess and reign\nlike him in heaven and earth?\"  This conception reminds us of the\npassage in Matthew, \"Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, did\nwe not prophesy by thy name, and by thy name cast out devils, and by\nthy name do mighty works?  And then will I profess unto them, I never\nknew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.\"  Again, in Mark, we\nhave this corresponding passage, \"John said unto him, Teacher, we saw\none casting out devils in thy name; and we forbade him, because he\nfollowed us not.\"  Thus names were things to conjure with in a literal\nsense.  How few of those who read these verses understand their real\nmeaning, that they involved a belief in the magic of names!  In the\nActs of the Apostles, Peter performs a miracle simply by the name of\nJesus Christ of Nazareth.  Is it necessary to remark that such cures as\nwere possibly performed were due to {53} suggestion of the sort for\nwhich ecstatic religious faith prepares the way?\n\nIn pre-scientific times, diseases were regarded as the effect of\nspirits or demons.  Death, itself, is considered the work of a\nmalignant agent.  It is unnatural and magical.  Savages often address\ndiseases respectfully as Grandfather Smallpox.  Jesus heals a woman and\nspeaks of her as \"a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has bound these\neighteen years past.\"  This address is in accord with the beliefs of\nthat day everywhere.  That the early Christians held similar views is\nno matter for surprise.  They were children of their age.\n\nReligion and magic were long bound up with one another.  It is useless\nto ask which came first, for they are not mutually exclusive in the\nbeginning.  Only as an ethical monotheism, with a high respect for the\npersonality and power of the deity worshiped, develops, is the magical\nelement rejected.  There are few religions, even to-day, which do not\ncontain magical elements, and the farther back in time we go, the more\nconspicuous is the presence of incantations and ritual acts imputed to\nhave a mysterious efficacy.  Man had sore need of help, and so he\nadopted all the means which accident, fancy and ignorance suggested.\nIf certain acts gave him the _mana_ of his god or brought pressure to\nbear upon a supernatural agent, so much the better.  Much of early\nliturgy is a mingling of spell and prayer, and it is strictly true that\nmuch of Christian liturgy bears traces of this origin.  The following\nexample shows this intertwining of higher and lower elements: In the\nblessing of the baptismal water on the eve of Epiphany, a custom\nprevalent in the earlier Church {54} of Rome, the priest, while praying\nto God to sanctify the water, dipped a crucifix thrice into it,\nrecalling in his prayer the miracle described in Exodus, the sweetening\nof the bitter water with wood; then followed antiphonal singing\ndescribing Christ's baptism in Jordan, which sanctified the water.  \"We\nappear to have here,\" writes L. D. Farnell, \"a combination of the great\ntypical forms of the immemorial religious energy, prayer pure and\nsimple, the potent use of the spiritually charged object, the fetish\n(in this case the crucifix), and an intoned or chanted narrative which\nhas the spell-value of suggestion.\"\n\nIt has been suggested by certain investigators that magic is nearer\nscience than religion.  It is the attempt of man to compel things to do\nwhat he desires.  In religion, on the other hand, man proclaims his\nhelplessness and his utter dependence upon spiritual powers.  There can\nbe little doubt that this difference exists and comes more and more to\nthe front.  But it is not until religion evolves into spiritual prayer\nand communion and away from ritual processes that the separation takes\nplace.  Few events are more interesting than the gradual rejection of\nmagic by religion.  But does not this rejection involve a similar\nrejection of science?  Here, again, we meet the inevitable compromise.\nWhite magic is distinguished from black magic.  We shall have more to\nsay of this relationship later.\n\nOnly after countless centuries of mistake did the intellect of man\ndiscover the actual relations in nature in such a way as to be able to\nuse them with certainty.  Subjective associations were then replaced by\ntested causal connections.  Faith in mere imitative acts was {55} lost,\nand it was finally realized that patient research was a pre-condition\nof the control of man's environment.  Time, alone, could show what was\npossible and what was impossible.\n\nWe have pointed out that, as religion became more idealistic in its\nconception of deity, magic tended to drop into the background.  Moral\nmotives were considered the sole motives capable of moving him to\nbeneficent action.  Prayer came to be thought of as a petition for the\ngood, and it was even admitted that this omniscient being knew better\nthan the petitioner what was best.  We who have been brought up in the\nChristian belief have been too much inclined to belittle the character\nand intellect of races with a different heritage.  It may be well,\nthen, to point out that problems which are being thrashed over to-day\nin Christian communities were discussed and answered in much the same\nway by other peoples in less enlightened times.  Ancient Greece reached\nthe spiritual level expressed in the conclusion of the Lord's Prayer,\n\"Thy will be done.\"  The prayer of Socrates was: \"Grant me to become\nnoble of heart.\"  The prayer of Epictetus was: \"Do with me what thou\nwilt: my will is thy will: I appeal not against thy judgments.\"  Is\nthis not the inevitable deduction from an ethical monotheism?  Any\nnoble believer in a good god would look at prayer in this way.  It is\nnot surprising, then, that the more philosophic adherents of early\nChristianity questioned the validity of prayers for favors.  Take away\nthe support of science, with its healthy scotching of superstition,\nfrom the mind of the modern Christian and I doubt whether he would rise\nto higher ethical levels than any of his forbears.\n\n{56}\n\nBut the growth of moral idealism in religion does not involve the\nrational overthrow of magic.  So long as all the events in the world\nare not assigned directly to God as the sole active agent at work, the\nbasis of magic remains.  Moral idealism condemns only black magic, that\nis, an immoral use of magical powers.  But moral condemnation is not a\nrational denial of the existence of magic.  Carried to its logical\nextreme, ethical monotheism could discredit magic only by substituting\npersonal for impersonal agency, and then proclaiming a monopoly of\npersonal agency.  It is evident, then, that science, rather than\nreligion, has been the real foe of magic, because it grappled with it\nempirically, and in a detailed fashion, in the midst of the here and\nnow of human events.  Ethical monotheism is abstract, deductive and\ndogmatic.  What was necessary was a critical movement at once concrete,\ninductive and empirical.  Religion develops only the moral reason and\ntends to leave the wider reaches of reason an uncultivated field.\nHence the traitor of superstition was never far from it, thunder as the\npreacher would from the pulpit.  Victory over darkness requires the\nspread of light into every nook and cranny of the human soul.\n\nThe age-long conflict has passed its crisis.  Yet all too few willingly\ngive their whole-hearted allegiance to the ideals and methods of\nscience.  The struggle upward from primitive ignorance and superstition\nto the conception of slow-working impersonal agency has been toilsome\nand tiring, and the germs of sullen revolt are in more breasts than we\noften suppose.  Man's hold on the good is frail; let us seek to\nstrengthen it and to widen its grasp.  Laudation of the practical {57}\napplications of science is not enough.  All are ready to be healed and\nto be made the masters of nature.  Too few are willing to accept the\nimplications of natural science and press on toward a philosophy\nconflicting with the ideas of the universe cherished by their fathers.\n\n\n\n\n{58}\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE ORIGINS OF CHRISTIANITY\n\nLet us now pass from the study of the general features of the ancient\noutlook upon nature to a study of the Christian view of the world.  Is\nthe Christian view of the world inseparably bound up with this ancient\noutlook, or can it be purged of it?  Is the moral fervor and idealism\nof Christianity its essential and permanent contribution, a\ncontribution to a rational appreciation of human life?  Probing still\ndeeper, let us not be afraid to ask ourselves whether the surgery which\nthis thesis implies does not involve the daring of a break with theism\nas only a developed form of primitive animism?  In ethical monotheism,\nmay not the _monotheism_ be the protecting envelope from which the\nbutterfly has already flown?\n\nThe part played by Christianity in the development of Western\ncivilization and its position as chief representative of the religious\ninterpretation of the universe makes our selection of it for study\nnatural.  To identify traditional religion with a low stage of its\ndevelopment, in which it is inextricably bound up with crude myth and\nritualistic magic, is not a fair procedure.  We must take theology at\nits best and place it over against science and philosophy before we can\nrightly judge it.  Only then can we be certain whether it stands for\nanything vital, significant and true.  For the Western {59} world, at\nleast, Christian theology is generally acknowledged to represent the\nhigh-water mark of theology.  If it is intrinsically inadequate and\nuntrue to modern experience, the only course open to a morally and\nintellectually courageous man is to resign it as a view outgrown.  No\nmatter how much pain may arise from a break with old associations and\nfrom the relinquishment of false hopes, intellectual morality permits\nonly one course.  It may be that social morality will gain new life\nwhen the old forms are broken, for the letter killeth.  I mean that\nChristian ethics will operate more freely and creatively in the world\nwhen it is given an entirely humanistic setting.  In dreaming of a\nsuper-mundane god, man has only too often forgotten his fellow man.  In\nyearning for the coming of the divine kingdom, he has allowed his hands\nand feet to be idle, or has even stepped unheeding over the prostrate\nforms of men and children broken in the mart.  To remove theology from\nChristianity is to make the kingdom of this world.\n\nThe content of Christianity cannot be separated from its origin.  To do\nso is to open the door to private interpretations of all sorts and to\nfacilitate duplicity and self-deception.  Christianity is an historical\nfact, and has meant various pretty definite things.  If we have\noutgrown certain of these things and re-interpreted others in a\nfundamental way, we are not making for clearness of thought by trying\nto read our own outlook into the past.  Continuity of a spiritual kind\nthere has been, but there is also newness of a basic import.  The\nknowledge and atmosphere which confront it to-day are vastly different\nfrom the theosophy in which it was born and nourished.\n\n{60}\n\nI think we all feel that Christianity stood for an ethical stimulus of\na very fruitful sort whose effect can hardly be overestimated.  Yet, if\nwe wish to gain a proper perspective, we must not neglect to put in the\nother balance the tendency to dogmatism and the persecuting zeal which\naccompanied it.  There have been other than Christian martyrs.\nSomething was faulty with a movement which contained so much\nobscurantism and bigotry.  There was not enough of sweet reason in its\ncomposition, and too much of the old terrors which accompanied\nprimitive ignorance and cruelty.  It needed a saner and more wholesome\nperspective and more trust in human reason.  For instance, the\ndifferences between the various sects, which have sprung up from period\nto period with such clamor and death-defying energy, have been\ndifferences of stress and of formulation whose importance was grossly\nexaggerated.  To the modern student nothing is more tragic and pitiful\nthan this zeal of ignorance.  So much to be done in the world to make\nit sweeter and more beautiful and more livable, so much need for sanity\nand charity; and yet so much of human energy wasted and, more than\nwasted, turned to evil results.  The only way to overcome this\nsectarian mal-adjustment is to know the past as it was and to cherish\nno distorting and blinding illusions in regard to it.  Man is so prone\nto see the golden age in the past that it is necessary to have a\nsearchlight directed upon it.  An historical approach is such a\nsearchlight.\n\nThere is another psychological advantage in an historical approach.\nThe reason is often unconsciously bound by the authority of a supposed\npast.  For the philosopher with his confidence in experimental reason,\n{61} perhaps, this inhibition does not exist; but even people who have\nevery inclination to bring their total experience to bear, in a free\nway, upon doctrines and beliefs are restrained by what they have been\ntaught, and lose audacity.  The spirit of acquiescence is always at\nwork in the world, and nothing reenforces this spirit more powerfully\nthan a traditionally-accepted book of sacred writings.  Confronted by\nthese with their unhesitating affirmations and claims, the minds of the\nmajority are intimidated, and such reflections as they allow themselves\nwork within the prescribed boundaries or wander little beyond them.\nNothing is better suited to unbind the mind and to lead it to think\nboldly than a study of origins.  The individual gains perspective as he\nsees ideas and sentiments rise and fall and give way to others.  He can\nno longer be intimidated by the shadow of a compact and seemingly\nimpregnable tradition.  We must remember, however, that such an\nhistorical and comparative approach can, at its best, only break up the\nmythical simplicity of a sentimentalized past and reveal the complexity\nof the many-channeled forces at work; it cannot prove any particular\ndoctrine.  The creation must come from the spirit of the present, as it\ncarries the stimulus of the past and adds to it its own energies.\n\nAll developed religions have their sacred books.  Until the translation\nof the Sacred Books of the East was undertaken in the latter part of\nthe nineteenth century, few people realized how many such books there\nwere.  And we Americans have been the unwilling witnesses of the\nappearance of two other collections of writings making the same claims,\n_The Book of Mormon_ and _Science and Health_.  Now such sacred books\nare {62} regarded as revelations which could not be obtained except by\na mysterious contact with divine things.  And the religious faith which\nhas been called forth and directed by a teaching founded on the\nscripture turns back its own warmth upon its source.  Nothing is more\nnatural than this interaction between a living faith and the writings\nwhich are felt to be its guarantee.  Religion is notoriously\nconservative and retrospective.  Especially is this true of religions\nwhich impute to themselves a complete and final source of revelation in\nthe past.  Faith and book are associated in the mind so intimately that\nthey lose their separateness.  To doubt one is like doubting the other.\nThus faith forms an emotional envelope which protects the literature,\nwhile the concrete detail of the literature reacts upon the mind to\nstrengthen the faith.  It is not strange, therefore, that the cult of\nthe book is a phenomenon which is universal in the advanced religions.\nThe Mohammedan believes in the verbal inspiration of the Koran just as\nfully as does the Jew in the divine origin of the Old Testament, and\nthe Christian in the inspiration of the accepted canon called the\nBible.  Nor are these the only examples.  But this psychological circle\nis a vicious one.  It involves the substitution of a subjective support\nto claims and theories which require the test of human experience as a\nwhole.  But just because science is this coordination of the whole\nrange of experience, there inevitably arises that conflict between\nscience and theology of which we have heard so much during the last few\ndecades.  It is a conflict between a part of experience, interpreted\ntoo hastily, and the rationalized whole.\n\nScience arose at the time of the Renaissance as a {63} consequence of\nman's awakened curiosity.  Its first conquests were in the fields of\nastronomy and physics.  These were of such a striking character that\nthey gave this comparatively new movement a prestige which stood it in\ngood stead in time of trouble.  Gradually, an assured technic was\ndeveloped, and inductive tests made of every hypothesis which suggested\nitself.  For a considerable time, science was confined pretty\ndefinitely to the physical world; but it was inevitable that the mental\nhabits encouraged would sooner or later extend themselves to other\nfields.  While there were many tentative applications of the methods\nand ideals of inductive science to the field of history in the\neighteenth century, it was not until the nineteenth century that the\nscience of history was fully developed.  Our conception of the past has\nbecome progressively deeper and truer.  Romanticism has been replaced\nby a realism which calls anthropology, archeology, and modern\npsychology to its aid.  We wish to see the men of the past as they\nactually were; and we are quite aware that we know more about the world\nthan they did.\n\nIn the domain of biblical literature and comparative religions, the\nmethod of science was slow of application.  There was a tremendous\ninertia to overcome, and a strong spirit of positive antagonism to\nresist.  The whole system of hopes and fears, sanctions and taboos,\nwhich the ancient view of the world had fostered within the human\nbreast cried out against the sacrilege of rational investigation.\nHumanity hugs illusion more fondly than it does truth because it is\nmore familiar with it.  For a while, all that orthodoxy had to contend\nwith was a rationalism of a skeptical cast which had scarcely a better\nhistorical outlook at its {64} command than had its opponent.  It could\nassert that these stories and beliefs handed down from the past could\nnot be true because they conflicted with our experience; but it could\nnot explain why people had originated these ideas and why they had\nbelieved in them so implicitly.  In other words, it could not let the\npast explain itself in such a natural way that it would disprove its\nown beliefs.  It is this that modern research has done so thoroughly\nthat there is scarce need for the appeal to the constructive sciences\nwhich skeptical rationalism makes.  The battle is no longer a drawn one\nso far as the intellect is concerned.  It is merely a question of how\nlong it will take before the victory will be recognized and proclaimed\nby all educated people.\n\nAs the evolutionary point of view forced its way into recognition,\nscholars became aware of the real nature of myth and legend; they\nrealized that beliefs of this sort are products of a creative\ngroup-consciousness saturated with a view of the world which we have\nslowly outgrown; they sensed the mental complexity of the past and\nbecame suspicious of the naive assumption that religions were formed in\na generation by the sheer authority of a single man or of a small group\nof men.  The first clear statement of this changed point of view was\nthe work of David Friedrich Strauss in his famous _Life of Jesus_.\nStrauss developed the idea that much of religious literature consists\nof myths and dogmas, not created out of whole cloth by would-be\ndeceivers, but woven by the stimulated fancy of groups working in the\natmosphere of traditions and attitudes which the most intense research,\nalone, can make living {65} to the scholar.  There can be little doubt\nthat this standpoint is essentially correct.  Before it could be\napplied satisfactorily, however, painstaking investigation of the\nliterature and recorded customs of the people of the Mediterranean\nbasin had to be carried through.  Only by now has this task been so far\nachieved that the main features of the\nGraeco-Syrian-Palestinian-Egyptian world are open to a sympathetic\ninspection.  No one who has not done some work in this field at first\nor second hand can realize the difficulties which confronted\ninvestigators.  Fragments found here and there in the writings of the\nChurch Fathers, the teachings of the Jews of Alexandria, the\napocalyptic literature discovered in remote places, inscriptions\nunearthed here and there, all were carefully studied and compared and\nforced to yield their quota of information.\n\nIt is a psychological principle which must always be reckoned with that\nthe less an untrained individual knows about the past, the more certain\nof the correctness of his assumed knowledge he is prone to be.  For\nexample, the American who has read one or more of the over-simplified\ntext-books dealing with the history of his country, which are used in\nthe schools, has a clear-cut picture of the various events, knows\nexactly how they occurred and who was in the right.  The university\nteacher, on the other hand, has before him a wealth of conflicting data\nfrom which he must painfully and tentatively construct a picture of the\ntendencies at work at different periods.  He must test the genuineness\nof his sources, weigh the prejudices of the writer, and decide whether\nhe was in a position to know exactly {66} what was happening.\nConsequently, he will speak in a qualified language where the average\ncitizen will deliver himself of emphatic assertions.\n\nYet the investigator of American history is possessed of an abundance\nof material and deals with a time for which printing existed.  The\nlanguage in which these documents are written is his own or else a\nwell-known one.  The student of comparative religions has none of these\nadvantages.  For the ancient world, the inscriptions are archaic and\ncondensed.  In the case of the biblical literature, he may be dealing\nwith accounts edited from older manuscripts in other languages.  These\nnarratives conflict among themselves and contain surprisingly little\ninformation on important points.  Hence, the investigator is almost\noverwhelmed by the difficulty of his task and the fewness of his\ncertain results.  The ordinary confessing Christian, on the contrary,\nis blissfully unaware of these problems.  He opens his English\ntranslation and reads the familiar words in the light of inherited\ndogmas which blind his eyes to all contradictions and discrepancies.\nThe truth is, that he is mentally unprepared to compare passages and to\nsee problems which stare the trained man in the face.  He reads\nsubjectively for edification.  The ecclesiastical atmosphere is such\nthat his spiritual advisors have either desired to keep modern critical\nwork from his notice, or have been afraid to arouse the bigotry of\ntheir keepers, or have themselves lacked a modern education.  The\nconsequence is that the average Christian has the most naive notions in\nregard to the authorship and authenticity of the gospels and of the\nreal meaning of many of the verses.  Palestine is conceived in terms of\nthe color-prints which illustrate his bible, while the mental {67}\natmosphere of the Year One is that of the present day in America with,\nperhaps, an exotic touch here and there.\n\nLet us glance over some of the facts which investigation is making ever\nclearer and which are not as generally known as they deserve to be.\nWhat is said here should be read with remembrance of the results of the\nprevious chapters.  Such a bird's eye view of the forces at work in\nlater Hellenistic and Roman times will be the best preparation for a\nsane conception of the origin and trend of Christianity.\n\nIn Tarsus, a Greek city of Cilicia, Paul, or Saul, was born and\neducated.  Now Tarsus was, after Alexandria, the chief seat of late\nGreek philosophy in the near-orient.  Many of the more noted Stoic\nthinkers and teachers of the day came from Cilicia and had semitic\nblood in their veins.  Athenodorus, the teacher of Cicero and Augustus,\ncame from Tarsus, itself; and it is said that his grateful and admiring\nfellow citizens made him a hero upon his death and annually celebrated\nhim in a memorial feast, a procedure very characteristic of the age.\nThere is the strongest evidence in Paul's epistles that he was well\nacquainted with the doctrines of Stoicism.  The larger intellectual\nworld of Philo of Alexandria and Seneca of the Imperial City lies\nbehind these epistles.  The Hellenistic Jew of the Dispersion differed\nwidely from the Jew of Palestine, no matter how desirous he might be to\nidentify himself with the worship at the Temple.\n\nBut Greek philosophy was not the only element with which the inhabitant\nof Tarsus would come in contact.  When Paul speaks of mysteries, he is\nreferring to the various secret cults which permeated the Roman world.\nHow few Christians are aware that the ancient world {68} was, at this\ntime, in a religious ferment almost without parallel.  _The Greek\ncivilization had lost its nerve_.  It had shot its bolt and been\noverwhelmed by autocratic powers and sheer barbarism.  The conditions\nof a progressive and broadly based civilization had not yet been\nachieved.  \"Any one who turns from the great writers of classical\nAthens, say Sophocles or Aristotle,\" writes Gilbert Murray, \"to those\nof the Christian era must be conscious of a great difference in tone.\nThere is a change in the whole relation of the writer to the world\nabout him.  The new quality is not specifically Christian: it is just\nas marked in the Gnostics and Mithra-worshipers as in the Gospels and\nthe Apocalypse, in Julian and Plotinus as in Gregory and Jerome.  It is\nhard to describe.  It is a rise of asceticism, of mysticism, in a\nsense, of pessimism; _a loss of self-confidence, of hope in this life\nand of faith in normal human effort_; a despair of patient inquiry, a\ncry for infallible revelation; an indifference to the welfare of the\nstate; a conversion of the soul to God.  It is an atmosphere in which\nthe aim of the good man is not so much to live justly, to help the\nsociety to which he belongs and enjoy the esteem of his fellow\ncreatures; but rather, by means of a burning faith, by contempt for the\nworld and its standards, by ecstasy, suffering and martyrdom, to be\ngranted pardon for his unspeakable unworthiness, his immeasurable sins.\nThere is an intensifying of certain spiritual emotions; an increase of\nsensitiveness, a failure of nerve.\"  It was in such a state of the\nsocial mind that Christianity had its birth.  It was, as we have before\npointed out, one of many competing for dominance.\n\nThese competing religions had much in common, {69} though it was the\nadvantage of Christianity to have inherited the ethical monotheism of\nthe prophets.  Upon Paul, the Hellenist and Jew of the dispersion, was\nfocussed this august tradition along with traditions of a more mystical\ncharacter.  Syria had been the home of certain mysteries from an early\nday, for we read in the Old Testament of women mourning the death of\nTammuz, the god of vegetation who dies and is born again.  Now Adonis\nor Attis was the corresponding god of Phrygia, and all people of Syria\nwere well acquainted with the cult which showed the mother-goddess\nmourning for her son.  But these more primitive rites were being\ndisplaced by a more developed and ethical form called Mithraism.  I\nwell remember my surprise when, visiting one of the older churches at\nRome, I was shown the earlier church beneath and told that, beneath\nthat again, a church dedicated to Mithra had been discovered.  Now\nTarsus was one of the chief seats of Mithraism, and it is practically\ncertain that Paul was acquainted with its main rituals and beliefs.\nLet us try to realize the importance of this fact.\n\nMithraism had an initiatory service in which the proselytes were\nadmitted into the faith.  The liturgy of this service is still extant\nand we know that it represented a mystical dying and rebirth in which\nthe guilt of the old life is removed and a new immortal life is created\nthrough the spirit.  The initiates spoke of themselves as reborn for\neternity.  \"So striking,\" writes Pfleiderer the German critic, \"is the\nconnection of these ideas with Paul's teaching of Christian baptism as\na community of death and resurrection with Christ (Romans 6) that the\nthought of historical relation between the two cannot be evaded....\nMithraism also {70} had a sacrament corresponding to the Christian\neucharist at which the sanctified bread and a cup of water or even wine\nserved as mystic symbols of the distribution of the divine life to\nMithra-believers.\"\n\nWhen we bear in mind how little importance Paul attached to the actual\nlife and ethical teaching of Jesus, we are not surprised at the\nfrequent suggestion that Paul was the real founder of both liturgical\nand theological Christianity.  He did not create this liturgy but found\nit to hand.  The early church followed this natural impulse and added\nto the simpler inherited rites.  Into the psychology of Paul's\nconception of the Christ it is difficult to enter.  He was probably an\nenthusiast with the tendency to exalted moods peculiar to epileptics\nand yet with high mental ability.  He felt himself inspired.  He gives\nus to understand that he was subject to visions, and it is well known\nthat religious excitement is capable of welding together the myriad\nsuggestions which play upon the self.  We can comprehend the work of\nPaul, one of the main founders of Christianity, only when we see him as\nthe mystical interpreter weaving the Jewish traditions of the soberer\ntype, the apocalyptic outlook of such books as Daniel and Ezra, the\nmystery cults of the Hellenistic world and the theories of the Stoic\nphilosophy into one whole, dominantly supernaturalistic.  Scholars will\ncontinue to differ in regard to the comparative proportions of the\ningredients he fused together, but few will gainsay that Paul's\nteaching is a product of many sources.  In this connection a very\nsignificant fact should be noted: although the Pauline epistles are the\nearliest records of Christianity, \"aside from the crucifixion, not a\nsingle fact in the life of Jesus can be gleaned from these {71}\nepistles, nor do they record a single saying of Jesus.\"\n\nWe shall next pass to a brief study of the Jesus of the synoptic\ngospels, the figure which has become endeared to humanity and with\nwhich the Western world has associated its noblest sentiments.  But\neven the present study of some of the more mystical elements in\nChristianity must have persuaded the reader that we have in this\nmovement the focussing of the complex life of ancient times.  The\ncircle of ideas passionately held by the members of the church was not\ncreated by any one man or group of men.  It was the flowering out of\nprimitive ideas and ethical aspirations.  Moral idealism goes hand in\nhand with cosmological myth.  We who have regained the nerve which that\nage had lost may have the gift and high adventure of separating moral\ntruth from theological illusion.\n\n\n\n\n{72}\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE PROPHET OF NAZARETH\n\nOf recent years a strong reaction against the Pauline interpretation of\nChristianity--or shall we say the Pauline type of Christianity?--has\nset in.  We have so completely outgrown the primitive notions of\nsacrifice, and the Jewish belief in the necessity of an atonement is so\ncontrary to our idea of God, that Paul's rabbinical theology does not\nstrike a sympathetic chord.  After all is said, we are descendants in\nthe spirit of those gentiles for whom Paul's message was nonsense.\nIntellectually, we are the sons of Plato and Aristotle, of Archimedes\nand Justinian.  During the Middle Ages, the ideas of the period of the\nGraeco-Roman decline were mingled with the social ideas of feudalism.\nTo-day, science and philosophy have lifted us back to the serener\nheights of classic times, and bid fair to surpass that glorious period\nin solid construction if not in delicacy of inspiration.  The result\nis, that the social mind is dropping those elements from Christianity\nwhich do not harmonize with our moral and intellectual temper.  Now,\nthe synoptic gospels are of a nature to lend themselves to this\nshifting of interest from the theological and the sacrificial to the\nmore human and ethical.  They present an idealized picture of Jesus\nChrist after the flesh, whereas Paul preaches only the second Adam,\nJesus Christ after the spirit.  Paul was {73} interested in the world\nto come and the heavenly world above the clouds where sit the aeons, the\nprincipalities, and the powers.  We are interested chiefly in the world\nhere and now, in social justice and democratic fellowship.  As\nhumanitarianism became aggressive, Christianity reflected the change.\nIs there any reason to suppose that its theological envelope will be\nable to place a boundary to the extent of this change?  The real forces\nat work are those of to-day, those of our own spirit and mind.  Only\nfor a time will they seek to find themselves in the past.  Only while\nthey are gathering force and confidence will they masquerade as a mere\nrevival of a truer primitive Christianity.\n\nIt is extremely suggestive that the more democratic movements within\nChristianity have always stressed the kindlier, more human, and more\nhomely phases of the bible.  The followers of St. Francis of Assisi\nwere, at first, teachers of humility and brotherly love; and Francis,\nhimself, modeled his life after that of Jesus as he conceived him.  The\ndisciples of Wycliffe made their home among the peasantry and artisans\nof Mediaeval England.  John Ball is a good interpreter to us of the\nsocial outlook they nourished.  It appears that they thought of Jesus\nas like one of themselves, read his life in terms of their own pressing\nproblems.  Pietism and methodism have always inclined toward the gospel\nJesus in preference to the Pauline Christ; but their social outlook was\nfar too negative and passive.  Democracy must be aggressive,\nnon-mystical, triumphant.  It must exalt reason while not forgetting\ntenderness.  With the growth of modern democracy of a socialistic kind,\nJesus the Carpenter with his kindly word for the poor and downtrodden\nand his scorn for {74} the haughty and rich has become the symbol and\nsign of a new social ethics.  It is evident that religion is not\nindependent of the social temper of an age.  Religion points to the\nseat of power as a compass points to the pole.  When man's sore need\nmade him cry out for mercy and succor in the primitive days, his\nignorant helplessness inevitably peopled nature with gods of fertility.\nIllusion and need created the gods of myth and ritual.  Remove this\nsetting of ignorance and illusion, and put in its place a sense of\npower, and need will point to the proper use of that power.  Justice\nand mercy and reason, used socially for a social purpose, will surely\nbecome the religion of an intelligent democracy.  In the older forms of\nreligion, man was a petitioner holding out helpless hands of prayer; in\nthe religion to come, man will be a creator bravely taking his destiny\ninto his own hands.  What a reversal!  Yet it is no greater than the\ncontrast between the primitive world we have been studying, with its\nmana and taboos and magic, and the modern world with its knowledge of\nchemistry and electricity and its deep probing into the very soul of\nman.\n\nBut we must return to the explanation of the popular tendency to exalt\nthe man Jesus over the Pauline Christ.  Is the explanation far to seek?\nTheology of a recondite character has always been the expression of\nreflection and leisure.  The religion of the masses has always been, on\nthe contrary, in terms of pictures and emotions connected with their\neveryday needs.  The rabbinical concepts of Paul were foreign to their\nexperience, while the philosophical mysticism of John was appreciated\nonly by a few who felt the beauty of the language and the strange charm\nof its figures of speech.  {75} To the common people Jesus was a loving\nfriend who comforted them in their sorrows, and the witness to a heaven\nin which all tears would be wiped away.  Of course, we must not be too\nromantic in our interpretation of the outlook of the masses.  These\nsentiments often attached themselves to the given theology with\ndogmatic fierceness; and in the background superstitious fears were\nonly too apt to smolder.  But, on the whole, it is not false to say\nthat the gospel story of the life of Jesus with its simple pathos and\nvivid diction appealed to the masses, while his personality met their\nideal of nobility and moral grandeur.  Jesus, the man who was also the\nSon of God, who came upon earth for them and for some reason died for\nthem, affected them as nothing else could.  And is it not a wonderful\nconception?  Yes; in the right setting, there has been none grander in\nall literature.  It is a masterpiece of lyricized mythology.  But, when\nwe have outlived its setting, it can affect us only as great literary\nmasterpieces do, when we consent to throw ourselves into the aesthetic\nattitude.\n\nThe pragmatic and aesthetic qualities of a story do not guarantee its\nhistorical truth.  In fact, research has shown that practically all the\nmost charming anecdotes which have come down to us will not stand\ncritical examination.  The historian of Christianity is well aware of\nthis situation.  The general movement of enlightened religious thought\nfrom the more mythical element to the career of Jesus, while it bears\nwitness to a more wide-spread interest in his personality, also\ntestifies to a growing doubt of the validity of the theological\nconstructions which have been woven around his figure.  We wish to\nknow, if possible, exactly what he thought {76} and taught.  Were we\nable to determine this, we feel that much of the distorting atmosphere\nwould be withdrawn.  But is not this, itself, one of those deluding\nhopes which the attitude of compromise fosters?  Do we not know in our\nheart of hearts that the beliefs of Jesus reflected the beliefs of his\ntime, just as the beliefs of Kant or Luther are functions of the ages\nin which they lived?  But we have here an hypothesis which can be\ntested by historical data.  Were the views of Jesus like those of his\nage?  Nothing has come out more clearly than just this fact.\n\nLet us see what has resulted from this close study of the sources.  We\nmust remember that books were not published in ancient days as they are\nat present.  Manuscripts passed from hand to hand, and individuals\nadded to them, or altered them, or combined them as they saw fit.\nPlagiarism did not have the meaning it has now when authors live on the\nproceeds of the sale of their books.  Besides, it was quite the custom\nto attach names to manuscripts at pleasure or in accordance with\ntradition.  Our modern critical attitude had not arisen--for obvious\nreasons.  Besides, it was difficult to secure copies of manuscripts.\nFor instance, Papias, bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia toward the middle\nof the second century, believed that there was an Aramaic gospel\naccording to Matthew, but he was unable to get a glimpse of it and had\nto trust to the oral tradition of his time.  To bring this situation\nhome: suppose we had to rely on the oral tradition still lingering in\nregard to the life of Washington, how certain would we be of its\nauthenticity?  Why, there are already myths in regard to the life of\nMary Baker Eddy!  In olden days, {77} myths sprang up like mushrooms.\nOnly too many varieties were at hand to choose from.\n\nScholars are pretty certain that the present Matthew is not a\ntranslation of an Aramaic original.  Moreover, the present Matthew\nbreaks up into separate parts conflicting with one another quite\nextensively, and is full of insertions of a comparatively late date.\nOnly after the gospel has been radically revised are we likely to be\nnear an old tradition of the life and deeds of Jesus.\n\nWhile we are on the topic of the authenticity of the gospels, it may be\nworth while to discuss the other synoptics as briefly as possible.  The\nmajority of critics regard Mark as the oldest but this is mere\nguesswork when all is said and done.  In its present form it is briefer\nthan the others and this fact has impressed many students.  Besides, it\ndoes not contain an account of the infancy of Jesus.  But it, itself,\nis evidently a compilation of other documents since it repeats the same\nevent in slightly different forms.  In all probability, it was written\nin Greek for a Hellenistic audience and emphasizes those traditions\nwhich would be the most likely to impress its readers.  It is not known\nwho wrote it or exactly when it was written.\n\nThe gospel according to Luke did not originally make any claim to have\nbeen written by Luke.  Scholars are agreed from internal evidence that\nit could not have been written until long after the fall of Jerusalem\nin 70 A.D.  The author of Luke was acquainted with the _Antiquities_ of\nJosephus and this shows that he must have made his compilation and free\nreworking of traditions in the second century.\n\n{78}\n\nIf, then, our gospels were not written by eye-witnesses, and represent\nthe beliefs and traditions of at least the next half-century after the\ndeath of Jesus, to what can we give credence?  What is myth and legend\nand what is historic fact?  Can we find a clew to guide us?\n\nIt is a canon among historical critics to regard those passages as the\noldest which conflict most with the outlook of the later centuries.  We\ncan understand why they happen to be there but there would be no good\nreason for their later creation and insertion.  Let us try to determine\nwhither this canon will lead us.\n\nAll scholars agree that the birth stories are a later addition.  They\nare a product of Hellenistic beliefs, perhaps even of Hindoo\ninfluences.  The Virgin-Mother myth was very common in ancient times\nand the whole machinery of the story was undoubtedly absorbed from\ntales widely current in those days.  For instance, the father of Plato,\nthe Greek philosopher, was warned in a dream by Apollo so that Plato\nwas virgin-born.  What can we think of the intellectual state of\nChurches which excommunicate ministers who have the decency to inform\ntheir congregation what disinterested scholarship has determined?  So\nfar as there is intellectual dishonesty or incompetence here, it will\nbring its own punishment in the attitude adopted by sincere men toward\nthe Churches.  The best we can say, then, is that there is no very good\nreason to doubt that Jesus was the son of a carpenter, by the name of\nJoseph, and his wife, Mary.  He was not the only child, for Mark\nrepresents his fellow townsmen as saying: \"Is not this the carpenter,\nthe son of Mary, and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon?\nAnd are not his sisters {79} here with us?\"  Quite a goodly family, you\nsee.  The Ebionite Christians, who were the Christians of Palestine and\nprobably had the safest traditions on this point, believed that Jesus\n\"was the son of Joseph and Mary according to the ordinary course of\nhuman generation.\"  His kinsmen were the leaders of the Christian\ncommunity for several generations.  But there is little use in laboring\na point which is so obvious.\n\nOf his early life we know practically nothing.  He was probably not\ntrained as a rabbi but worked at the trade of his father.  We may\nassume that he knew how to read and write, since an opportunity to\nlearn was usually offered in the synagogue.  It is likely that his\nreading was largely confined to the religious literature of his people,\nespecially the psalms and the prophets.  His spirit was more in harmony\nwith the deep ethical fervor of these champions of righteousness and\nlovers of justice than with the formal prescriptions of the Law.  If we\nmay judge from the general tone of the traditions, he was a close\nstudent of men and a lover of nature, a silent, reflective man who\nnoted the events passing around him.  His youth passed in this way\nwithout any overt step being taken; and, perhaps, without any clear\nmessage having developed in his mind.  He was simply one of the\ndissatisfied few who are always to be found.  Now and then, it may be,\nhe spoke passionate words against the evils that were apparent on every\nhand, quoted the prophets in their outbursts against similar evils and\nsubsided into a brooding silence.  There are many such in our land\nto-day, sincere and passionate and kindly men who eat their heart out\nwitnessing the course of events.\n\nThe Jews of the day cherished the idea that a {80} Messianic kingdom\nwould be established.  Jesus shared in this expectation; but it is\ncertain that he thought of it less as a restoration of the Jewish state\nto power than a change in the position of the mass of the people.  In\nother words, he infused the belief with a finer ethical meaning more in\naccordance with his concept of God and his sense of what was really\nvaluable and important.  There is no means of knowing his entire\nattitude toward this popular belief in a supernatural kingdom to be\nestablished by God upon earth, but he undoubtedly retained its main\noutlines.  He was a child of his age although a notably sincere and\nhigh-minded one.\n\nAbout 28 A. D. John appeared and preached in the wilderness.  Jesus\nwent to hear him because of the natural interest he aroused.  It is\nquite probable that he was baptized by John.  We do not know whether he\nassociated himself with John or not.  At any rate John's message\ncrystallized his own ideas and he felt called upon to continue his\nmission.  He did not proclaim himself as the Messiah but simply\npreached that the kingdom of God was at hand and that men were to\nprepare for it.  This preparation was of an ethical sort and largely\nascetic in character.\n\nPalestine was in a ferment at this time and his appearance and\npreaching aroused great interest.  Like all prophets he was called upon\nto heal the sick and, accepting the customary views of sickness, he\nproceeded to exorcise the evil spirits which possessed those who were\nbrought to him.  I do not see how he could have escaped this task.\nWhat part accident played in giving him confidence cannot be known, but\nit was probably large.  There is no reason to doubt that there is a\nground of fact for these stories of healing, although {81} they have\nbeen grossly exaggerated by later tradition when he was viewed as\ndivine.  We must always remember how late and biased our sources are.\n\nAs time went on, he gained more confidence in himself.  Since he was\nhuman, he could not help being moved by the confidence of the people.\nHe felt that reforms should be made; everywhere was poverty and\nsickness and unhappiness.  Could the thought help coming to him that\nperhaps he was the one to inaugurate the kingdom?  The idea kept coming\nback, forced upon him by his own reflection and by the questions and\nassumptions of his disciples.  It may be that he never made up his mind\nbut was forced by the course of events to go to Jerusalem where his\ncareer ended all too soon.  Mankind will never know the details of his\ninner life; his doubts, hopes, decisions, indecisions are hidden from\nus in an obscurity that will never be completely lifted.\n\nHis preaching became more revolutionary.  More and more he set himself\nin opposition to the mechanical observance of the law and the fanatical\nworship of forms and days.  The opposition of the conservative members\nof priesthood increased in bitterness.  Soon it was war to the knife\nbetween this new prophet, with his disregard for the law, and its\nchosen representatives.  Thus Jesus had drifted into a position which\nhe had probably not anticipated when he set out on his ministry.  But\nthis is always the way.  Mohammed began as a reformer, and the\nantagonism of the keepers of Caaba led to his aggressive campaign;\nLuther and Huss and Wycliffe changed their attitude and their ideas at\nvarious moments in their career.  No man's life is the working out of a\nfixed and ready-made plan.  At any rate, he determined to go to\nJerusalem--in all {82} likelihood, as Pfleiderer suggests, in order to\nwin a victory over the hierarchy and to realize the prophetic ideal in\nthe center of the religious life of the Jewish nation.  The people\nreceived him enthusiastically but his opponents were too strong and\nclever for him.  He feared only secret assassination while they induced\nthe Roman power to intervene.\n\nThe story draws to a close.  In the garden of Gethsemane Jesus felt the\npossibility of a tragic end to his hopes of an early coming of the\nKingdom.  The real situation shines clear through all the legend which\na later age has woven around it.  When he saw himself surrounded by a\nmultitude of armed men, he knew that resistance was vain.  He was\ndelivered into the hands of his enemies.  Through all the humiliation\nand pain of those days, he seems to have hoped that his God would\nrescue him.  It was only on the cross that he finally gave up hope.\nThe heavens were dumb as they always have been and always will be.\n\nThe body of Jesus was probably thrown into the common pit reserved for\nmalefactors, as Abbe Loisy suggests, while the story of the burial by\nJoseph of Arimathea grew up to save him from the terrible dishonor of\nsuch a last resting-place.  The rest of the traditional narrative is\nunquestionably mythical.  Paul speaks of him as buried and evidently\nthinks of the risen Jesus as an incorruptible or spiritual man.  Paul\ndid not believe in a bodily resurrection.  The visions which led to a\nbelief in the resurrection of Jesus were ecstatic in character.  We\nmust remember that the ancients were far less critical than we are in\nregard to dreams and illusions and did not consider a return to life in\nsome shadowy form as very unusual.  I have not the {83} slightest\ndifficulty in my own mind in accounting for the belief in the\nresurrection of Jesus in an entirely natural way.  Once this belief\narose and became important as a part of a new religion, the rise of\nlegendary details was simply inevitable.\n\nThe position I have taken is relatively conservative.  Many scholars\nhave even become skeptical whether such a person as Jesus ever lived.\nWe cannot be certain but it seems more plausible to give a relative\ncredence to the older strands of tradition in the New Testament.  That\nsuch an ethical reformer lived who believed in the coming of the\nMessianic kingdom, that he was embroiled with the priestly class and\nwas done to death by them with the aid of the Roman governor who feared\na seditious outbreak, that his disciples after his death came to\nbelieve in his resurrection and his coming Messiahship upon earth, all\nthis appears to me more than probable.  Human life is a fertile field\nfor tragedy.  The more we rid the narratives of their fairy-story\naccompaniments and see Jesus, not as a god who foreknows his human life\nand plays it out gravely as an actor who knows his role, but as a human\nbeing hurried to issues he had not at first dreamed of, the more his\ncareer becomes comprehensible.  Its pathos is increased by this truer\nperspective, while the moral grandeur of his life gains by the human\natmosphere which descends upon it.  He lived his life sincerely as\nother men have done and did not dream of the use history would make of\nhis name.\n\n\n\n\n{84}\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE EVOLUTION OF CHRISTIANITY\n\nChristianity did not arise in the form we associate with it.  The\nfollowers of Jesus, after they had become convinced that their\ncrucified leader had arisen from the dead and had become a spiritual\nagent, grouped themselves together in Jerusalem and formed a religious\ncongregation whose distinguishing tenet was a belief in the near\napproach of the earthly kingdom of God, whose ruler would be Jesus.  In\nhis powerful name, the members of the congregation could perform\nmiracles of healing where the faith was sufficient.  This form of\nChristianity did not differ very widely from Judaism in anything but\nthis belief in Jesus as the expected Messiah.  It is obvious that this\ndifference has no essential meaning to us to-day who know the origin\nand import of the Messianic hope of the Jews.  Let us be frank with\nourselves and clear our minds of these dreams of the past.  These early\nChristians deceived themselves; their hopes were not fulfilled; the\nearthly kingdom of God did not come.  Jesus was not the Messiah for the\nsimple reason that there is no such person.  He was not the Messiah any\nmore than Mohammed Ahmed was the Mahdi--and for the very same reason.\nMahdis and Messiahs and Buddhas are creations of religious and race\nimagination just as King Lear is the product of the poetic imagination\nof William Shakespeare.  The {85} educated man of the present must\nclassify these figures as tremendous fictions whose power is waning.\nWhen he faces them squarely and asks himself what significance they\nhave for his life, his answer must be, \"Only historical and artistic.\"\nWe may say, then, that Christianity in its first form has been outgrown.\n\nBut the Messianic form of Christianity gave it a vividness and concrete\nimpressiveness that made it a force among the men of that age.  Jesus\nwas the heavenly Messiah who would return in power and rule according\nto righteousness.  With him was bound up the hope of immortality and in\nhis hand was dominion over the evils which beset one's path.  A great\nworld-event was impending; at any moment the last trumpet might sound\nand the dead and the living be delivered to judgment.  Moreover, Jesus\nas the Christ and Lord was even now at work among men, his Spirit was\nactive to guide and encourage those who had faith in him.  In the\ncongregation at Jerusalem, this belief in Jesus as the Messiah was\nclosely associated with the past history of the race and did not\ninvolve a break with the Law.  The Old Testament was searched to find\nprophecies which would throw light upon this apparently new departure\nand soon passage after passage was found which would easily lend itself\nto the desired interpretation.  Under the guidance of these passages\nand of the new outlook, the life of the prophet of Nazareth was\nre-molded until it lost the greater part of its more human features.\n\nSuch an important amendment of the Jewish religion could not keep\nitself hidden.  The Jews of the dispersion, broadened by their contact\nwith the political, {86} philosophical and religious movements of the\nRoman empire, yet cherishing a sincere faith in the traditions of their\nfathers, heard of the new sect which had arisen in Palestine.  Their\ninterest was aroused.  Sometimes they felt sympathetic, sometimes they\nwere antagonistic.  Slowly at first and then more rapidly through the\nwork of Paul, they came in more direct contact with this new movement.\nBy this time, it had already become Hellenistic in its spirit and\nattitude.  Around the nucleus of the life of Jesus and his\nresurrection, the seething, myriad-shaped ideas of the age attached\nthemselves.  The Palestinian congregation was left behind in its\npeaceful conservatism while the movement which it had inaugurated grew\nby leaps and bounds and swept outward into the tossing ocean of faiths\nand philosophies which extended from India to Gaul.  To suppose that it\ncould remain unchanged in such fellowship is to undervalue the\nassimilative tendencies in the social mind.  The Greeks and Romans and\nEgyptians and Syrians could not think as Jews.  They inevitably\ninterpreted it in terms of their own ideas and problems in order to\ncomprehend it.\n\nWe have already considered the interpretation which Paul gave to\nChristianity.  It was, as we saw, dominated by the apocalyptic notion\nof a heavenly, or spiritual, man while it gave ample recognition to the\ndesire for salvation from sin and participation in the divine life.\nThus Christianity was brought into touch with the mystery-cults and\nresponded to the yearning for some guarantee of immortality so\nwide-spread at this time.  \"But if the Spirit of him that raised up\nJesus from the dead dwelleth in you, he that raised up Christ Jesus\nfrom the dead shall quicken also your mortal {87} bodies through his\nSpirit which dwelleth in you.\"  We should compare this passage from\nRomans with the corresponding discussion in Corinthians (1, 15), \"And\nif Christ hath not been raised, then is our preaching vain, our faith\nalso is vain.\"  The message which he brought to the Hellenistic world\nwas in its essentials a definite one.  Jesus, a man who recently lived\nin Palestine and did wonders, was raised by God and has become a\nheavenly man, the guarantee of immortality to those who have faith in\nhim.  The last trumpet of the day of judgment will sound and the dead\nwill be raised with spiritual or incorruptible bodies, and those who\nare still alive will be changed and given these spiritual bodies since\nflesh and blood cannot enter the coming kingdom of God.  This message\nis the natural interpretation of Christianity by a learned Hellenistic\nJew.\n\nBut this was merely the beginning of the evolution of Christianity.\nThe next phase involves its interpretation by the Gnostic movement.\nLet us see first what this Gnostic movement was before we try to\ndetermine its direct and indirect influence upon Christianity.\n\nSo far as can be made out, Gnosticism was a religious philosophy which\ngrew up in the eastern part of the Roman empire.  Toward the making of\nthis theosophy went many strands of refined mythology coming from\nIndia, Persia, Alexandria and Palestine.  It was an esoteric doctrine\nrepresenting that free mingling of traditions from all sources so\ncharacteristic of the age.  Those traditions were worked up by\nreflection into a fairly systematic outlook upon the world, entirely\ncontinuous with mythology yet far more highly developed.  Gnosticism\ncannot be called a philosophy in the technical sense of that term since\nits constructions did not {88} have a critical foundation.  So far as\nit used Greek philosophy, it drew from the more pictorial myths of\nPlato and the conception of subordinate powers or demons advanced by\nstoicism.  Its interest was not, however, philosophical but rather\ntheosophical in character.  The relation of the individual soul to the\nworld-powers and the way in which a future state of happiness could be\nreached occupied its attention in the first instance; and the theology\nwhich it developed represented the stage-setting for this personal\ndrama.  I do not think it is saying too much when I state that there is\nnothing in Gnosticism which modern science and philosophy can recognize\nas having a valid foundation.  We can understand why it developed, just\nas we can understand why mythology arose, but it was a mistaken\nmovement because it followed the old mythological path of explanation.\nIf the direction taken by reflection is wrong, the most strenuous\nendeavors cannot lead to truth.\n\nGnosticism possessed certain tenets which were very wide-spread in\nancient civilization.  The flesh was looked upon as a thing of evil\nwhich corrupted the soul.  The physical world was in fact given over to\nthe powers of darkness while the spiritual world was ruled by the god\nof light and purity.  This dualism with its accompanying asceticism is\nto be found in the Persian religion, in India, in later Jewish thought,\nin the Orphic cults of Greece and even in Plato.  It entered into\nChristianity as naturally as science does into our outlook to-day.  All\nthrough the early years of the Christian era, and during the Middle\nAges, this contrast existed and controlled ethics.  All of which goes\nto show that Christianity was not the creation of a single man but the\nflowering out of religious mythology.\n\n{89}\n\nAccording to the teaching of Gnosticism, the soul was in danger of\ndestruction or of dire calamities unless it possessed the proper\npreparation for its journey after death.  The best means of safety was\nthe participation in the life of some savior-god who had vanquished the\npowers of darkness and evil.  It is evident that the world-setting of\nGnosticism was not far different from that of Christianity.  They were\nproducts of the same age, outgrowths of a similar soil.  The advantage\nwhich Christianity had was its connection with a noble personality and\nthe ethical background which this gave it.  Gnosticism was oriental far\nmore than it was Greek.  Had it been connected with the ethical\nteaching of the classic Greek tradition, had a myth of the resurrection\nof some noble teacher like Plato arisen to control the phantasy of the\noriental mind, the result would not have been far different from\nChristianity.\n\nIt was only natural that Gnosticism with its belief in a savior-god\nshould feel itself drawn to Christianity with its similar teaching.\nJesus was regarded by the Christian gnostics as divine, as an eternal\nbeing who had manifested himself historically in fulfillment of his\nfunction of mediator.  The Christian congregations were thus forced to\ntake another step in the deification of Jesus.  For Paul, he was still\na man, the second or spiritual Adam who began a new dispensation.  For\nthe earlier Christians, he was the God-selected Messiah.  He now became\na god who was also the son of God.  The evolution was inevitable in the\nintellectual environment of the time.  But the Christian congregations,\nas represented by their clearest thinkers, wished to avoid gnostic\nextremes and to keep near the historical basis and the ethical\nmonotheism of the best Hebrew {90} tradition.  Jesus was God, but he\nwas also man.  In this way, arose the doctrine of the incarnation.\nInstead of being a monument of mystical insight as theologians tell us,\nit was the consequence of a problem forced upon the Church.  In other\nwords, the doctrine of the Trinity is the attempt to combine gnostic\npolytheism and monotheism.  The only way three can be made one is by a\nmystery, so a mystery it became.  It is a bit of verbal gymnastic or a\nformal solution of an impossible problem which the pressure of events\nhad forced upon the Church.\n\nChristianity was now on the high-road to a theology.  To enter the\nHellenistic world and not be forced to develop a theology was simply\nimpossible.  The first fruit of this entrance into the intellectual\nworld of the time was the Fourth Gospel or the so-called Gospel\naccording to John.  Scholars have begun to interpret this gospel as an\nattempt to combine the older Christian tradition with the theological\nspeculations of the age.  The beginning of the gospel strikes a new\nnote which separates it immediately from the synoptics.  \"In the\nbeginning was the Word (Logos) and the Word was with God and the Word\nwas God.\"  What is this Word or Logos with which the historical Jesus\nwas identified?  For Philo, the Alexandrian Jew who played such an\nimportant part in the theological speculation of the time, the Logos\nwas a second God, the reflection of his glory, the only begotten Son,\nthe actual creator of the world, his active agent at work in events.\nIt is not going too far to assert that, without the speculations of\nPhilo, the Fourth Gospel could not have been written.  And yet Philo\nwas merely developing and applying to the Old Testament the writings of\nthe stoic philosophy and the {91} teaching of Plato.  Does it not\nfollow that, in the Fourth Gospel, we have the more theosophic portions\nof ancient philosophy attached externally to the life of the Prophet of\nNazareth?  Under such conditions of origin, how can we begin to\nseparate reason and revelation?  Gnosticism, stoicism, platonism, the\nOld Testament, the stories of the life of Jesus, the broadening of\nChristianity, all went together to make possible the mystic theology of\nthis gospel.\n\nBut the more Jesus was transformed into a god, the more he lost his\nhuman characteristics.  The figure of Jesus becomes elusive and\nshadowy; he lives among men but is not of them.  To make God a man or\nman a second God was an impossible task.  When all is said, the Fourth\nGospel performs this task about as well as it could be done, yet Jesus\nis no longer a Galilean peasant but a mystic being who speaks in\nriddles.\n\nThis vital interplay of Christianity and Hellenistic thought led to the\npassing away of the older Messianic idea with its distinct limitations.\nA noble monotheism was the result, while the concrete, human element\nwhich the historical origins of Christianity had contributed to it\nprevented this monotheism from losing sight of human problems.  The\nvalue of Christianity lies in its ethics but it is doubtful whether the\nethics could have become effective unless it had been carried by the\nmore chaotic beliefs which we usually call religious.  There can be\nlittle doubt that some religious system would have conquered the Roman\nempire; the educational level was too low to enable the better type of\nphilosophy to dominate the life of the mass of the people.  Magic and\nother-worldism were rampant because the social and political\norganization was unsatisfactory and mental discipline {92} was not\nwide-spread.  In brief, the world was still at the mythological level\nand was not yet prepared for a higher plane.  _This being so, the\nsuccess of Christianity was the best thing which could have happened_.\n\nLater phases of the evolution of Christianity force us to qualify this\nposition that its success was the best thing which could have happened.\nIn order to escape the dangers which free theosophizing brought, the\nleaders of the Christian congregations felt the need of a firmer\norganization.  The result was the gradual concentration of moral and\ndoctrinal authority in the hands of bishops.  The early Church had been\ndemocratic in polity but the times were not ripe for such democracy and\nslowly elders were chosen to be leaders.  These elders were shepherds\nor bishops, that is, spiritual overseers.  Soon they claimed and were\ngranted life-tenure and greater authority.  Every analogy from the Old\nTestament and from the larger political organization of the time worked\nin their favor.  This assumption of authority on the part of the\nbishops is well represented by the letter of warning sent out by Bishop\nIgnatius of Antioch.  \"Obey the Bishop as Jesus Christ the Father, and\nthe Presbyters as the Apostles, but honor the Deacons as the law of the\nLord....  Whoever honors the Bishop is honored of God; whoever does\naught behind the Bishop's back, serves the devil.\"  The natural result\nof this changed organization was the doctrine of Apostolic succession.\nWith this doctrine went another, the belief in the Apostolic Origin of\nthe articles of faith.  The flexible growth of Christianity was at an\nend.  There arose a series of dogmas enunciated by Councils of bishops\nand these were forced upon Christianity as authoritative.  Free enquiry\nand {93} speculation was at an end.  A religion with a creed had\nappeared, a thing unknown before in the history of ancient thought.\n\nWhen Protestantism arose, it made a half-hearted appeal to the spirit\nof free inquiry.  Protestantism was, however, a complex movement with\ndecided limitations in the motives at work and the knowledge on which\nto build.  The old church organization, molded on the lines of the\nRoman empire, was discarded and the function of the priesthood was\nchanged, but the intellectual attitude and the creed upheld remained\npractically the same.  Some of the more radical branches of the\nmovement like the baptists of Northern Italy were suppressed too soon\nto allow their influence to be felt.  On the whole, Protestantism was\nhampered by the New Testament canon which it inherited from the later\nstages of the evolution of Christianity.  It seldom went seriously back\nof the stage at which Jesus was deified.  Its reforms were social and\npolitical rather than theological.  The tendency was to establish the\nbible as ultimate authority without investigation as to its origin.\nThe consequence of this establishment of the bible as the final court\nof appeal was decidedly harmful since it set reason and experience over\nagainst a supposed revelation.  So far as Protestantism itself was\nconcerned, it did not have in it, as a consequence of this bibliolatry,\nthe intellectual vitality necessary to a true evolution.  Had it not\nbeen for the larger social, scientific and philosophical developments\nwhich sprang up at the same time and founded themselves on reason and\nexperience, the protestant revolt would have ended in a blind alley.\nThere is every reason to believe, however, that it helped to break the\ntyranny of the theological {94} view of the world and to free the human\nspirit for new endeavors.  Protestantism, just because it was a revolt,\ncould not attain sufficient unity and power to stamp out intellectual\nfreedom.  The modern world was too complex to be dominated by religion.\nBut we have already indicated the conditions which gave rise to the\nhigher criticism whose results we have been summarizing.\n\nWe must frankly ask ourselves what features of historical Christianity\nare congruent with our modern life.  The Hellenistic world to which\ndogma and ritual are mainly due is a thing of the past, existent for no\none but the scholar.  Ours is a new world with new ideas, new problems\nand new possibilities.  Does the recognition of historical continuity\npreclude the acknowledgment of very radical changes?\n\nI am certain that the deification of Jesus will be given up step by\nstep.  He was not born miraculously, nor was he preexistent as the Word\nor Logos.  These terms do not fit into an outlook dominated by science.\nTo call him the Son of God in an exclusive sense is not warranted by\nthe facts, nor has it any clear meaning for the present age.  To the\nold Greek, Egyptian, and Roman, the idea was familiar; many of the\npatrician families traced their descent to Apollo or Jupiter.  But such\na literal interpretation of the phrase has no sanction for us, and any\nother than a literal meaning is essentially meaningless.  Jesus was a\nnoble and tender-hearted man with the beliefs of his age.  To speak of\nhim as ideally perfect and sinless is absurd just because these terms\nare absolutes where relatives alone have meaning.  Like most\ntheological terms they cut themselves loose {95} from their necessary\nsetting, which, in this case, is human nature and society.\n\nWhen the necessary critical work has been done, what is left of the\nstately theology reared by Church Fathers, councils and scholastics?\nApparently only a mellowed religion with a universalistic outlook and a\nstrong ethical trend.  This mellowness and this universalism were not\nqualities present in perfection from the start, although we cannot say\nthat Christianity was antagonistic to them.  Mellowness takes time.  I\ncannot but feel that men like St. Francis, Pascal, Bossuet, Fenelon,\nMelancthon, Wesley, on the ecclesiastical side, and men like Plato,\nAristotle, Galileo, Newton, Fichte, Darwin, and Mazzini, on the laic\nside, have contributed to this mellowness.  From this point of view, we\ncan best describe modern Christianity as an evolution of Hebrew ethical\nmonotheism along tenderer and more human lines under the stimulus of\nmany very noble personalities.\n\nDuring the latter half of the nineteenth century, Christianity passed\nthrough a fire of criticism which rocked it to its foundation.  To\nthose who lived at that time, the transition from the older, and more\ndogmatic, form was accompanied by spiritual and moral struggles which\nseem to us exaggerated.  The very indifference of the present age shows\nthat the atmosphere has cleared and that new values have come to the\nfront.  A short while since, I picked up Hutton's once famous book,\n_Modern Guides of English Thought in Matters of Faith_, and read his\nanalysis of the life of Cardinal Newman and his interesting criticism\nof Matthew Arnold.  I must confess that the time-spirit of which Arnold\n{96} made so much has done its work.  The scene is shifting from a\nreligion which stresses a peculiar form of salvation and a career in\nanother world to social and economic conditions and ideals.  Is there\nnot something Byronic in much of Arnold's religious poetry?  Is there\nnot too much of the pageant of the bleeding heart in his sighs of\nregret and farewell?  Yet he realized that the old faith was dying and\nthat man had not yet found that which could fill its place.  It takes\ntime to make an adjustment in these matters, just as it is time alone\nthat softens the griefs of unrequited love or the loss of dear ones.\nAnd it is usually only the next generation, which has been able to make\na genuinely fresh start, that settles into a new way of life.\n\nChange is a great physician because it is able to introduce new factors\ninto the situation, and it has been at work since Arnold's day.  There\nare, nevertheless, prophecies in his poems of another world which would\nbefore long take the place of the one that was dying; and some of us\nbelieve that, in the new democracy which is stirring into life\nthroughout the earth, this new and more creative world is being born:\n\n  \"The millions suffer still and grieve,\n  And what can helpers heal\n  With old-world cures men half believe\n  For woes they wholly feel?\n\n      \"And yet men have such need of joy!\n      But joy whose grounds are true;\n      And joy that should all hearts employ\n      As when the past was new.\"\n\n\nIn the figure of Jesus, ethical and aesthetic idealization guided by\nreligious emotion has created a {97} personality of a peculiarly\nappealing type well fitted to remain as an ideal to foster and\nstrengthen the noblest tendencies.  But this ideal has become\npractically self-supporting apart from its mythical scaffolding.  Its\nreal foundation to-day is in its appeal to sympathies, natural to\nsocial beings, which the spiritual evolution of humanity has developed\nand given content to.  When man succeeds in applying these sympathies\nrationally, in a social fashion, he may bring upon this sad old earth\nsome measure of that kingdom for which Jesus longed.  But Christianity\nhas stood and, on the whole, still stands for certain beliefs in regard\nto the universe as a whole and the relation of man to it, which only\npatient reflection and inductive investigation can settle.  By their\nvery nature, these beliefs cannot have an historical justification\nalthough they have had an historical origin.  Taking these beliefs in\ntheir simplest form and separating them from all connection with the\nfigure of Jesus and the developed ethics whose stimulus goes back to\nhim, they become an acceptance of an ethical God, a special providence\nand immortality.  Remove these postulates, and it is doubtful whether\ntheology has not also disappeared.  It behooves us to examine the\nvalidity of these postulates in the light of modern science and\nphilosophy.\n\n\n\n\n{98}\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE CONFLICT BETWEEN SCIENCE AND THEOLOGY\n\nThe conviction that there is a deep-seated conflict between the\nreligious view the world, characteristic of the past, and the outlook\nwhich has been shaping under the guiding hands of science and\nphilosophy is held by an ever increasing number.  Those who deny this\nconflict are judged to be either willing self-deceivers or postponers\nof the evil day of confession.  Many books have been written to detail\nthe warfare between the champions of orthodoxy and the leaders of the\nadvance guard of science.  The persecution of Galileo, the burning of\nBruno, the bitter attacks upon the founders of the theory of organic\nevolution are cited as examples of the unavoidable warfare.  For the\nnonce, there is a lull in the battle which was waged so fiercely by\nTyndall and Huxley; but this lull does not signify that a treaty of\npeace has been signed, but only that the combatants have shifted their\nground.  The forces of orthodoxy have sullenly retreated to another\nline of entrenchments.  The objective observer can entertain little\ndoubt that the intellectual forces of orthodoxy have been worsted in\nthe open field and have become disheartened by the growing revelation\nof the number and strength and persistence of the workers in the\nservice of science.  The prestige of science bids fair to equal, if not\nto surpass, {99} that of the church.  Hence, the desire of the\ntheologian is to avoid a renewal of the conflict, or else to change the\nmode of the warfare.\n\nAnd here I shall venture a prophecy.  The new battle will be waged\naround psychology and philosophy.  Already the lines are being drawn\nbetween the defenders of an extra-organic soul and the experimental\nsappers in the laboratories of biology and psychology who are seeking\nto show that mind and body are inseparable, that, indeed, mind is just\na term for certain capacities of control exercised by the brain.  The\ncrucial character of this growing conflict, which is yet not much\nbeyond the status of a skirmish, leaps to the eyes, as the French say.\nIs not even the soul to be spared the siege before which the human body\nfell?  Is it to be placed on the dissection-table and teased apart into\nits component strands?  Even so.  The process has already begun, and\nfar more has been accomplished than is generally known.  The solution\nof the mind-body problem is already in the air.  And, with it, will\ncome theoretical consequences by no means secondary to those associated\nwith the theory of evolution.  With some of these consequences we shall\nbe concerned in a later chapter.\n\nChristianity has been bound up with the letter and even with the spirit\nof a sacred book.  Naturally, this book reflects the view of the world\nheld by people about two thousand years ago.  It contains primitive\nnotions of the origin of things, a naive conception of the relation of\nthe sun to the earth, a belief that demons are the cause of sickness, a\nconviction that souls merely inhabit bodies temporarily, and an\napocalyptic idea of the end of the world in a last judgment.  As we\nhave seen, no part of this outlook was particularly unique, but it was\n{100} accepted by the Christian Church as inspired because it was found\nin the canonical writings accredited to prophets and apostles.  During\nthe Middle Ages, this biblical view of the world was united with the\nastronomical and physical teaching of Aristotle and hardened into a\nsystem.  So intimate was this union between these cosmological elements\nand Christianity felt to be that an attack upon one was taken as an\nattack upon the whole.  To doubt the primitive notions of the world and\nman's place therein, was to doubt the bible; and to doubt the bible as\nan inspired compendium of information was to doubt Christianity.\n\nFor the sake of perspective, it will repay us to note the order in\nwhich these primitive ideas were attacked and replaced by more adequate\nones.  It will be noticed that the general cosmological setting was\nfirst reconstructed and that the growing point passed thence to the\ncenter, the nature and destiny of man.  As we indicated above, the\nreplacement of older by newer and better-founded views is proceeding\nmost rapidly at this crucial point.  Having obtained a different and\nvaster heaven and earth, man has turned the microscope upon himself.\nThe suspicion is growing ever more insistent that he, also, is a\nnatural part of this procession of things.\n\nWhen, at the time of the Renaissance, modern science was born, the\nfirst field invaded with success was that of astronomy.  Copernicus\nbecame convinced that the current theory, called the Ptolemaic, was\nuntenable because it led to insuperable complexities in the\ninterpretation of the observed paths of the heavenly bodies.  He was\nled to suggest that the sun was the actual center of the system and\nthat the earth revolved around it in the {101} course of a year.  One\ncan easily imagine the furore such a daring hypothesis aroused.  The\nCopernican theory was scoffed at by learned and ignorant alike, for it\nupset the whole picture of the world which had been tranquilly accepted\nfrom early times, except by such a radical non-conformist as\nAristarchus of Samos.  To appreciate the intellectual revolution\nthreatened, one has only to read Dante's \"Divine Comedy,\" for Dante\njourneys from planet to planet and thinks of them as arranged within\ncrystalline spheres revolving slowly about the earth.  In the second\ncanto of Paradise, he speaks of the blessed motors who make the holy\nspheres revolve.  These motors are angels of various orders resident in\nthe spheres and transmitting to them the efficacy of the Divine\nIntelligence.  Thus infant science had to challenge the appearance of\nthings to the eye, and a system bound up with the religious view of the\nworld.\n\nIt is obvious that the old geocentric view of the world, which thought\nof the earth as the center of the universe, was nothing more than a\nstatement of the apparent relations of the visible heavens to the broad\nearth which stretches out on either hand as far as eye can see.  That\nthis natural view of things was taken up into the religious picture of\nthe universe was the occurrence to be expected.  Had it not been and\nhad the priests and prophets enunciated the Copernican theory, there\nwould be reason to suspect a hidden source of revelation.  Needless to\nsay such a reversal of the natural sequence never occurs.\n\nIt is only when we grasp the naive outlook of early days that we can\nrealize the full significance of many Christian doctrines.  Let us take\nthe articles of the {102} creed.  We are taught to believe that Jesus\ndescended into Hell and then ascended into Heaven and sitteth on the\nright hand of God.  What is this Hell into which Jesus is supposed to\nhave descended?  It is the Sheol of the old Hebrews, a misty region\nbelow the surface of the earth; it is the Hades of the Greeks, the\nplace of the departed shades; it is the Avernus of the Romans, the\nlower regions where ghosts flit and gibber.  This place of the dead is\nat first the grave and sinks deeper into the earth as time passes and\nthe myth-making fancy has been directed upon it.  But it is thought of\nliterally as in the bowels of the earth.  All through the Middle ages\nthis naive view was held.  There was an absolute down and a\nsubterranean Hell, and every country told of some cavern which was one\nof its many mouths.  With the advent of the Copernican view what\nbecomes of these age-old ideas?  To save them they must be transformed\nand given another location or a merely symbolic meaning.  But why save\nthem?  They are as pure myths as any others to be found in olden days.\nThey are brother to Tartarus and the Battle of the Titans and the\nSlaying of Rahab.  The early Christians believed in a literal Hell\nbeneath the surface of the earth.  Their belief was wrong beyond the\nshadow of a doubt.  We cannot make it true by modifying it out of all\nrecognition.\n\nThe ascent into Heaven was thought of as a literal ascension of the\nresurrected body by the majority of early Christians.  We have seen,\nhowever, that Paul did not teach any such doctrine.  But even for Paul,\nJesus, as the Messiah, was literally in the heavens directly above the\nearth.  Into this region Paul is caught up in ecstasy--even to the\nthird heaven.  It is from {103} this region, not very far above us,\nthat the last trump will sound and the day of judgment dawn.  The\naccount, given by the so-called \"Revelation of St. John the Divine,\"\nwhich has led to so much foolish controversy among certain protestant\nsects, is typical of the apocalyptic literature of the time.  No\nscholar to-day believes that it was written by an apostle or by any one\nin direct relation to an apostle.  It is simply an example of the\ncurrent religious phantasies of the age just before and after the Fall\nof Jerusalem.  What factual basis could there be for such myths of the\nend of the world?  To take this old picture of the days to come as\nhaving anything but historical interest is to live in a mist.  Only the\nscholar can understand the allusions made and connect the ideas with\nthe beliefs of this vanished world.  It is poetry, a creation of\ngenerations of dreamers steeped in the tremendous idea of a coming\ndestruction preceded by portents and disasters.  We can understand how\nit arose in the motley and chaotic press of the Roman Empire in the\nEast with its memories of oppressions and conquests and changing\nkingdoms; but to regard it gravely as a revelation, to be taken\nseriously, of the destruction of the world is impossible.  The universe\nwas a small affair for the men of that time and the little planet we\ncall the earth and live upon was the center of all things.  We who\nthink in terms of light-years, and nebulae in which our solar system\ncould be lost, and huge constellations far off in the pathless void,\nrealize that we have outgrown even the imagery of this apocalyptic poem.\n\nReligion was loth to give up the simpler and more child-like ideas of\nthe universe and to displace the earth from its proud preeminence as\nthe one foot-stool of {104} deity.  Man feels lonelier in the\ntremendous spaces and stellar systems which astronomy has revealed to\nhis eye and mind.  But the facts piled up by science in its patient\nwork of investigation were too strong to be ignored, and religion had\nto modify its teaching by at least a passive acceptance of the new\nworld outlook which would have been so strange to Jesus and Paul.  It\nis evident that this involves the quiet giving up of the truth of the\nstory of creation, as well as the doctrine of a day of judgment.  When\nwe once realize that the earth is a pin-point in the physical universe,\nthese stories, woven in days when it was regarded as the stable center\nof things, are seen to be outgrown myths.\n\nBut astronomy was followed by biology with its hypothesis of evolution.\nNo sooner had religion resigned itself to a larger world than its peace\nwas again broken by the teaching that man was the end-term of an\nevolution of animal life going far back into the dim past.  Instead of\nthe neat little tale which Hebrew literature had passed on to the\nChurch, men were asked to believe that ages of slow change had elapsed\nwhile one form of life changed to a more complex form adapted to new\nconditions.  Soon facts rained in from all sides to make this new\nposition impregnable.  Geology studied the various strata of rock and\nfound fossil remains which could only be dated back millions of years.\nStrange creatures unlike those to be found now upon the earth were\nbrought to light.  Reptiles of monstrous size, fishes of strange\nshapes, huge trees resembling our ferns, botanically weeds, yet\ntowering into the heavens, were unearthed until the imagination caught\nglimpses of past ages teeming with life.  The teaching of geology was\nreenforced by comparative anatomy, which showed {105} the similarity of\ndifferent animals which had been thought of as quite distinct.  Man,\nhimself, was examined and was found to contain traces of an older mode\nof life.  Only in this way could certain atrophied organs, like the\nappendix, be understood.  Before long, comparative embryology arose and\nit was seen that the embryo passes through certain stages of\ndevelopment which roughly indicate the past life of the organism.  On\nall lines, investigation taught the same conclusion.  That there was\nevolution in nature, so that new forms of life developed while old\nforms passed away, no one who knew the facts doubted.  What factors\nwere at work to produce these changes was not entirely known.  The new\noutlook was set in the place of the old myths; but the details of the\nevolutionary process required careful working out by patient\nexperiments and observations.\n\nThe mythical background of Christianity was thus again attacked.  The\nstruggle was violent and bitter.  Christians were so accustomed to the\nprimitive myth of man's creation in a Garden of Eden, as narrated in\nthe Old Testament, that they refused for a long time to consider any\nother view.  Bishops and laymen denounced Huxley and Darwin and their\nsupporters, and often resorted to parodies of their position in order\nto awaken the prejudices of the mass of the people.  It was affirmed\nthat they believed that man was descended from an ape or monkey.  But\nthe clergy were waging a losing fight, as is always the case when the\nfacts are overwhelmingly against an old dogma.  The educated people of\nto-day accept some form of the theory of evolution as naturally as they\naccept the automobile and electric street-car.  They see no reason to\nbelieve that {106} primitive people who made no study of animal life\nknew more about its origin than those who have devoted their time to\ncareful and earnest investigation.  Facts speak for themselves and\nconquer what opposes them no matter what traditions bolster it up.\n\nThe refuge which Christianity has taken is the usual one resorted to by\nreligions which find themselves in conflict with views more adequate\nthan those they hold.  The myths are either allegorized or thrust into\nthe background.  Allegorization of myth is only a work of fancy, but it\nalways implies a tendency to self-deception.  So long as we see tales\nlike the stories of creation in a sanely historical way, we realize\nthat these men of the past were stating their own naive beliefs and\nwere not teaching our own views in the guise of a poetic version.  The\nonly way to be true to ourselves is to give up any attempt at\ncompromise and acknowledge that the account of man's creation given in\n\"_Genesis_\" has simply been outgrown.\n\nThus, step by step, the framework of nature and man's place in it as\ntaught by Christianity has come in conflict with more thoroughly\nfounded views and has had to give way.  Before science arose, man\nguessed at things and appealed to the gods at every step.  The gods, as\nsuperhuman powers capable of doing anything, were naturally introduced\nto account for origins and mysterious events.  Such an agent seemed a\nsufficient answer to any problem.  How did man arise?  God created him.\nHow did the earth come to be?  God created it.  But science has come to\nsee that an agent which answers every question in this easy-going\nfashion does not really answer any of them.  It is a verbal answer and\ndoes not give us any specific information.  {107} Investigation is\ngradually showing just _how_ men did arise and _how_ the earth once\nformed part of a larger whole from which it was whirled off.\n\nThe only valid position to take in the light of this retreat of the\nbiblical view of the world is to accept the evident conclusion that\nthose who wrote the various books of the bible told the beliefs of\ntheir time.  Some half-hearted converts to this conclusion try to take\nthe edge off the admission by saying that the bible does not teach\nscience.  Let us put it frankly and say that the bible taught the\nknowledge of the olden days, their science, but that this does not at\nall agree with what we have come to know by real investigation.\n\nWhile the primitive view of the world had the strength which came to it\nfrom the sincere belief of Christians, it struggled valiantly against\nthe new knowledge.  Unfortunately, Christians were, by their training,\ndogmatists and sought to silence the rising whispers of doubt by\npersecution, rather than by frank appeal to fact and reason.  Because\nof this attitude, there developed the tradition of antagonism between\nscience and religion which is so often referred to.  The primitive view\nof the world, woven into historical Christianity, because shot through\nthe bible, was helpless in the face of this vigorous enemy which was\nnourished by the intellectual adulthood of man.  Its partisans were\nshocked by the denial of beliefs that seemed to them bound up with the\nmost sacred and important facts.  What could be more natural than an\nappeal to force to put down such impious suggestions!  The story is not\na pleasant one but it should not be looked upon as unexpected.\nChristianity used its power but was defeated.  The fight is to all\nintents and purposes over; the primitive view of the {108} world has\ngone forever and Christianity is in the throes of the effort to loosen\nitself from it, as a swimmer tries to free himself from the embrace of\na corpse which would drag him down.\n\nBut this is not the first time that Christianity has been forced to\ngive up a belief that would not fit in with the facts of a wider\nexperience.  We saw that the early Christians believed in the coming of\nthe kingdom of God upon earth in their own day and generation.  This\nhope was relinquished by the Church as time passed and it was not\nfulfilled.  The date of the great change was simply postponed\nindefinitely.  But the problem which the growth of modern science\ncaused could not be met so easily.  The conflict was stern, and it was\nonly after defeat stared her in the face that Christianity tried to\nadapt herself to the new view of the world.\n\nWere this adaptation possible simply by giving up the mythical elements\nin the bible and in the traditional theology, there can be no doubt\nthat it would be accomplished.  Many protestant denominations have\npractically gone thus far.  There is reason to believe that, sooner or\nlater, the doctrine of the virgin-birth, with its only too evident\ndependence upon classic mythology and its obvious violation of\nbiological facts, will be resigned and Jesus acknowledged to have been\nborn as all men are.  We moderns see no shame in such biological facts.\nSince historical criticism and biology point in the same direction,\nthere can hardly be a doubt as to the outcome.  However reluctantly,\nChristianity must yield to knowledge.\n\nEven after Christianity has surrendered her mythical envelope and\nresigned herself to the less dramatic and pictorial account of the\nbeginning and end of things, {109} taught by modern science, she is not\nsecure.  The struggle has only passed from the outer works of religion\nto its very citadel.  To yield the nonessentials, which were the\nwrappings of its early manhood, to this stern seeker after knowledge,\nin the hope of a treaty of peace, will only lead to disappointment.\nBecause of her worship of the book, Christianity has set too high a\nvalue upon beliefs which were simply doomed to destruction.  Hence she\nhas no right to look upon her surrender of these beliefs as an act of\ngreat merit.  It is simply a preliminary step to the basic conflict\nbetween science and religion.  The question which confronts the human\nmind at the present time concerns the problem of the harmony or\ndisharmony of the views of the world essentially connected with\nreligion and science respectively.  Before this fundamental problem,\nthese minor conflicts which have occupied so much attention shrink into\ninsignificance.  This problem involves the character of the agencies at\nwork in the universe.  Can science admit the reality of a special\nprovidence at work in the world?  Let us see to what issues this\nproblem leads.\n\n\n\n\n{110}\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE LIMITS OF PERSONAL AGENCY\n\nReligion was born from need wedded to ignorance.  But needs change, and\nillusions fade away and are replaced by knowledge.  That religion\nreflects these factors of which it is a function cannot be doubted.\nSome thinkers, who have sincerely pondered the problem, declare that\nreligion will only be transformed.  Others, as earnest, assert that it\nwill disappear, and speak of the non-religion of the future.  Is not\nthe question in large measure one of definition?  That man will\ncontinue to evolve ethically can scarcely be doubted, but it can be\ndoubted with good right that he will continue to seek to fulfill his\nneeds by rites designed to enlist superhuman agents in his behalf.  Is\nthere not more than a note of skepticism in that much-approved saying:\n\"God helps those who help themselves?\"  Already, man is beginning to\nclassify his needs and to believe that his material needs, at least,\ncan best be met by industry and knowledge.  He supplicates less and\nworks more.  Let us not forget what tremendous economic and social\nchanges have occurred since the days of the little, helpless\ncommunities that lifted up praying hands to their gods lest famine and\nwar destroy them completely.  To-day, man does more harm to man than\ndoes nature.  The face of things has changed more radically than we are\naccustomed to realize.  Social habits and beliefs {111} cannot fail to\nreflect this change.  It may very well be that we shall be forced to\nconclude that what were, in a sense, the by-products of religion have\nbecome all that promises to survive when man has, indeed, eaten of the\nfruit of the tree of knowledge.\n\nWe have seen that primitive man read his surroundings in the light of\nhis own consciousness.  Everywhere he saw the evidence of will and\nanger, desire and caprice.  The world was the theater of personal\nagents not so dissimilar to himself.  Technically, we should speak of\nthis outlook as anthropomorphic animism.  Perhaps a still lower stage\nexisted in which things are full of _mana_ or a mysterious power for\ngood and evil.  As man felt his own powerlessness in the midst of\ntremendous, and often hostile agencies, which overtopped his own meager\npowers, he was led to feel the desire to ally himself with these\nagencies and propitiate them in order that all might be well with him.\nMan was ever more convinced that his own life was bound up with the\nplans of the gods.  To displease them was to incur the most serious\ndanger.  The anger of Jove, or Neptune, or Asshur, or Yahweh was not\neasily turned aside once it was kindled.  The winds which threaten\nshipwreck, the rains which give increase, the drouth which dries up the\nearth, the plague which brings death are under the control of the gods;\nand it behooves man to walk warily in order not to offend them.  Thus\nwas the path set in which man was to travel until he reached an ethical\nmonotheism.\n\nAs time passed, demons and gods gave way, in theory at least, to the\nsovereignty of one powerful deity who gathered to himself the powers\nand activities of the old multiplicity of agents whom man had\nworshipped and {112} placated.  It is probable that this movement\ntoward a consciously held monotheism reflected the changing political\norganization of society.  The old chaos of superhuman agents, each\ndoing what was right in his own eyes, gave way to a growing heavenly\norder in which one powerful agent exerted his suzerainty over minor\nprincipalities.  Yet monotheism has always been relative, for the one\ngod has his agents of subordinate rank--agents, powers and\nintercessors--just as the most absolute monarch has his ministers.\nPolitical imagination cannot go beyond its source.\n\nChristianity is usually regarded as the best type of monotheism; yet\nthe early Church Fathers thought of the old gods as demons working\ntheir nefarious will upon man.  It is notorious that many of the saints\nof the calendar are only re-christened pagan deities adopted by the\nChurch to meet popular demands.  The peasantry _would_ believe in the\nagency of local divinities whose reputation had been great for the\nhealing of sickness, or the granting of children to the childless, or\nthe causing of rain to fall in seasons of drouth; and the Church,\nwisely enough, controlled and adopted what it could not prevent.  The\nold pluralism of agencies refused to give way more than formally to a\nsingle agent.  The psychology of this resistance is simple enough.\nJust as the king is unable to give his personal attention to the\nrequests of all his subjects but must delegate authority to officers to\nlook after details, so the one deity cannot give ear and attention to\nthe incessant cries of his myriads of creatures.  I cannot help feeling\nthat the pious catholic has more psychological realism in these matters\nthan the protestant sectarian who wearies his deity with all sorts of\ntrivial matters.  Surely a {113} million petitions at the same time\nwould distract any conceivable kind of personal deity!\n\nBut, in the present chapter, we are not concerned so much with the\nproblem of the number and inter-relations of the superhuman agents at\nwork in the universe as with the idea of personal agency itself.  The\npoint I wish to call attention to is that the change from polytheism to\nmonotheism did not involve any essential modification of the accepted\nnotions of agency.  Nature--and human life with it--was thought of as\nunder the control of a superpersonal agent who guided the course of\nevents in accordance with his purposes.  An ethical refinement of the\nidea of deity had supervened which lifted it far above the crudities of\nthe so-called nature-religions.  Was this not because man and human\nsociety had evolved ethically and socially?  But no marked break in the\nsetting of the idea had arisen.  And this fact presents the thinker\nwith a problem.\n\nIn its origins, religion is innately hostile to the extension of\nimpersonal causation to the cosmos, for the obvious reason that such a\nconception conflicts with the operation of special agency.  Religion\nbegins with the postulation of powerful agents whom man can placate.\nUp to the present, the evolution of religion has not involved a\nwithdrawal of this primary assumption but only its ethical refinement\nand the reduction of the number of agents.  In the Western world, at\nleast, religion and the idea of an ethical control of the course of\nnature have been inseparable.  This latter idea underlies prayer for\nmaterial blessings, miracles, and the various conceptions of\nprovidence.  Can this primary assumption be taken from religion without\ndestroying it?\n\n{114}\n\nThe difficulties which confront this assumption for the educated man of\nto-day must not blind us to its naturalness in the past.  But that is\nthe very point to grasp.  The primitive view of the world is not being\nso much refuted as outgrown.  Slowly and painfully, man has learned\nthat events are conditioned by antecedents of an inflexible character,\nand that his wishes and desires must have hands and feet working for\nthem before they can affect things.  He has bettered his condition\nthrough invention and discovery and social organization.  Of course,\nthe world might have been different, and moral categories might have\nbeen the proper ones to apply to nature; but the brute fact of the case\nis that our particular universe is not of that sort.\n\nOnce given the notion of superhuman agents of a social character, the\nafter-development of religion is inevitable.  Man adopts toward them\nthe attitude that he takes toward his own rulers.  To pray to the gods\nis as natural as to pray to those who have power and who, we hope, may\nbe moved by our prayers.  Psychologically, there is no difference in\nthe attitude involved.  Providence is merely the action of an agent who\nis more than human.  For primitive man it did not imply an intervention\nwith nature, for the very good reason that the gods were active in\nnature.  Nature was the sphere of the activities of the gods in the\nsame way that it was, in a minor degree, the sphere of the activity of\nmen.  We must rid ourselves of the modern conception, nourished by\nscience, of nature as a realm of causal relations.  For ages, man had\nno such conception; all activities were thought of as acts.  Nature,\nman and the gods acted together in a sort of social whole.  Law, as we\nunderstand the term in science, would have had no {115} meaning to\nprimitive man just as it has little meaning for many at the present day.\n\nIt is very interesting to study the development of the idea of\nprovidence.  It means foresight and the care which renders foresight\npraiseworthy.  The more the gods were given character and identified\nwith the life of the community, the more they were thought of as\nguardians anxious for the good of their people.  As superhuman, they\nwere gifted with knowledge of events to come and with plans for the\nwelfare and happiness of their worshipers.  The social relations of the\ngods inevitably brought them into transforming touch with the ethical\nprogress of humanity.  They became ideals reflecting back the highest\nof which man could conceive.\n\nIn Christianity, we have a most striking instance of this ethical\ntransformation of the one deity who is the superhuman agent _par\nexcellence_.  He is the father, kindly and loving, merciful and\nbountiful, who looks after the welfare of his children and plans their\nindividual lives and the course of civilization.  The evolution of God\non its ethical side has reached its high point.  From the philosophical\nside, this evolution was practically a foregone conclusion.  Just\nbecause God was conceived socially, he could not escape this goal.\nHosea and Jesus took the direction which ethical idealists could not\nhelp but take.\n\nLet us examine the consequences of this assumption of an omnipotent,\nomniscient and ethically perfect agent who acts in nature and in human\nhistory.  Simply by deducing the implications of the concept, we find\nthat it involves a plan for the world.  Such a plan is called by\ntheology God's providence.  For one who accepts the assumption, the\nonly sane attitude to take is that {116} of submission to the course of\nevents as manifestations of God's will and wisdom.  The heart of\nreligion thus becomes a joyous acceptance of life's portion through a\nwilled union with the purposes of this perfect being.  The most\nreligious souls in history have drawn this conclusion and acted it out\nin their lives.  In this way, they taste of an exaltation similar to\nthat which the patriot experiences when he identifies himself, without\nreservation, with the hopes and plans of his country at some time of\ncrisis.  They have, moreover, this advantage that disappointment is\nimpossible, since they can never know the actual plans of God nor the\ntime when they are to be fulfilled.  If they anticipate and set their\nheart on some event which kindles their enthusiasm and it does not come\nto pass, they can assuage their disappointment with the remembrance\nthat God's ways are past finding out and that he has an eternity in\nwhich to work.  From the very nature of the hypothesis, the course of\nhistory can never disprove this outlook which is the logical end-term\nof the god-idea.  This impossibility of test makes it, however,\nunscientific.  Nothing can be deduced from it.  As an hypothesis, it\nmust always remain unfruitful.  When we come to treat of the problem of\ngood and evil, we shall see other difficulties which it must face.\n\nBut the idea of a grand plan from which God cannot be swerved by\nintercession and supplication is far from the thought of the usual\nlevel of religion.  It is the creation of reflective thought, and does\nnot find a ready welcome in the minds of people at large.  For them,\nthere is no such thing as complete determination of the course of\nevents.  God is a powerful agent who is able to bring to pass what he\nwills but he does not always {117} intervene in particular cases unless\nhe is asked.  It is this situation, in which God is only one of the\nforces at work in nature, that gives the setting for the idea of a\nspecial providence and the answer to prayer.  Is it not evident that we\nhave in these beliefs the expression of personal agency, an idea\ncontinuous with mythology?\n\nThere are many examples of the appeal to a special providence which\nawaken the curiosity of the modern man.  In cases of severe sickness,\nprayer for restoration to health is offered in the churches and homes.\nIf God is a personal agent affected by the desires of his worshipers,\nthis act is perfectly logical.  Yet the nature of sickness is now so\nwell known that we see in it a cause and effect relation of a definite\nsort.  Knowledge of impersonal agency is undermining the faith in\nsuper-human agency.  Perhaps the fact that such prayers have never\nstayed a plague, while active measures of a scientific sort have done\nso, has had something to do with the purely formal and traditional\ncharacter of such prayers among civilized men.  Another instance which\nhas caused many cynical comments is the appeal to God to bring victory\nto the nation in time of war.  Both combatants pray to the same deity\nwith about equal fervency and, at the same time, make as careful\npreparations as possible for the actual warfare.  The religious\nceremonies appear to play the part of an emotional accompaniment for\nthe grimmer proceedings on the battle-field.  To the soldier, God\nstands for the element of chance; otherwise, the main precept is to\nkeep the powder dry.\n\nWhen we enter the domain of science, we at once realize that a\ndifferent conception of agency is held.  The universe is regarded as a\nclosed system of causal {118} relations which spring from the nature of\nits parts.  It is a systematic and self-contained world whose\nactivities can be explained by the discovery of laws which constantly\nhold and which grow out of the stable properties of nature itself.  As\nthe result of a close and accurate study of the various aspects of\nnature, science has come to the conclusion that the large bulk of the\nworld is lifeless and that its parts react in habitual or mechanical\nways which are invariable.  The planets circle about the sun in\naccordance with the pull and haul of forces which work in the same\ndirection from year to year and lead to the same mathematically\ndescribable result.  By means of measurements and calculations,\ncelestial mechanics has been able to predict eclipses centuries ahead\nand to test historical records in regard to those which happened\nthousands of years ago.  The paths of comets have been calculated and\ntheir return to the solar system foretold.  Thus the mass-movements of\nthe universe have been seen to be mechanical in nature and expressive\nsolely of the energies and configurations distributed throughout its\nparts.  The events which happen are inevitable and arise out of the\nimpersonal agency of spatially existent things.  In what sharp contrast\nis this view of nature to the interpretation primitive man made for\nhimself when he read his own emotions and desires into the things\naround him.  Caprice and whim have no place in this regular procession\nof the heavens.\n\nImpersonal agency conquered, not only in man's conception of the larger\nrelations of bodies to one another, but also in his idea of those\nevents, like sickness and death, which strike nearer home.  While the\nagencies at work may not be considered mechanical, they are yet {119}\nseen to be natural and regular in their working.  The characteristic of\nthe personal agency to which religion makes appeal is that it\ndisregards space; it works here and there at its own will and leaps\nacross intervening distances as though they had no reality.  Just\nbecause it is spaceless, it is supernatural.  It cannot be localized,\nand brought into definite relations with other things in the universe.\nThe more we conceive the universe as a spatial, self-contained system\nof things and processes, the more it excludes the presence of an agency\nwhich intervenes in it but is not really of it.  So long as events can\nbe explained as the effects of the natural working of things in nature,\nthe assumption of a supernatural agent is unmotived.\n\nThe conflict between science and religion has thus passed beyond the\nstage where a primitive and childish idea of the extent and origins of\nthe visible world struggled against a more rational and better-founded\noutlook.  No educated man to-day would seriously defend the cosmical\ntheories of ancient times.  It is simply absurd to deny that we have\noutgrown them once and for all.  But this first victory of science only\ninvolved the capture of the weakest outposts of the religious view of\nthe world.  The heart of traditional religion seems to be the belief in\na personal, superhuman agency at work in nature or, rather, upon\nnature.  Even the religious mind, however, admits that investigation\nhas shown that there is a routine aspect to nature which covers the\nordinary course of events.  The final crux of the problem comes, then,\nto be whether there is good reason to believe that there are unusual\nevents which cannot be accounted for by natural conditions.  The\nvictorious career of science has undoubtedly cast {120} suspicion upon\nthe occurrence of events which cannot be explained by means of regular\nchanges in nature.  The appeal to superhuman, personal agency to\naccount for such events presupposes their occurrence, while the belief\nin their occurrence is psychologically based upon the acceptance of\nsuch supernatural agency.  Hence it is probable that both beliefs will\nfall together.  In the meantime, they give one another mutual support.\nHe who believes in supernatural agency is the more likely to be\ncredulous in regard to testimony advanced in its favor.\n\nNature was at first regarded as a realm in which personal agency ruled.\nYahweh thundered from Sinai and rode in the tempest.  Apollo guided the\nhorses of the sun.  The gods did things in nature directly, much as man\ndoes them, only they are able to do things that man cannot do.  By will\nand word of command, they make the mountains tremble and the hills to\nshake.  But gradually man came to conceive nature as a self-contained\nrealm in which parts affected one another.  We owe the beginning of\nthis view to the Greeks.  They developed, from the first, a way of\napproach to events which was absolutely opposed to the older outlook.\nAs nature became, for man, more and more self-sufficient and capable of\nexplaining what occurred within it, there was less need to appeal to an\nagent of the old mythical sort.\n\nReligion is rightly anthropomorphic, just as ethics is.  Man's welfare\nand destiny are properly and inevitably the important questions for\nman, and he naturally approached the world with these problems in mind.\nHe used personal and social categories in his vague thinking about his\nenvironment.  The discovery that nature {121} did not work that way was\nmade slowly and only after comparative civilization had brought leisure\nand safety.  Even to-day, the intellectual restraint, which the\napplication of impersonal and non-moral concepts to nature demands, is\ndistasteful to the majority.  But this restraint will become less and\nless as man is introduced from childhood to a world of law and order to\nwhich he can adapt himself with a fair measure of success.  His eyes\nwill remove themselves from far horizons and turn to the world around\nhim, nor will he dream of a transcendent realm of which earthly things\nare only the appearance and veil.  He will seek his welfare and find\nhis destiny among his fellows during the normal time allotted to his\nspecies.  Banded with them, he will become an active and clear-eyed\nworker for the four great blessings which, he finds, are within his\ngrasp, health, knowledge, goodness and beauty.  Many virtues and ideals\nwhich religion has sheltered and encouraged will find themselves at\nhome in this valiant and intelligent world, but the religion of the\npast must shed many things before it will feel in harmony with its new\nsetting.  Will sufficient identity remain to make the term still\nsignificant?  Frankly, it is very hard to say--impossible to say with\ncertainty.\n\nWhat, then, are the limits of personal agency?  The limits set to that\nincarnated intelligence which organisms possess.  The ability to\nre-direct and distribute the energies which surround them in accordance\nwith laws which study reveals, the ability to build dwellings for\nshelter and for adornment, the ability to use medicines for healing,\nthe ability to drain marshes, dig canals, girdle the earth with iron\nroads, the ability to conceive things of beauty and to translate these\n{122} conceptions into sensuous form, all these abilities are theirs.\nSuch agency works within nature as a highly gifted part within a whole\nto which it is not alien.  But experience gives us no hint of a\ntranscendent agent for whom the earth is as a footstool and who whirls\nstars and planets through space to their appointed orbits.\n\n\n\n\n{123}\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nDO MIRACLES HAPPEN?\n\nDo miracles happen?  I am often asked this question by young people who\nare trying to combine religious tradition with modern thought, and find\na disharmony.  Ecclesiastical authority urges them to the acceptance of\nmiracles, while the principles and conclusions of science as obviously\nmilitate against any such belief.  Many halt half-way between these two\nopinions and drift through life without having been able to come to a\ndecision.  In their moments of mysticism, when the past religious view\nof the world with its prestige and emotional appeal gains the upper\nhand, they are persuaded that all things are possible.  They lose sight\nof nature with its massive constancy, and float back into the sentiment\nof personal agency so natural to man.  As they listen to the poetry of\nthe familiar passage read by the clergyman, their memories awaken, and\nvague hopes for they know not what are stirred to a restless life.  All\nthe surroundings and accompaniments reenforce these suggestions, for\nthat is the transformed purpose of modern rites.  The music throbs in\ntheir ears, now plaintive and low, now bursting into triumphant peals.\nIncense fills the air, and the lights burn dimly.  Then a new\npsychological world is created within them.  The erstwhile solid earth\nwith its blind driving power becomes transparent and a thing {124} to\ndespise.  The Lord reigneth to Whom all things are possible.  His the\npower to create or to destroy, to bind or to loose, to wither or to\nmake whole.\n\nThe next day in the laboratory, perhaps, the same individuals watch the\ncirculation of the blood in the thin membrane of a frog's foot, or\nmeasure the transformation of energy in a chemical reaction, or examine\nthe nerve-tissue of the human brain, and another outlook forms itself.\nThey see a world of harmonious movements, of gigantic forces, of\ndelicate adjustments, of slow birth and quick decay.  The sentiment of\nlaw, the feeling for fact, the sense of nature grow upon them.  For the\ntime being, they are the conscious spectators of an immense reality it\nwould be meaningless to set aside.  The complexity and autonomy of\nnature thrusts all thought of superpersonal agency into the background.\nThus the pendulum swings back and forth from supernaturalism to\nnaturalism.  They believe, and yet disbelieve.  What answer must be\ngiven to these troubled minds?\n\nNow the question, Do miracles happen? presupposes a single, unambiguous\nmeaning for the term, miracle.  Yet to secure such a single meaning\nrequires an effort.  It is so tempting for the advocate of miracles to\nmake qualifications when the argument goes against him, to say that he\ndid not mean an act of a supernatural agent but only an extraordinary\nevent, something marvelous and not easily accounted for.  We shall\nconcern ourselves primarily with what may be called a theological\nmiracle, an occurrence confidently assigned to the will of a divine\nagent.  Incidentally, however, we shall discuss the logical attitude to\ntake toward marvels which cannot easily be fitted into the usual scheme\nof events.\n\n{125}\n\nTo understand the ideas and sentiments associated with our term, we\nmust go back to the past.  We are sufficiently acquainted by now with\nthe setting of the religious view of the universe to know that the gods\nwere at first forces _in_ nature and only slowly became spiritual\nagents _outside_ of nature.  We cannot too often remember that man had\nno instinctive knowledge of what energies operated in the world and\nwhat were the conditions of their operation.  He peopled woods and\nfields and sky with invisible agents who could do almost all they\nwanted to do, and with no hindrance from distance.  We may put it this\nway: man had no idea of spatial process but thought of all events as\nacts of will.  The gods had _mana_, or power, just as the medicine man\nhad, only greater.  And miracles were, for ages, only extraordinary\nevents due to the power of gods or other power-possessing beings.  So\nlong as this primitive view of things was prevalent, miracles were only\nespecially significant events assigned to the will of the gods.  They\nwere events which transparently revealed their anger, or favor, or\npurposes.  There was nothing illogical or puzzling about them.\n\nThe forces which are so strongly working against the acceptance of\nmiracles are just those forces which are antagonistic to the primitive\nview of the world.  If nature is a self-contained spatial system, the\ncomplete mechanism of change should be open to study.  Even human wills\nmust be connected with human bodies, and shown to act in accordance\nwith psychological and physiological laws.  In the place of such vague\nterms as _mana_, we have chemical and electrical properties, bacterial\ninfection, hypnosis.  Magic and miracle are closely connected; and the\nreplacement of magic by {126} science put miracles on the defensive.\nNature became a realm of recurrent processes.  The exceptional, alone,\ncould be assigned to the old type of agency.  Thus the contrast came\nout more clearly, as the religious view of the world found itself\nopposed to an orderly conception of natural process.  Divine agency, on\nthe one hand; uniform processes, on the other.\n\nEtymologically, a miracle is something which awakens wonder because of\nits strangeness.  In former days, all events out of the ordinary were\nnaturally classed as miracles, that is, as events to be wondered at.\nThere was, of course, a routine aspect to nature.  People expected the\nsun to rise in the morning and pass unwaveringly over the sky; they\nlooked for the return of the seasons and had festivals to celebrate\nthem; they anticipated normal young from their animals.  Thus the\nroutine aspect of things was fairly conspicuous, and they guided\nthemselves by reference to it.  But, in those days, things were less\nsettled than they are in our well-organized society.  People were more\nnervous, as it were, more surrounded by rumor, more credulous.  Both\nthe psychological and the social situation favored tales of marvelous\nevents.  I cannot help feeling that the religious customs, the constant\nappeal to the gods for favors and portents, were both effects and\ncauses of this sense for the miraculous which we find so widespread in\nthe past.  Sometimes monsters were born; sometimes the wind blew from\none direction for an extraordinary length of time; sometimes the sun\nwas darkened at midday.  Stories were constantly afloat about wonderful\ncures imputed to gods or magicians.  Credulity awoke at the least\nencouragement.  Priests, prophets, magicians, kings, gods, all were\nregarded as {127} the authors of cures.  Only the common man was unable\nto do these wonderful things.  The idea that the king's touch had\nwonderful curative power lingered on into the nineteenth century.\n\nWe have pointed out, more than once, that the best way to explain an\nidea away is to explain how it arose.  Add to this a clear statement of\nhow the older view conflicts with the new outlook which has been born\nof tested knowledge, and the disproof is as complete as may be.  Let us\napply this method to the stories told of Jesus in the New Testament.\nJesus was reputed to have the gifts of an exorcist.  That Jesus, if he\ndid actually live, believed in demons cannot be doubted.  In Mark, the\ncrowd exclaims: \"With authority he commands even the unclean spirits,\nand they obey him.\"  Again, the scribes from Jerusalem say: \"He hath\nBeelzebub.  By the prince of the devils he casteth out the devils.\"\nWherever Jesus went, crowds of sick people flocked to him to be healed\nof their various complaints.  But they undoubtedly did the same to\nevery prophet or medicine-man who came along.  A man could not be a\nprophet if he did not have a special _mana_, or power, either in his\nown right or as the representative of his deity.  And we must not think\nof these healers as charlatans or impostors.  Everybody believed that\ndisease was a matter for religion.  Why?  Because they did not know\nanything about toxins and bacteria and amoebic infection.  The\ndemon-theory of disease was everywhere dominant outside, perhaps,\ncertain circles in Greece.  \"It is beyond a doubt,\" writes F. C.\nConybeare, \"that Jesus regarded fever, epilepsy, madness, deafness,\nblindness, rheumatism, and all the other weaknesses to which flesh is\nheir, as the distinct work of evil {128} spirits.  The storm-wind which\nchurned the sea or inland lake into fury is equally an evil spirit in\nthe Gospel story.  In the Vedic poems it is the same; and, indeed, we\nhave here a commonplace of all folklore.\"\n\nThe stories told about Jesus in the synoptic gospels can be paralleled\nin the literature of the time throughout the Roman world.  The use of\nspittle as a sovereign remedy was universal.  In his essay upon\nmiracles, Hume called attention to the story told about the Emperor\nVespasian by Tacitus.  Vespasian was a little more careful than Jesus,\nfor he had physicians examine the eyes of the blind suppliant before he\nexerted his touch and spittle as healing agents.  But, then, Jesus\ncould not be so careful about such things as an emperor.\n\nWhen we once clearly realize the emotional atmosphere of the times and\nthe complete lack of the sort of intellectual background we possess, we\nare not surprised either at the recorded acts of Jesus or at the myths\nwhich grew up around his figure.  The absence of miracles from the New\nTestament would be far more surprising than is their presence.\n\nThe miracles attributed to Jesus are of two main kinds, the expulsion\nof demons as a means of curing ills and allegorical fulfillments of\nsupposed Old Testament prophecies.  The first kind has been\nsufficiently examined.  The second can be touched upon only briefly.\nIt has been one of the main contributions of the higher criticism to\npoint out how much of the life of Jesus is built up around passages in\nthe Septuagint or Greek version of the Old Testament.\n\nI do not think that I am going too far when I assert that the presence\nof these tales in the sacred literature of Christianity has done an\nincalculable amount of {129} harm.  They have given a sanction to all\nsorts of superstitious beliefs and have helped to carry over into our\nday an outlook which would otherwise have been more quickly cast off.\nHad it not been for the miracles related in the gospels, there would\nhave been no problem of miracles to discuss.  The idea, itself, would\nhave been outgrown and have died a natural death.  And, in the long\nrun, that is what must take place.  As a saner view of Jesus is taken\nand a better knowledge of the outlook of the time in which he lived is\ngained, the recorded miracles will be explained, not as actual events,\nbut as actual beliefs.\n\nAnother period deserves study in this connection.  When one examines\nthe literature of the Middle Ages, one gains the conviction that\nmiracles formed the staple emotional diet of the people.  They played\nthe part that novels and detective stories do now.  Man is naturally\ndramatic in his interpretation of life, and what can be more thrilling\nthan a miracle?  Constance, the heroine of the _Man of Law's Tale_ in\nChaucer, is rescued from death when in most perilous plight by that\nUnseen Hand which frustrates the plots of the wicked.  Skepticism and\nrealism are slowly acquired habits of mind.  The primary impulse is to\nbelieve.  And, when religious motives and traditions enter to\nstrengthen the sway of this impulse, it is hard to counteract.  When\nlearned theologians enunciate the principle, \"I believe because it is\nabsurd,\" it is not to be wondered at that the mass of the people\nbelieve because they do not see that it is absurd.  For ages, the world\nwas a sort of quicksand, and it has taken far more courage and sheer\nintellectual capacity and moral daring than the mass of the people will\never conceive to build dykes out into {130} the unknown and rescue it\nfor the empire of unswerving law.\n\nBut we must pass from the historical study of miracles to the\nsystematic, or philosophical, aspect of the matter.  The philosophy of\nmiracles breaks up into two parts, the laws of evidence and proof, and\nthe nature of cause.  The first part may be called logical; the second,\nmetaphysical.\n\nTheological miracles involve two elements, the fact and the theory.  It\nis only after the fact has been sufficiently proven that its cause can\ncome into question.  It is absurd to explain facts either by natural\nprocesses or by the will of God until you are certain that these events\n_were_ actual occurrences.  If a child took _Alice in Wonderland_ too\nseriously and asked me to explain \"Why the sea is boiling hot,\" I would\nbe compelled to disappoint its craving for explanation.  Now I am\ncertain that the situation in regard to miracles is not much otherwise.\nWere the alleged facts to be proven beyond reasonable doubt, the need\nfor a genuine explanation would press upon us.  But the history of the\nsubject points in the other direction.\n\nThe logic of evidence concerns itself with the tests applied to\nstatements which purport to be facts.  What reason have we to believe\nin those stories which have been handed down to us from the past, or in\nthe tales of marvelous cures and visions spread abroad in certain\ncircles to-day?  Is it not evident that we must apply to them the same\nstringent tests that the scientist employs?  All the canons of\nevidence, external and internal, must be brought to bear upon them.\nAccounts of cures in connection with the shrines of saints and the\ndescriptions of cases of healing among Christian {131} Scientists\nshould be subjected to rigorous, yet equitable, examination.  The\nnature of the sickness or injury should be diagnosed, and the\nafter-history kept under observation.  And, unless these religious\nbodies wish to incur the suspicion of abetting fraud, they should\nwelcome thorough inquiry.  Until something of this kind is done, the\nevidential value of the accounts is weaker than it must be to reach\nproof.  The more the adduced narratives conflict with the usual course\nof experience, the more does this lack of ventilation weaken their\nevidential worth.  From the standpoint of logic, this attitude is\nincontestable.  Either we must maintain it or we must give up all\nserious attempt to sift testimony.\n\nThe advances made by history and psychology during the nineteenth\ncentury have put us in a far better position to handle the question of\npast marvels than Hume was in.  Yet this more concrete outlook has\nsimply reenforced Hume's method of criticism.  Hume was, perhaps, a\nlittle too generous.  The burden of proof rests upon the believer in\nmarvels, rather than upon the critic, because the regularity of\nexperience has been increasingly established.  Hence, the historical\nevidence must be very strong, stronger than it has turned out to be.\n\nWhen the canons of historical evidence are applied to the accounts of\nmarvelous events, it is surprising how quickly they lose their\nimpressiveness.  Let us take, for example, the astounding series of\nincidents told in Exodus.  Were this book written by Moses, an actual\neye-witness and chief actor on the human side, we would be forced to\nassert that he was self-deceived, or intended to deceive, or that the\nevents actually did {132} happen in some strange sort of way.  But when\nwe discover that the Pentateuch was not written until long after the\nestablishment of the Kingdom, and that it contains various strands of\npopular tradition and priestly construction, we realize that the\nlogical situation is very different.  The eye-witness has disappeared.\nIn other words, we have to deal with legends instead of with history.\nWe are no longer reduced to the dilemma of either calling Moses a liar\nor accepting events which strike us as mythical.  We are not even\ncalled upon to rationalize these legends and to appeal, say, to the\ninfluence of a high wind, long continued, upon some shallow branch of\nthe Red Sea.  Such ingenuity is now seen to be misplaced.\n\nWhen we pass from past to present, we must keep to the same logical\nmethods.  In fact, we must often pass from the present to the past.  It\nwas Lyell, the famous geologist, who established the scientific canon\nthat the same forces that are working to-day must be used to explain\nwhat occurred in other ages.  And this canon was of immense value, for\nit prevented scientists from dreaming of catastrophes and forgetting to\nstudy the detailed working of common forces.  How far faith in Jesus as\na religious healer, a powerful prophet sent by God, led to what are\ncalled faith-cures can be answered only by analogy from the present.\nThe nature and reach of mental cures must be studied with the same care\nthat is given to other fields.  Only lately is this being done.\nPhysicians did not do justice to the nervous system.  Their materialism\nwas too naive, too mechanical.  The individual is an organic whole, and\nthe mind cannot be severed from this whole without falsity.  Put in\nphysiological terms, the nervous system {133} controls the expenditure\nof energy of the organism, and, if it is wasteful, can soon exhaust the\nsupply.  The resistance offered by the organism to disease is, then,\nlikely to vary with the mental and nervous balance of the individual.\nHow effective an abnormal direction of nervous energy toward certain\nparts of the organism may be cannot be told beforehand.  Probably,\nexperimental work with hypnosis and psychoanalysis will throw light\nupon these internal adjustments.  The historian of religious history\nshould keep his eye upon the recent developments of psychiatry.  He\nshould, moreover, learn his psychology from experts and not be\nsatisfied with the jargon of spiritualists.\n\nBut logic alone will never be able to disprove theological miracles.  I\ncannot prove that there are no fairies, although I can show that there\nis no good evidence for belief in their existence.  The rationalist who\nundertakes to _demonstrate_ the impossibility of miracles forgets that\nhis thinking works within a set of postulates and principles which his\nadversary will not accept.  All he can really show is that his\npostulates and principles fit in better with experience than do those\nof his adversary.  The final conflict is that between the primitive\nview of the world and the scientific view.  The best that can be done\nis to stress the logical side and then make the contrast between the\ntwo views of the world as distinct as possible.  Whether an individual\nwill, or will not, believe in religious miracles depends ultimately\nupon the view of the world which grows up in his mind.  And this mental\noutlook is a function of his training and his psychological make-up.\n\nThe theological miracle is more deductive than inductive.  I mean that\nit is a consequence of a dogma {134} rather than an independently given\nfact.  The religious outlook comes first in order and dominates the\nfact.  Just the opposite is the case in science.  There the fact comes\nfirst and the theory afterwards.  As I have written in my _Logic_:\n\"Mere speculation uncontrolled by fact is almost certain to lose touch\nwith reality.  It may lead to the construction of beautiful systems,\nbut these systems, for all their splendor and subtlety, are sure to\nlack value as means of interpreting the world in which we actually\nlive.\"  But is not the theological miracle an instance of just such\nuncontrolled speculation?  An omnipotent God could do anything to, or\nin, his footstool.  Of course he could.  You are only developing the\nimplications of your hypothesis.  The test questions are, first, Is it\nhis nature to want to do these abrupt things? second, Is this\nconception of an omnipotent God the most satisfactory hypothesis?  Does\nit help us to meet the facts and events of human life?  We know how the\nidea arose, and we know that it was based on interpretations of nature\nthat seem to us now essentially illusory.  The rub of the matter is,\nthat it is of no assistance to science and creates hosts of artificial\ndifficulties.  We have been discussing one of these artificial problems\nin the present chapter and shall be engaged in the discussion of others\nin the next two chapters.  A naturalistic metaphysics and ethics is far\neasier to formulate than a theological system free from contradiction.\n\nBut suppose that certain marvels which would not fit into the natural\ncourse of things were established.  How could it be shown that these\npeculiar events were the acts of a supernatural agent?  Strictly\nspeaking, only revelation could accomplish this feat.  But revelation\n{135} is, itself, a miracle which needs accrediting.  And so you are,\nonce more, in a vicious circle.  Revelation might be a well-accredited\nmode of proof if it had an organ of a public character--a voice from\nheaven, for instance.  But such a voice would become a part of nature\nfor us; in other words, its assumption implies another sort of world\nfrom the one we are in.  But, until this organ is established, we have\ngood right to doubt the _ipse dixit_ of self-appointed oracles.\n\nWhen we examine the whole question of miracles inductively and\ndeductively, I think that we must acknowledge that their basis is\nexceedingly weak.  Already, the educated world is in a fair way to\noutgrow them; and this tendency will undoubtedly increase as science\ncontinues to explore the world we live in.\n\nIn conclusion, it seems worth while to call attention to the fact that\nvery few people realize what they are really believing when they accept\nmiracles.  They do not know enough about nature to grasp the real\ncontent of their beliefs; and, until they do, their belief represents\nsimply a point of view which has not been confronted with its\nimplications.  It expresses innocence rather than virtue.  Let us\nglance at a couple of the biblical miracles to show what they involve.\n\nTyndall has brought out, very strikingly, the difference between the\nmiracle supposed to have aided Joshua in his battle with the Amorites,\nas this appeared in the eyes of an Israelite of old, and as it appears\nto a man of science.  For the one the miracle probably consisted in the\nstoppage of a fiery ball less than a yard in diameter, while to the\nother it would be the stoppage of an orb fourteen thousand times the\nearth in size.  \"There is,\" he writes, \"a scientific as well as a\nhistoric {136} imagination; and when, by the exercise of the former,\nthe stoppage of the earth's rotation is clearly realized, the event\nassumes proportions so vast, in comparison with the result to be\nobtained by it, that belief reels under the reflection.  The energy\nhere involved is equal to that of six trillion of horses working for\nthe whole of the time employed by Joshua in the destruction of his\nfoes.\"  If we pass from the great to the small, from the employment of\ntremendous forces to the reconstruction of endless, minute relations,\nthe same divergence between superficial appearance and the reality\nstares us in the face.  Let us consider the raising of Lazarus from the\ndead.  It is a well-known fact that the nervous system begins to\ndisintegrate very quickly after death.  Now research has shown that\nthere are nearly a billion of cells in the brain alone.  Think of the\ndisorganization which would ensue in such a complicated system after a\nperiod of four days.  Those who are acquainted with the delicacy of\norganic compounds can realize the condition of the brain when the body\nwas already beginning to stink.  But the ancients did not even know\nthat the brain was closely connected with consciousness, let alone its\nstructure.  Of the character of the economy of the body, they knew\npractically nothing; they dealt with wholes, not with parts.  How\ndifferent this miracle appears from these two stand-points!  It is the\nsame only in name.  It may be of interest to note that this miracle,\ncharacteristic of John, is very evidently related to illustrate the\nprinciple that Jesus as the Logos is the resurrection and the life.  It\nis a demonstration miracle.\n\nOur answer to the question, Do miracles happen? must be in the\nnegative.  While there is nothing {137} irrational in the idea in\nitself, it does not fit the world as experience presents it.  The\nassertion that God performs miracles, like the similar assertion that\nhe created the world, is purely hypothetical and unverifiable.\n\n\n\n\n{138}\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY\n\nThe hope of immortality is an essential feature of practically all\nmodern religions.  Even those oriental religions which lack its clear\npresence postulate a dim kind of personal continuity.  Buddhism has\nalways been a puzzle to the optimistic Westerner who is in love with\nhimself and does all his thinking in terms of personality and personal\nrelations.  The idea of re-birth in accordance with a rigid moral law\nis alien to his traditions; while the impersonalism of the whole\nprocess leaves him cold.  It is not untrue to the facts to call\nBuddhism an atheistic religion.  Yet it is a religion because it\npostulates the objective efficacy of moral categories.  Freedom from\nthe wheel of re-birth is gained by the Eightfold Path of right beliefs\nand right acts.  Enough of the idea of a soul and enough of the idea of\nimmortality exists even in this religion to make these assumptions\nimportant.  But what have modern science and philosophy to say about\nthese age-old ideas?  Is the soul any longer in favor?\n\nHere, again, an historical approach is worth while, because it gives\nthe proper perspective.  If we can understand why people in the past\ndeveloped and fostered these ideas, we can judge their reasons pretty\nobjectively, even though we realize that we have been strongly affected\nby the beliefs erected upon them.  {139} Destroy the roots of a tree\nand the foliage will wither before long.  Has science dug so sharply\naround the roots of these old beliefs that they are bound to decay?\nThe subject is an extremely interesting one.\n\nA belief in some sort of an after-life is wide-spread.  It is common\nknowledge that the American Indians spoke of a happy hunting-ground in\nthe West, in which the soul of the warrior would rejoice in abundance\nof game.  Other peoples thought of the abode of the dead as in the East\nwhere the sun arises.  Still others taught that it was in the sun or\nthe other heavenly bodies, or underneath the earth in a subterranean\nregion.  We are seldom able to determine the motives which led to these\nvarying locations.\n\nAll sorts of beliefs flourished in the Mediterranean basin a few\ncenturies before our era; but the drift of religious thought was moving\nrapidly toward a passionate acceptance of another life somewhere in the\nheavens.  Immortality was taking on a more vivid coloring and was being\ntransformed from a passive survival to an event of marked religious\nsignificance.  New ethical motives were attaching themselves to an old\ntendency and modifying it almost beyond recognition.  The sentiments\nand rituals built up around the ideas of sin and salvation were\nreflected into the next world and created the vision of a heaven and\nhell.  What a rich field this was for the mythopeic imagination to\nexploit!  And what an interesting sociological fact is it that the\nhuman imagination has always been more fertile in its descriptions of\nhell than in its descriptions of paradise!\n\nBut a few words ought to be said about the earlier conceptions of an\nafter-life.  Both the Greeks and the {140} Hebrews thought of the\nother-world as a joyless reflection of the present.  Death was, to all\nintents, the end of what really counted.  Those who deny that men can\nlive nobly without the hope of immortality forget that men like\nPericles were unaffected by that phantom dream.  Even the great Hebrew\nprophets extolled righteousness without the promise of a reward in the\nnext world.  What men have done, we can surely do again.  The Greek\nfather felt himself a member of a family whose traditions and loyalties\nhe wished to hand on intact.  For himself, he desired only the\ncustomary funeral rites so that his shade might rest in peace.  In the\nhouse of Hades dwell the senseless dead, the phantoms of men outworn.\nThe answer of Achilles to Ulysses, when that wanderer visits him in the\nunderworld, expresses this shadowy after-life admirably: \"Nay, speak\nnot comfortably to me of death, oh great Ulysses.  Rather would I live\non ground as the hireling of another, with a landless man who had no\ngreat livelihood, then bear sway among all the dead that be departed.\"\nThe Homeric Greeks rejoiced in life like youths whom everything\npleases.  The shadowy realm of Hades was felt to be a mockery of the\nsunlit world.  The history of the belief in an after-life among the\nHebrews is very similar.  Yet it is surprising to notice how few remark\nthe paucity of reference to this idea in the Old Testament.  In the\nbook of Isaiah occurs that account of Sheol to which attention was\ncalled in an earlier chapter: \"Sheol from beneath is moved for thee to\nmeet thee at this coming....  All they shall answer and say unto thee,\nArt thou become weak as we?\"  The passage is a tremendous one, full of\nthe most biting irony and vindictive hatred.  This {141} conception of\nSheol evidently scarcely differs from the corresponding one of the\nHomeric Greek.  Toward the Christian era, as a result of the\ninfiltration of the beliefs current among surrounding peoples, the idea\nof a future life took hold of the Jews.  The Pharisees, the popular\nparty of the day, stressed the dogma, while the Sadducees, the\nAristocratic party, denied it.\n\nEarly religion was largely a state affair, for it concerned itself with\nthe safety of the social group; but it was rapidly becoming an\nengrossing concern for the individual.  The religious imagination was\nbusily painting another world and connecting it with the relations of\nthe individual to divine powers.  Given the religious view of the\nworld, what an instrument of appeal and of dread this conception of\nimmortality was!  The shadow and sunshine of another world lay athwart\nthis one.  Endless vistas of pain and pleasure stretched into the\nfuture.  No wonder that the true means of salvation became the burning\nquestion!  From the beginning, Christianity emphasized the fact of\nanother world and its terrific meaning for the soul of man, adopting as\nan inheritance the current views with regard to a Messianic kingdom and\na place of torment.  Paul even goes so far as to proclaim the cynical\nalternative: \"If the dead are not raised, let us eat and drink, for\nto-morrow we die.\"\n\nThe ideas of immortality and salvation were the central features of the\ngreat religious revival which swept over the Roman Empire about the\ntime of the rise of Christianity.  The desire for personal safety in\nthis world and the next moved men.  Fear and hope worked together; fear\nof the terrors awaiting the soul after death, hope of a happy existence\nin some paradise.  {142} That early Christianity owed much of its\nsuccess to its doctrines of final things cannot be denied.  It was a\nperiod of astrology, theosophy, mysticism, cults of saviors,\neschatologies.  Few were able to keep their heads above this tide of\noracular mythology and superstition.  What moorings did they have?\nNone of that tested knowledge of the physical world which we possess,\nand which keeps numbers of people fairly sane to-day in spite of\nthemselves.  When we recall the terror at Salem a few centuries ago, we\nmust admit that these Greeks, and Romans, and Jews, and Syrians did not\nconduct themselves so badly in the demon-ridden world in which they\nlived.  Yet, while it would be unfair to blame those who embraced the\nvarious cults, it would be equally unfair not to give praise to those\nfew enlightened souls who would approve none of these things.\n\nUp to the present, the doctrine of immortality has been an essential\npart of Christianity.  The creeds which have come down to us proclaim\nthe faith that Christ Jesus will appear again to judge the quick and\nthe dead.  To the average man, religion is absolutely committed to such\na belief.  It has gone hand in hand with the idea of retribution and\nreward until the two have grown together.  It is not strange, then,\nthat the suspicion that immortality is not justified by physiological\nand psychological facts is felt to have a grave bearing upon religion.\nTo the vast majority, religion without immortality is like _Hamlet_\nwith Hamlet left out.  Remove the faith in a special providence,\nlikewise, and the edifice around which many religious emotions and\nvalues have entwined themselves is no more than a ruin.\n\nBut the idea of a soul always accompanies the belief {143} in\nimmortality.  The experiences which led to the one notion naturally\nencouraged the other.  If the soul can leave the body, it is obviously\nindependent, in large measure, of the latter's fate.  Let us glance at\nsome of the experiences whose false interpretation is at the foundation\nof a belief in an immortal soul inhabiting the body for a little space.\n\nIt is surprising what an influence was exercised by dreams.  We have so\ncompletely outgrown this uncritical attitude toward them that it takes\nsome effort to realize how natural it was.  For the educated man of\nto-day, dreams are subjective experiences, that is, experiences which\ndo not contain information about what is happening in the external\nworld.  In the jargon of psychology, they are centrally aroused ideas\nplaying about some organic stimulus or some repressed wish.  But the\nsavage knew nothing about such distinctions.  The dead appeared to the\nliving and talked with them.  Patroclus stands before Achilles and\nchides him.  Do not the dead, then, have some sort of life?  Many\npsychological motives combined to convince primitive man of at least a\nshadowy existence after death.  But there was another side to the\ndream-life.  The living went on long journeys, doing strange things,\nwhile their bodies rested in the tent.  Added to these suggestions, so\nnaturally lending themselves to a spiritistic interpretation, were\nstill others.  Certain kinds of sickness are explained by means of the\nidea of possession.  Invisible agents are at work in the world.  What\ncan a trance be if not the temporary absence of just such an agent?\n\"Among the Kayans of Borneo, for example, it is the custom for an\nelderly person learned in such matters to sit beside the corpse, where\nthe soul is {144} supposed to hover for some days after death, and to\nimpart to the latter minute directions for its journey to the land of\nthe dead.\"  We are in the presence, here, of natural illusions, of\nhypotheses which inevitably arose.  Man's first guesses were mistakes.\nThe whole history of science drives this fact home.\n\nThe various opinions men have built up around the idea of a soul are\ninstructive.  How gravely men have written about such hidden things!\nOnly very slowly have they learned to separate an experience from its\ninterpretation, and to seek a wide range of facts before erecting even\nan hypothesis.  To explain by means of _agents_, visible and invisible,\nis the plausible method to which man always resorts first.  It is only\nwhen he becomes more sophisticated that he thinks in terms of\n_processes_.  The following examples of divergent opinion upon the\nsoul, gathered by an able French author, show the vagueness of the idea:\n\nOrigen, the Alexandrian theologian: \"The soul is material and has a\ndefinite shape.\"\n\nSt. Augustine: \"The soul is incorporeal and immortal.\"\n\nA Polynesian: \"The soul is a breath, and when I saw that I was on the\npoint of expiring, I pinched my nose in order to retain my soul in my\nbody.  But I did not grasp it tightly enough--and I am dead.\"\n\nAlbertus Magnus: \"There are thirty arguments against the immortality of\nthe soul and thirty-six for, which is a majority of six arguments in\nfavor of the affirmative.\"\n\nRabbi Maimonides: \"It is written: 'The wicked will be destroyed and\nthere will not rest anything of him.'\"\n\n{145}\n\nEcclesiastes: \"Men die as the beasts and their fate is the same.  They\nhave all one breath.\"\n\nThe soul was at first conceived in very material ways.  The idealistic\nmovement in Greek philosophy is responsible for the concept of an\n_immaterial substance_.  \"Under the influence of mystical, religious\nmotives the soul becomes more and more non-spatial and intangible.  The\nwords used are negative and abstract.  It is generally supposed that\nPlotinus was the first to describe the soul as an immaterial substance.\nBut this immaterial substance must somehow be brought into relation\nwith the physical body.\"  It was this situation which gave rise to the\nsoul-body problem in philosophy, a problem which has gradually changed\ninto the mind-body problem.  This transformation of the puzzle is\nsignificant.  The very terms have changed and have become more concrete\nand empirical.  A quotation from William James--a man who had no bias\nagainst theology--will bring out the essential reasons for this\nsignificant change of terms: \"Yet it is not for idle or fantastical\nreasons that the notion of the substantial soul, so freely used by\ncommon men and the more popular philosophies, has fallen upon such evil\ndays, and has no prestige in the eyes of critical thinkers.  It only\nshares the fate of other unrepresentable substances and principles.\nThey are without exception all so barren that to sincere inquirers they\nappear as little more than names masquerading.\"\n\nI am inclined to believe that, to most people, to-day, the soul means\nno more than the personality, and the conviction that this cannot be\nreduced to the body.  It stands for consciousness and character as\nsomehow rooted in something permanent.  Plato's idea of the {146} soul\nas a simple, indestructible substance awakens hardly an echo in their\nminds--and why should it?  Something which guarantees and makes\npossible the continued existence of their conscious self after the\ndeath of the body is the association which is uppermost.  Educated\npeople, at least, have outgrown the ghost-soul of primitive times and\nhave put their hope in the inability of the philosophic scientist to\nexplain life and consciousness without appeal to agencies which are\ninexplicable on naturalistic terms.  But it is obvious that such a\nbasis is overhung by an ever-threatening danger.  If the mind-body\nproblem were solved in a concrete, empirical way, what then?\n\nIt has been customary to examine the question of immortality from three\nangles which may be called, respectively, the empirical, the ethical\nand the philosophical.  The more recent drift of philosophy toward\nrealism has tended to bring the first and the third methods of approach\ncloser together.  It has increasingly been felt that philosophy\ncooperates with the special sciences and is inseparable from them.  The\nethical argument in favor of immortality is oftener found in poetry\nthan in serious books on ethics.  It cannot be said to have sufficient\nforce to swing the balance established by science and a realistic\nphilosophy in touch with science.\n\nThe empirical status of immortality can best be brought out by a glance\nat the facts of abnormal psychology.  In olden days, as we have seen,\ninsanity was explained as the disturbing effect of a demon.  To-day,\nexperiment and careful observation have proven that it is due to a\nfunctional disorder of the brain.  That, whenever there is a disorder\nof the mind, there {147} is some corresponding anatomical or\nphysiological flaw in the brain has become a commonplace of modern\nmedicine and psychology.  In fact, insanity is defined as a \"symptom of\ndisease of the brain inducing disordered mental symptoms.\"  A multitude\nof experiences point to the very intimate connection between the brain\nand consciousness.  Careful observation of clinical cases has, for\nexample, shown that a lesion in the visual center of the brain, that\nis, the part of the brain to which the fibers of the optic nerve run,\ninduces the disappearance of both sight and visual imagery.  Psychology\nand physiology have been busily engaged in discovering these\ncorrelations.  So extended are they that the suggestion that\nconsciousness is inseparable from the brain forces itself home ever\nmore obstinately.  Mental capacity runs parallel with the finer\ndevelopment of the brain.  Is not, therefore, the very meaning of\nmental capacity connected with the needs and activities of the\norganism?  But the case is still stronger when we note what happens to\nan individual when something goes wrong with the brain.  Can this poor\nlunatic, who has dropped from the high level of educated manhood to a\ncondition more helpless than that of an animal, just because of a\nrelatively slight disintegration of the cortex, be expected to recover\nhis intellect by means of its total disintegration?  Can it be denied\nthat the burden of proof rests on those who assert immortality?\n\nThe so-called ethical argument for immortality is associated with the\nname of Immanuel Kant.  Kant's philosophy was agnostic, and it was this\nagnosticism which made his use of the ethical argument possible.  If\nyou can't make any assured theoretical statement {148} about the nature\nof the self, you can allow demands, which you regard as ethical and\nprimary, to dictate your ultimate beliefs.  It cannot be denied that\nKant's argument savors of the popular notion that the virtuous must be\nrewarded.  At its highest, the ethical argument signifies a demand for\na future life in order to carry out that development of character which\nthe brief span of earthly life is not equal to.  It is this argument\nwhich runs through Browning.  What shall we say of it?\n\nThere are both factual and theoretical objections to the ethical\nargument for immortality.  The more we know about habit, the more we\nrealize that character is pretty well \"set\" by middle life.  The\ncreative period of human life ends all too soon.  Character is not an\nabstract possession separable from human tasks and needs.  It is not\nlike a work of art which can be polished and re-polished.  But, when\nall is said and done, ethics must abide by the facts of the case.  Take\ncharacter abstractly enough and apart from its human and organic\nsetting, and the dream of continuous perfecting may have meaning; but\nso would the dream of continuous intellectual advance.  Yet the scholar\nknows all too well the judgment passed by the coming generation upon\nthe older one: \"They can't adjust themselves to this new point of\nview.\"  Would progress come if the generations did not pass?\n\nThe philosophical aspect of the question can be touched upon only\nbriefly and in an untechnical way.  The basic problem may be put in\nthis way: Can human personality be included in nature in a\ntheoretically satisfactory way?  It has been customary to stress the\ndifficulties which confront such an attempt {149} and to be silent in\nregard to the problems which the separation of body and personality has\nalways found facing it.  Yet I think that few philosophers would deny\nthat it is the very irrationality of the traditional dualism which\nmakes a living monism of mind and body so desirable and so urgently\nsought after.\n\nThere is good reason to believe that the persistence of the mind-body\npuzzle has been due to two conditions, the lack of an adequate theory\nof knowledge, and an ultra-mechanical, or non-evolutionary, view of the\nphysical world.  Scientists and philosophers, alike, were possessed by\nan inertia which prevented them from taking the principle of evolution\nseriously.  They refused to readjust their ideas so as to admit that\norganization of a high grade, such as characterizes the nervous system,\nhas a synthetic way of acting of its own, not reducible to the mere\nchain-like action of externally related units.  There are many signs\npointing to the conclusion that a broader and more flexible naturalism\nis forming which will sweep away the artificial problems and\nstereotyped contrasts which have stood in the way of a candid inclusion\nof human thought and activity within nature.  When that day comes, the\nhesitations which have encouraged the faith in immortality in the face\nof empirical difficulties of an ever-increasing weight will pass away.\nI am inclined to prophesy that psychology and physiology will reach an\nadjustment of their principles before many years have passed, and that\nconsciousness and mind will take their places along with mass and\nenergy in the scientific view of nature.  The old dualism of soul and\nbody will pass away and give place to a flexible naturalism.\n\nThe belief in immortality and the wish for it will die {150} out very\nslowly.  The vague appetite for another life will persist as an\nundercurrent of half-understood desire for a good whose nature has not\nbeen clearly thought out.  What men really want is an eternal youth in\nan environment which gives opportunity for self-expression and pleasant\ncompanionship.  It means rest to the weary, new horizons to those who\nwish to achieve, a release from fetters to those who have felt\nthemselves oppressed.  What a quiet charm there is in such an\nuncritical play of the fancy!  But is it anything more than\ndaydreaming?  Can our musings become definite without revealing\nthemselves as fancies?  Alas! our souls are old and written upon, and\nwe would no longer be the same were these marks removed.  They have a\nmeaning for us and we cannot wish them away.  If, for a forgetful\nmoment, we envy the smooth cheeks of a youth, the envy is but\nmomentary.  What we desire is his abundant energy and hopefulness with\nour own humorous and wiser self in command.  How completely we are\nparts of life as it is lived upon this planet!  Desires, affections,\npassions, ideas, habits, all, when analyzed, point to the human\norganism and its environment.  Our personality is like a plant which\ndraws its nourishment from what surrounds it.  Remove the old peasant\nfrom his fields and plow-fellows, and he will lose interest in life.\nRemove the business man from the mart and counter, and he will become\nrestless.  How can we expect to revive a zest in life by cutting the\ngrown personality loose from what it has fed upon?  It is\npsychologically absurd and betrays that tendency to abstract thinking\nwhich is so widespread.  The human personality is a function of this\nsub-lunar life, of this organism, of this sky, of this {151} soil, of\nthis restless struggle with nature.  Immortality is an impossible\nsurgery.\n\nAt certain stages of social development, false beliefs are simply\ninevitable.  For example, the Ptolemaic view of the solar system was\nbound to precede the Copernican.  And false beliefs do both good and\nharm before they are outgrown.  How many of the down-trodden have\nlooked to another world to right their wrongs!  It gave them hope: but\nit made them passive and all too meek.  Has not the idea of another\nlife encouraged a false perspective in regard to this one?  I cannot\nfeel that the belief was ever a very healthy one for the human race.\nYet, during the coming period of transition, many who have been trained\nto hold false expectations will experience grievous pain.  People who\nbecome used to a narcotic recoil from the idea of giving it up.  Their\nnervous system has been taught to depend upon it.  Is there not\nsomething parallel to this in ethics?  Religious romanticism is a\nspiritual narcotic which substitutes a dream world for the more humdrum\nworld of every-day existence.  It develops a taste for the meretricious\nand sentimental.  In revenge, the enthusiast fails to achieve insight\ninto the significance of common things.  Life's real tragedies and\ntriumphs are veiled from his untrained eye.  Only a whole-hearted, even\njoyous, immersion in the sea of struggling human life gives the\nimagination that iron vigor it needs.  The greatest saints have talked\nthe least of heaven.\n\n      \"Born into life!--who lists\n      May what is false hold dear,\n      And for himself make mists\n      Through which to see less clear;\n  The world is what it is, for all our dust and din.\n\n{152}\n\n      \"Is it so small a thing\n      To have enjoy'd the sun,\n      To have lived light in the spring,\n      To have loved, to have thought, to have done;\n  To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes--\"\n\n\nLet those who can meet life bravely and joyously.  The stage has been\nplanned by no master artist, and the actors are only amateurs compelled\nto improvise their parts; but the sunlight is sometimes golden and the\nspoken lines often surprise us with their beauty.  What critic can pass\nassured judgment upon this continuous play?\n\n\n\n\n{153}\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE PROBLEM OF EVIL\n\nIt is noteworthy that there has never been a problem of good, but\nalways a problem of evil.  Man takes the good in his life for granted,\nwhile he bewails the presence of evil in all its forms.  The Greeks had\nthe myth of Pandora's box to account for the sorrows and ills which\nafflict the human race; the Hebrews told of the Fall of man from his\noriginal state of bliss to a life of toil and sin through the weakness\nof our first parents and the wiles of the Serpent; the Scandinavians\nsang of Loki, the Spirit of Deception, whose artful malice led to the\ndeath of Balder, the Beautiful.  And Christianity has been accustomed\nto connect evil with a personal devil \"who rushes about like a roaring\nlion seeking whom he may devour.\"  At his door, popular thought has\nlain those temptations and backslidings that bewilder poor humanity.\nEven the more physical evils, such as famine, sickness and bodily\ninjury, have been ascribed to his agency.\n\nIs it necessary to say that primitive man thought of all evils as due\nto mysterious potencies which surrounded him on every hand?  His ritual\nof purification corresponds to the signs which now surround electrical\nmachinery.  Irrational as many of these taboos were, they yet implied\nthat the actual world was a strange mixture of favorable and\nunfavorable potencies to {154} which man had to adapt himself.  \"To the\nprimitive mind nothing was more uncanny than blood, and there are\npeople still who faint at the sight of it: for 'the blood is the life,'\nlife and death are the great primeval mysteries, and all the physical\nsubstances that are associated with the inner principle of either\npartake of this mysteriousness.\"  This early idea of a miasmic\ncontagion slowly unites itself with the belief in demons, as animistic\nreligion evolves.  Bad demons work havoc, while favorable spirits bring\nblessings to the needy worshiper.\n\nBut, as religion developed a more distinctly ethical and personal\ncharacter, the existence of evil in the world became a problem.  In the\nearly days, it was not so much a problem as a fact.  But a Jew who\nbelieved that Yahweh controlled everything that occurred in the Kingdom\nhad to account for personal and social disasters in a rational way.\nWhat was more natural than the hypothesis that those whom disasters\novertook had been guilty of some secret wrong?  And it was this point\nof view which was adopted.  The Book of Job represents the puzzled\nreflection of a late period over the difficulty of squaring the\nhypothesis with the facts.  And, so far as I can see, the puzzle is\nhandled as well as it could be within the accepted setting.  The whole\ntreatment is deductive rather than inductive.  Assume an omnipotent,\nomniscient and ethically perfect deity, and it follows that, when facts\ndo not square with your sense of justice, you must either suspect the\nindividual of secret sins or proclaim that God's ways are past finding\nout.  In other words, the search for a theodicy leads to agnosticism.\nSince you don't really know anything about the world, one hypothesis is\nas good as {155} another.  But agnosticism is a cheap way of\nestablishing a position, and is likely to suggest to the reflective\nthat the whole setting of theodicy is at fault.  If the religious view\nof the world leads to this _impasse_, may it not be better to take a\nmore inductive way of approach to what we call evil?  May not reality\nbe of such a character that evil is as natural as good?\n\nWhen we glance a little more closely at the Christian tradition, we\nfind that the popular answer to the problem of evil is by no means\nunambiguous.  To explain the existence of evil by the agency of the\ndevil (Satan, Ahriman) is a straightforward answer, quite in accordance\nwith the appeal to personal agency so characteristic of religion, but\nit does not harmonize with the ethical monotheism which Christianity\ninherited.  The query will not down, Why does this omnipotent and\nethically perfect deity permit such a being to exist to work havoc\namongst his children?  Even upon a casual examination, it becomes\nevident that there are many strands of tradition and doctrine in\nChristianity.  There is the classic monotheism of the prophets, and the\nmore polytheistic tendencies of later times, a contrast parallel to the\nsanity of classic Greece as compared with the flabbiness of Hellenistic\ntimes.\n\nIn the New Testament, itself, there are many evidences of the\nacceptance of a dualistic view of the world.  Satan is the Prince of\nthis World.  We have already pointed out that the writers of the\ngospels think of Jesus as casting out demons which have infested the\nbodies of men and women and made them sick.  Yet, strange to say, we\nare told that not a sparrow falls to the ground without God's consent.\n\nThis dualistic strand of thinking dominated during {156} the Middle\nAges.  The world is given over to the devil for him to work his will\nupon it.  Here we have both a cause and an effect of the pessimism of\nthe times.  For the early Christians, society was corrupt and filled\nwith abominations; the only sure way to achieve salvation was to flee\nfrom its lure to deserts and monasteries, there to purge the soul of\nfleshly desires.  No one has painted the situation more keenly and\nunflinchingly than Anatole France in _Thais_.  Humanity was sick.  A\nstrong wave of asceticism spread from the East to the West and carried\nwith it doctrines based on the metaphysical extension of the contrast\nbetween light and darkness, good and evil.  Matter is evil in its very\nnature and leagues itself with those instincts in the soul which come\nfrom its contamination with flesh.  The taint of original sin is\ndeepened by the grossness of the material out of which man's earthly\ntabernacle is made.  The body with its passions plays double traitor to\nthe soul.  Only by prayer, purification, fasting, and the grace of God\ncan the son of corruption save his soul alive for the heavenly kingdom\namong the stars.\n\nThe number of mythical elements woven into this ascetic dualism is\nstriking.  Woman was the temptress most to be feared; the daughters of\nEve were considered the most powerful instruments Satan had at his\ncommand.  It was even debated whether she had a soul.  It was even\nwhispered that a woman guarded the gates of Hell.  Again, Satan was\npictured as a demon leading the unwary astray by the desires of this\nworld.  Ethics was an affair of external fighting for the souls of men.\nThe whole setting was mythical and supernaturalistic and full of\npicture-thinking.\n\n{157}\n\nWe have already referred to the doctrine of original sin.  This\ndoctrine was taken up by St. Augustine who had been a Manichean.\nPauline theology, Augustinianism, and Manicheism have much in common.\nThey are all instances of what may be called mythological metaphysics.\nThe dogma is, that, left to his own devices, man tends to take the path\nof sin.  He is, moreover, alienated from God, who, because of his\nperfection, cannot condone imperfection and demands an atonement which\ncannot be made by man himself.  Hence, the need arises for a savior to\nmediate between man and God.  What a construction is this in which\nmyth, rabbinical theology and pagan dualistic cosmologies are drawn\ntogether to furnish the setting for a juridical drama!  How can those\nwho accept the teaching of modern science and realize the more\nsubjective and personal spirit of modern ethics conserve any portion of\nthis strange creation of past ages?  The idea of evolution, as applied\nto both nature and man, undermines the whole fantastic drama.  Man has\narisen painfully from a brutish condition, instead of falling from a\nperfect state.  The contrast between flesh and spirit can no longer be\ntaken literally as corresponding to a sort of physical division of the\nuniverse into spheres of good and evil which can have no commerce with\none another.  This is ethical poetry which is not sufficiently aware\nthat it is poetry.  Instead of seeking to re-interpret the belief in an\nexternal, sacrificial savior, mediating between God and man in vague,\nmystically symbolic language which suggests a depth it does not\npossess, the sensible thing is to drop the whole outlook frankly, as\noutgrown, and as having essentially lost its meaning.  We saw that\nJesus, himself, would probably {158} not have comprehended its\nintricacies, and certainly would not have accepted it as true of his\nown mission.  Instead, it represents the theosophic speculations of the\nAncient World.  So long as the thinker toys with these imaginative\nspeculations which have no direct foundation in the knowledge and\nexperience of to-day, so long will he live in a mental fog unable to\nsee the really pressing social and ethical problems of the present.\n\nWhen we once shake ourselves loose from these mythical, gnostic and\nrabbinical ideas, with their legal and poetical conceptions of ethics,\nand their naive picture of the world as the seat of ethical forces\nstruggling in a physical way against one another; when we once realize\nthat it is meaningless to apply ethical distinctions to matter, we are\nled to press past these Hellenistic accretions to the simpler and\nnobler traditions which Christianity inherited from Jesus and the\ngreater Hebrew prophets.  Here, if anywhere, religion is in a position\nto solve the problem of evil.  There are passages in the New Testament\nwhich breathe the same faith as that held by Deutero-Isaiah, a sort of\nsublime religious optimism or will to believe.  For the Hebrew prophet\nof the exile, God is the creator and righteous ruler of the earth.  \"I\nam the Lord and there is none else.  I form the light and create\ndarkness; I make peace and _create evil_; I am the Lord that doeth all\nthese things.\"  Such is monotheism of the creationalistic type in all\nits vigor and challenging fervor.  Yet the prophet speaks and thinks in\nterms of world-movements and the fate of nations, and his thoughts\nscarcely drop from this vast setting to consider the fates of\nindividuals.  We should note further the absence of the poly-demonism\n{159} of later Judaism and the evident impatience with the ancient\nmyths and the belief in a Satan or Spirit of Evil.  Had Christianity\ntaken its departure from this high altitude, it would have been more\ntruly monotheistic, but it would not have been the child of its age,\nand would not have been assimilated by the Mediterranean peoples.  Let\nus examine the implications of this bolder and simpler faith.\n\nThere can be little doubt that the position adopted by the second\nIsaiah is the logical terminus of monotheism.  If God be omnipotent, he\nmust be responsible for all the evil in the world as well as for the\ngood.  In other words, this must be the best of all possible worlds.\nHe who is a king, and not a marionette, cannot beg off from the duties\nof his station.  To introduce Sin as a sort of hellish entity, as did\nSaint Augustine, is to mar our conception of deity.  We no longer have\nthat old Roman's courtier-like sycophancy, nor his nonchalance when\nothers are condemned by divine caprice to the eternal flames.  What was\nto him a means of manifesting God's greater glory is to us a crime\nwhich would sully our ideal of goodness.  The educated world of to-day\nhas at least come up to the level of the peasant-poet's indictment of\nthe Calvinism of two centuries ago.\n\nChristianity is on the horns of a terrible dilemma.  It has long\nwavered between the bold attitude of Isaiah, softened by such devices\nas apologetic ingenuity could invent, and the mythological dualism\ncurrent at the time of its birth.  God must be totally responsible for\nall physical evils, at least; or else he must be thwarted by something\nindependent of himself, whether this be an evil spirit or matter.  Now\nscholars have pointed out that the idea of a prolonged conflict between\na {160} good and an evil power was characteristic of the Persian\nreligion, and that this view tinged later Judaism and passed over into\nChristianity.  Here it was met and reenforced by Neo-Platonism in the\nform usually called Gnosticism and Manicheism.  At present, the tide\nhas turned in favor of monotheism and against the coexistence of an\nevil power.  We are inclined to smile at a personal devil, perhaps\nbecause superstition has made him humorous, perhaps because we know\nbetter the seat and cause of what we call evil.  Science has helped to\ndo away with the devil; but, in so doing, has it not also undermined\nthe idea of Providence?  Must not the same arrow transfix an effective\nGod that does away with an effective Devil?\n\nThe God of the past was a realistic God; he counted for everything in\nthe governance of the universe.  The God of modern theology is fast\nbecoming an ideal of personality.  When God is thought of as a\ntender-hearted and perfect gentleman, the question of evil takes the\nfollowing form: Can we harmonize this conception with the facts of\nlife?  _Is God an agent or an ideal_?  We must bear in mind the fact\nthat God is an hypothesis characteristic of the religious view of the\nworld, and that, like every other hypothesis, it should help to explain\nthe facts to which it is relevant.  But does it do this?  Is it\nfruitful?\n\nI am free to confess that theodicies of all sorts strike me as proofs\nof the inapplicability of the religious view of the world.  Yet immense\ndialectical ability has been displayed in the tireless search for some\nsatisfactory theory of God's relation to the universe.  A glance at\nthese theories reveals the working of the time-spirit.  When man is\nharsh, his god is harsh and cruel.  When {161} man is tender, his god\nis benevolent.  And this correspondence does not complete the story.\nIn past ages, the political organization was autocratic and unyielding.\nThe subjects of the monarch did not dream of questioning the justice of\nhis rule.  It was not right for common men to think of such matters; it\nwas out of their sphere of control and understanding.  Besides, is not\nmight the sanction of right?  During these monarchial periods, God was\nthought of as a heavenly king whose power and glory and dominion was\nwithout end.  This correspondence between the political organization\nand the theological picture betrays the sociological side of theology.\nAll of man's ideas are human ideas, and so his idea of his God and the\nvery personality and moral outlook of that God reflect the social\nstandards which are in force around the individual.  If human justice\nis cruel, God's justice is strict and unyielding.  What could be more\nnatural than this parallelism?  But as punitive justice yields to ideas\nof mercy and sympathy, a change comes over man's conception of this\nheavenly replica of his own sentiments and institutions.  Irrational\npunishment with its brutal terrors gives way to thoughts of\nlovingkindness.\n\nBut it is this very evolution of human morality which brings out the\nproblem of evil in all its distinctness.  Yahweh could command whole\ntribes to be slaughtered, and no one felt the least religious\ndiscomfort.  But the man of to-day, when he allows himself to think,\nrevolts against such heartlessness.  God must be at least as merciful\nas man--and man would not do these things.  Yet our experience tells us\nthat pain and disaster are everywhere rampant in the world.  How is it\nthat an omnipotent and noble God permits these {162} things to be?  The\nline of reasoning which leads to the demand for a theodicy is simple\nand direct.  God is a moral agent who has this peculiarity, that he can\ndo what he wills and is therefore responsible for all that happens.\nBut tragic things happen.  Why did he permit them?\n\nThe various formulations of God's relation to the world turn about this\nproblem.  The inherent possibilities are few in number and are soon\ngrasped and developed.  If God is a limited deity, then evil can be\nassigned to something else.  If God is unlimited, then whatever is, is\nsomehow right.  Let us glance at typical developments of these two main\nlines of approach.\n\nMr. H. G. Wells has recently startled the general public by his\nadvocacy of a struggling deity.  It is not in accordance with Christian\ntradition, he admits, but it is truer to the facts as we know them.\nBut he might well have told the public that this view of his was not a\nnew one.  Long before the Christian era, the Zoroastrian Persians held\njust such a theory of a struggling deity combating the evil\nmachinations of Ahriman.  The faithful were exhorted to do all in their\npower to assist Ahura Mazda in his stern fight with darkness and\ncontamination.  This dualistic view found its way West and appears in\nManicheism.  It may not be well known, but it was this Manichean\nconception of the world that Saint Augustine gave up at his conversion\nto Christianity.  Again and again, it found its way to the surface of\nWestern society.  Who has not heard of the Cathars or Albigenses of the\nMiddle Ages?  These people were believers in a struggling deity engaged\nwith the powers of evil.  Some of them identified the Jehovah of the\nOld Testament with this cruel {163} and malignant spirit.  In so doing,\nthey showed an absence of all historical perspective, but, also, a keen\nethical judgment.  This tribal god of the early Jews did not harmonize\nwith their ideals of goodness and mercy.  While theirs was a darker and\nmore superstitious outlook than an educated man of to-day would adopt,\nthe logical basis of the system is essentially the same as the one\nwhich seems to be rising to the surface in our own times as a revolt\nagainst the smugness of traditional Christianity.  The atmosphere of\nreligion was more somber in the past; and these Cathars would have been\nshocked by the fine, careless rapture of the modern novelist; but they\nwould have recognized that his view was akin to their own.\n\nIt may not be amiss to mention the fact that John Stuart Mill, the\nfamous English philosopher of the middle of the nineteenth century,\nsuggested that it would be truer to the experience of human beings to\nassume a God limited in power, though perfect in other respects.  It is\nimpossible, he thought, to harmonize the attributes of omnipotence and\ngoodness in a divine agent, with the world as it is.  This protest\nagainst the high, deductive faith of Christian monotheism was due to\nMill's frank empiricism.  Life must speak for itself, he held; it must\njustify hypotheses by their agreement with it.  The traditional\nChristian method has been too dictatorial and too little inductive.  It\nhas started from a set of dogmas in regard to God and spun out their\nconsequences, refusing to qualify these dogmas when the consequences\ndid not fit the tragic character of life.\n\nThe treatment of the second logical possibility is familiar ground.\nChristian ethical monotheism followed {164} Hebrew religious thought in\nits essentials.  God is held to be an omnipotent agent who is also\nmorally perfect.  Theology knows two forms of this dogma, the\nCalvinistic or Augustinian, and the Arminian.  Calvinism stands flatly\non the thesis that God is just and that, therefore, what is done is\njust.  Within this setting with its easy appeal to ignorance, it makes\nlittle difference whether events are right because God does them or\nwhether God does them because they are right.  Arminianism turns out,\nwhen examined, to be largely an attempt to soften the absolutism of\nCalvinism along certain lines.  But these endless and, in the main,\nsterile theological controversies reveal the artificiality of the\ndogmas within which they are carried on.  They are, when all is said,\nonly ingenious modifications and redressings of the primary assumptions\nof the religious view of the world.  I challenge any one to develop a\nreally tenable system of theology, a system which is self-consistent\nand relevant to the world as we know it.  I am certain that it cannot\nbe done.  As a student of ethics, my growing conviction has for some\ntime been that these traditional controversies and modes of approach to\nhuman life are barren and irrelevant, because they cast absolutely no\nlight upon human problems, social or personal.  Modern ethics and\ntheology have ceased to have any genuine commerce.  The one is in touch\nwith the sciences of biology, sociology, psychology and criminology;\nthe other, by its very nature, can gain nothing from these sciences.\nEthics is concrete and inductive.  Theology is abstract and deductive.\n\nI have not tried to state and criticize the numerous theodicies which\nman's restless intellect has constructed.  Mystics have taught that\nevil is an {165} illusion.  But illusions have a way of being very\nreal; and a derogatory term does not alter facts.  Idealists have\ndeclared that what we call evil only increases the divine harmony, as a\njudicious discord heightens the effect of symphonic combinations.  But\nthis aesthetic argument conflicts with moral relations.  Surely God\nwould not be so self-centered.  Thus there are weighty objections to\nall the ingenious and profound apologies for the course of events.  But\nwhy are such apologies felt to be necessary?  Simply and solely because\nevents are assumed to be under the control of an intelligent, moral\nagent.  Withdraw this assumption, and the problem vanishes.\n\nWhen we turn from the religious view of the world to the scientific and\nphilosophical, we are immediately impressed by the different\nperspective.  What were theoretical problems of the most absolute and\ninescapable kind cease to exist.  While the religious view of the world\nculminates in an attempted justification of the ways of God to man, the\nscientific studies the system of things as a given whole to which all\nquestions of justification are irrelevant.  The world is as it is, and\nthe category of responsibility is inapplicable.  Evil becomes a\npractical and relative problem.  There is no thought of trying to fix\nresponsibility upon some personal agent who could have done otherwise\nand did not.  Man is a part of nature, although a self-directive\norganism adapted more or less adequately to his environment.  And just\nbecause he is an organism, he must maintain himself in the face of\nattacks and fluctuating changes.  He is not able to claim exemption\nfrom the consequences of cataclysms, such as earthquakes and tornadoes,\nwhich result from the unstable balance of physical {166} energies.  He\nperishes in the same way that beasts and plants do, when his\nintelligence is not able to find a way of escape from a sudden danger.\nIn other words, physical evil is evil only because it hurts man, who\ndoes not want to be hurt.  From the objective standpoint, evil and good\ndiffer not a jot from one another.  They are both causal events\nbaptised by man in accordance with his sympathies and antipathies.\nEvents are good to him or bad to him; in themselves, they are neither\ngood nor bad.  Rain does not fall in summer in order to nourish the\nplants; instead, the plants are nourished and continue to exist because\nthe rain falls.  Once, it was hard for man to admit this impersonalism.\nHe wanted to find an objective purpose focusing upon his career.  But\nhe is at last beginning to realize that his will to live and create is\nthe source of all values.  Nature is a thing to be used for his own\ndesired ends.\n\nThere are no problems harder than false problems.  The great\nachievement is to see that they are false because they flow from a\nfalse assumption.  Remove this assumption, and the problem which\ntortured the greatest thinkers vanishes into thin air.  The problem of\nevil becomes the problem of lessening evil by conquering nature and\nrendering her subservient to man.  It is a problem of engineering, of\napplied chemistry, of preventive medicine, of social planning.  Man\nmust become the master of his destiny through the instrumentality of\nhis intelligence.  But what a different setting this presents from the\none in which primitive man existed!  Then man was needy and fearful and\nignorant and helpless.  Now he is wealthy, ingenious, sure of himself.\nIt is coming to be that man is less hurt by {167} physical agencies\nthan by himself.  He has freed himself from his environment; he must\nnow free himself from his own passions and hatreds.  He must love\nrighteousness and peace, and flee from dissension and all forms of\ninjustice.  The problem of evil has become a social problem.  It is the\ntask of amelioration by intelligent control.\n\nBut science, alone, will never be sufficient to meet the fact of evil.\nThe most optimistic believer in the possibilities of intelligent\nplanning and control does not deny that tragedies of all sorts will\nstill be only too common.  Let us hope that there will be less of\ntuberculosis, less of grinding poverty, less of avoidable accidents.\nBut will there be less of secret disappointment with life, less of\nwounded affection?  More will live happy and noble lives in the\nhealthier society which is within our power than was possible in the\npast; but there will be mal-adjustments of various kinds.  Individuals\nwill seek to control the lives of others, and this control will be\nresented; friends will fall out over fancied or real wrongs; lovers\nwill quarrel; misunderstandings will arise.  None of Shakespeare's\ngreat tragedies turn about sickness and natural calamities.  The\nmotives are social and personal in character, the quarrels of rival\nhouses, the senile pride of an old man, the ambition of princes, the\nadulterous love which leads to murder.  Men will need strength of\nspirit and broad sympathy to meet the situations which confront them.\nAnd many will fail hopelessly in the struggle, in the future as they\nhave in the past.  But, on the other hand, the rank and file will lead\nvigorous, active lives with a fair measure of those rewards of success\nand companionship which {168} sweeten endeavor.  What more is there to\nsay?  Life is a hazard, and men must take their risk bravely.  Courage\non the part of the actor will do much; sympathy on the part of those\nnear him will also do much; but risk there will be always.\n\n\n\n\n{169}\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nRELIGION AND ETHICS\n\nWhat was the exact relation between religion and morality in the past?\nDoes morality any longer need the sanctions and supernatural setting\nwhich helped to support it in other days?  These are questions of\nprimary importance whose discussion should throw light upon both\nreligion and human morality.  Have human values become self-supporting\nand self-justifying?  Do the decencies of life find sufficient ground\nin human nature for their continuance and increase?  Or is the rescuing\nhand of a supernatural grace necessary to prevent deterioration?  Such\nquestions are peculiarly proper to-day when ethics is seeking to build\nitself upon a broad study of human instincts.  Let us try to penetrate\nbelow the surface of the traditional contrasts between flesh and\nspirit--contrasts which hindered rather than furthered clear\nanalysis--and note the actual basis of the spiritual life in man.  In\norder to do so, we must read human nature as it manifests itself in\norganized society, sanely and calmly, expecting neither too much nor\ntoo little, and not being intimidated by the assertions of men who have\nbuilt their lives around the traditional theological outlook.  Those\nwho have learned to lean upon a crutch or who have cast their spiritual\nexperiences in a certain mold naturally feel at a loss when this is\nthreatened.  This is to put it too {170} mildly, perhaps, for the\n_odium theologicum_ has a reputation which cannot be all unearned.\nYet, comprehensible as the protest of the conservative is, it must be\nviewed in the light of the psychological habits which it expresses.  It\nmay well be that new times and new points of view will bring new habits\nand new molds for spiritual experience.  It may well be that the\ntraditional religious sanctions will gradually lose their meaning in\nthe new generation, born into a more social, humane and scientific\natmosphere.  Let us see what indications there are for this prediction.\n\nIn early times, religion was mainly a community affair.  The tribe or\nstate had its gods who protected it against its enemies in return for\nhomage and sacrifice.  The tribal god was inseparable from his\nworshipers.  A god without a nation was almost as badly off as a nation\nwithout a divine protector.  As members of the community, the\nindividuals, separately and collectively, were required to perform\nestablished ceremonies which were pleasing in the eyes of the gods, and\nto refrain from acting in ways displeasing to them.  Gods and men\nformed, as it were, one society; and so customs and rituals always\nreceived the fearful sanctions of these divine powers.  How naturally\nthis outlook developed can readily be understood.  And there can be\nlittle doubt that the double sanction of social group and divine\nwitnesses was of advantage in those early days when man was more\nimpulsive and less rational than he is to-day.  A crime was, at one and\nthe same time, a crime and a sin or act of impiety; and so close was\nthought to be the responsible connection of the individual and the\ngroup that the tribe was held to be in danger because of the deeds of\nits members.  {171} The gods were living agents quick to anger and\nready to punish in the direst ways.  Warned by this knowledge of the\njealousy of the gods, the fellow tribesmen hastened to punish the\noffender in order to ward off the divine anger.  Thus the sanctions\nenforcing the customs were both social and religious.\n\nThis situation had its bad side as well as its good.  While it helped\nto enforce the tribal laws by means of the awe of the divine witness\nwho could not be escaped, it tended to merge valuable with trivial\nthings.  Society was quite irrational as yet, and was as likely to\npunish the violation of accidental taboos as really serious attacks\nupon society.  It is a commonplace of history that religions have\nstressed ritual observances more than vital phases of conduct.  The\ngreater Hebrew prophets stand out just because of their emphasis upon\nhuman morality, upon justice and righteousness and love.  Amos and\nHosea are social reformers who conceive their national god as a god of\nrighteousness who will turn his face away from the doers of evil.  They\nthreaten their compatriots with his wrath if they continue in their\nevil ways.  \"Seek good, and not evil, that ye may live: and so the\nLord, the God of hosts, shall be with you, as ye say.  Hate the evil\nand love the good, and establish judgment in the gate.\"  Thus the\nsetting of religion was used as the leverage for an attempted ethical\nreformation, the exalted reformer conceiving himself as the mouthpiece\nof his god.  But the prophets were exceptions.  The priestly class, the\nclass that has always held closely to traditional ways of thinking,\nbrought the usual multitude of non-moral acts under this impressive\nsanction.\n\nThe struggle between priest and prophet, {172} traditionalist and\nethical reformer, took place within the religious view of the world,\nbut the conflict was, after all, a purely human process.  The prophets\nloved righteousness because they knew that it was good, because they\nfell repelled by unmerited poverty and by careless wealth, because they\nadmired the decencies of life.  They could not have given the\njustification of their sentiments as well as a theorist of to-day, but\nthey had these sentiments as keenly as to-day's prophet has them.  When\nwe read their wonderful discourses, we are thrilled by the depth and\nintensity of their ethical life.  But we are too apt to forget that the\nsocial situation in Palestine was the stimulus to their denunciations.\nThey were noble enough to feel that conditions were intolerable, and it\nwas not a far step to believe that Yahweh would not tolerate them.  A\nnoble man has always a noble god.  That is the reason why the god of\nAmos is noble.  The theological view reverses the true causal relation.\nMorality is always human morality, expressive of human nature and human\nconditions.  Man may assign his ideals to some superhuman source\nbecause he is convinced that this source has selected him as its\ninterpreter; but the fact that he has thought and judged in this moral\nway is indubitable, while his theory that Yahweh is speaking through\nhim is merely an expression of the religious view of the world common\nto the time.  When we stop a moment to think, we realize that Amos and\nHosea were certain to put their views under the sanction of their\nnational god.  Not to have done so would have been far stranger\npsychologically than the ideals which they championed.\n\nDid the prophetic claim that social justice was {173} sanctioned by\nYahweh help its advance?  Probably.  I see no reason to doubt that it\ndid somewhat--how much it is impossible to say.  So far as the claim\nwas accepted by the nation, it would assist the forces working for\nreform.  But religious sanctions are far more powerful when they are\nexplicit and detailed, as the history of Christianity has shown.  And\nwe must remember that the prophetic claims were not always accepted.\nReligion is usually conservative and more or less conventional.  The\nritual element plays a considerable part in religious morality.  It is\nas hard to change the people's ideas of God as it is to change their\nconceptions of justice and goodness.  For this reason, I am not\nconvinced that the religious sanction was of much advantage in the\nevolution of morality.  The old has even more of the use of the\nsanction than has the new.  Moral forces need to be vigorously based\nupon human nature and human relations if they are to dominate society\nand control the ethical standards which public opinion demands.  The\npresence of religious sanctions simply beclouds the real factors at\nwork.  Morality can never, in the long run, be something pressed upon\nman from outside; it must express his life and its needs.\n\nIt cannot be denied that supernatural sanctions have often been very\neffective for certain types of people in certain anarchic periods.  The\nrobber baron of the Middle Ages, credulous and superstitious, was\nrestrained at times by his fear of the penalties threatened by Mother\nChurch.  But so is a burglar by a pistol pointed at him, even if it is\nnot loaded.  In the past, a code of morality much in advance of the\ntimes has, no doubt, often been aided by religious sanctions.  But\n{174} it is foolish to base one's theories upon exceptional conditions.\nWe must remember that the situation confronted by the Christian\ntradition after the breakdown of the political and social life of the\nRoman Empire was abnormal.  A turbulent mass of barbarians faced the\nethics and theology of an overthrown civilization.  It cannot too often\nbe pointed out that this situation was unhealthy in many ways.  It is\nnot good for a people to have codes of morality thrust upon it from\noutside.  Especially is it bad when the code is in many ways untrue to\nhuman nature under normal conditions.  Ascetic, other-worldly\nChristianity distorted the impulses of mediaeval man.  And it is certain\nthat religious sanctions, alone, enabled it to control society.\n\nWe have seen that religion and morality marched together as long as the\nevolution of the society was healthy and natural.  Often there was a\nstruggle over the ritual and mythical elements in religious morality;\nbut, as a rule, the civic type of morality gained the upper hand.\nReligious sanctions were called in because of the faith in divine\npowers interested in the welfare of the community, but these sanctions\nsoon ceased to be creative.  While the gods remained, these sanctions\nwould necessarily remain; yet they tended to become benevolent and\nsecondary.\n\nBut Christianity, by reason of the forces at work at the time of its\norigin, nourished vicious interpretations of morality.  The despair of\nhuman nature which we note in the writings of St. Paul tinged the\noutlook of Christian ethics.  Man is by nature evil; only the working\nin his soul of a supernatural grace can lead him to value the things\nwhich are pure and of good {175} repute.  This pessimism cannot be too\nsharply spurned.  Man is neither angel nor devil; he is just man.  And\nthe modern thinker is pretty well convinced that morality is a purely\nhuman affair growing out of the instinctive tendencies which man has\ninherited in the course of evolution as these find themselves in\nvarious situations.  Moral problems are meaningless apart from their\nsetting on this earth.  Man is moral because he can pass judgments upon\ncourses of behavior and decide what best conduces to his welfare.  He\nis moral because he can build up standards of social and personal\nconduct and adhere to them more or less completely.  The assumption\nthat man is immoral is psychologically untrue.  The asceticism and\npessimism of mediaeval Christianity was a reflection of false ideals and\nof an unhealthy social system.  There was an element of strain in the\ndemands held up before the individual.  The spiritual life was a task\nwhich he had to accomplish because it possessed a supernatural sanction.\n\nBut the inherent pessimism of much of Christianity was not its only\nfault.  It taught men to suppose that morality was not something which\npaid for itself.  So much did it stress the necessity of supernatural\nsanctions that it led the majority to believe that no man would be good\nunless he had to, unless he was afraid of the external consequences\nwhich would be meted out to him at the bar of judgment.  But how false\nsuch a view is.  We know to-day that morality pays here and now, in the\nspecie of a happy, healthy, well-developed life.  Any other view makes\nmorality irrational and unnatural and, consequently, dependent upon\nsanctions which rest upon the will of some agent apart from {176} this\nconcrete life of act and fact.  To put this criticism in the technical\nlanguage of ethics, Christianity has tended to think of conduct in\nterms of heteronomous ethics, _i.e._, in terms of precepts and laws\ncoming from outside of human life and pressed upon it by authority,\nrather than in terms of autonomous ethics for which ideals and customs\nare wise adjustments to the natural relations in which man finds\nhimself.\n\nThis assumption that morality is a hardship played into the hands of a\njuridical notion of the sanctions of conduct, for which the conception\nof immortality furnished the grandiose opportunity.  The arm of society\nis eluded at death, but death offers no escape for the wicked from the\noutraged deity they have offended.  It is the motive of fear which is\nhere employed.  Human beings are to be scared into being good.\nMorality is on the defensive because it has no real charm and natural\nloveliness, because it does not grow out of a rational study of human\nrelations.\n\nHow tragically false this view was!  Its existence can be explained\nonly as an expression of an ill-organized society in which impulsive\nviolence was not enough held in check.  Supernatural sanctions could be\nused to restrain malefactors of great power in less happy times.\nSociety has grown beyond this need.  Courts of law and outraged public\nopinion are quite able to deal with criminals.  If the reason for\npunishment is prevention, it is certainly true that punishment by\nsociety is more likely to be effective than the postponed pains of an\nhereafter, because of its immediacy and power of being repeated.  But\nit is very doubtful whether fear is a moral motive or whether it is a\nvery effective deterrent.  Social thinkers are agreed that punishment\nis a very {177} bungling method at the best.  It does not show the\npresence of a very constructive imagination.\n\nHell has always been a magnified torture chamber.  It has been the\nreflection on the gigantic background of the next world of the penal\nideas of the time.  That is why it has always been more interesting\nthan heaven.  Man feared to make a social utopia out of heaven because\nhe conceived it as a kingdom in which he was to play a very minor role,\nwhile he was quite certain of his importance in hell.  But the morbid\nresults of his imaginings were tragic in their effects when connected\nwith such damnable doctrines as infant damnation and eternal punishment\nfor lack of belief in a particular creed.  What distorted ethical\nnotions, what mixture of horrible fear before a world-tyrant and\ncallous delight in the punishment of others are revealed in these\npictures of a place of eternal torment!  Thank goodness, the civilized\nworld is outgrowing the whole savage set of ideas.\n\nBefore we leave these juridical religious sanctions, it may be well to\ncall attention to the fact that theories of punishment have radically\nchanged during the last century.  The purpose of modern justice is less\nto uphold the majesty of an outraged law than to protect the citizens\nof a state and reform the character of the criminal.  Crime is studied\ngenetically and its conditions determined so far as possible.  It is\nwell known that criminals are products of biological and social\nconditions over which they have little control.  The modern ideal is\ncoming to be prevention by means of the betterment of social\norganization and negative eugenics.  Healthy and capable persons in a\ndecent society would be unlikely to turn out criminals.  I do {178} not\nsee how we can escape the conclusion that the saner penology of the\npresent has completely undermined the whole juristic basis of the next\nworld.  Human ethics and a supernatural ethics of an eschatological\nsort cannot be dovetailed together.  The scene and motives of a crime\ncannot be laid in one world with that world's peculiar conditions, and\nthe punishment dispensed in another.  And a final punishment is a\nveritable absurdity.  Is punishment an end in itself?  Are the wicked\nsuch hopeless creatures?  Or does it simply mean that men have never\nbefore thought of such things as indeterminate sentences and\nreformation?  Prisoners were hustled away and never seen afterwards.\nPunishment and reward were easy matters in the old days when justice\nwas external and terroristic; we see to-day that they are the most\ndifficult of problems.  Final judgments by omniscient judges strike us\nas romantic and even melodramatic.  Again, we doubt such facile\ndivisions of our mixed humanity as that between saints and sinners.  We\nhave a keener and more democratic eye for the good in the most\nunprepossessing of our fellow creatures.  We know what he has been up\nagainst from his babyhood days, what his chances, temptations, joys and\nsorrows have been.  And we have the deep conviction that ghostly\njudgment after death would be absolutely meaningless.\n\nIn an earlier chapter, we pointed out that the belief in, and desire\nfor, immortality is stronger in periods of social disorganization than\nin periods of marked social unity and happy creativeness.  Christianity\narose in just such a time of pessimism and stifled social life.  The\nRoman Empire had become barren of joyous hopefulness and spirited\nendeavor.  The citizen was only a {179} unit in a dreary and monotonous\nwhole ruled from above.  All through the Middle Ages, something of this\nsuspicion of the world, this longing for release from earthly things\ntinged the interests and judgments of the more spiritually-minded men\nand women.  The inevitable ethical result was a disregard of genuine\nhuman problems and a tense exaltation of attitudes of self-control and\nnegation.  Disciplines became ends in themselves, which rejected all\nrelation to the life of every day.  The direction of ethical life was\naway from creative activity and concern with the more homely things,\nand toward an abstract contemplation of ideals seldom put to the test\nof positive application.  The religious setting of life withdrew human\nenergies from their rightful and fruitful sphere of activity and\napplied them to tasks of self-analysis and never-ceasing\nself-criticism.  Such an approach to life produced men who were saints,\nmen who were unselfish and admirable in almost every way; but this\nsaintliness grew at the expense of significant human achievement.  It\nwas as though men forged splendid instruments and did not know how to\nuse them.  The pity of it all is, that this mediaeval world-view\nstimulated men to devotions of soul which looked away from the arena of\nhuman life rather than into it.\n\nBut religion only revealed what human nature, itself, possessed.  These\ncapacities for sympathy, love, persistent self-discipline, and devotion\nto ideals were natural to man.  The primary fault with Mediaevalism was\nthe inability to see the worth of human things and the hypnotic\nfixation of the mind upon unreal relations and demands.  The modern man\nadmires these cloistered saints and, at the same time, feels the\ntragedy and {180} futility of this goodness which wearied itself out in\nvigil and prayer.  The human cost of this virtue was so high and its\nobjective use so small.  It is only as an artist that I can enjoy\nreading the _Prayers and Meditations_ of Thomas a Kempis.  When this\nmood is not upon me, I am repelled by the picture of this white-faced\nmonk in his cell, holding in restraint all his natural impulses by\nmeans of the thought of a reward in paradise after death.  Virtue was\nthe winning of a goal set by his Maker, for reasons which he did not\ndream of questioning.  \"When I weary of the long night vigils, or of\nthe Lessons, longer perhaps than usual, give me grace to remember how\ngreat are the rewards in heaven which I have now a chance of gaining.\nWhen the days of abstinence from food and drink are many, give me the\npower to fast, and good health to enable me to carry on my work; give\nme pardon for the sins which I have committed, keep me from falling\ninto them again, relieve me from the punishment they have deserved, and\ngive me a good hope of everlasting happiness with the elect in the\nKingdom of God.\"  We feel that this ethical energy should have been\nused otherwise and in the service of human beings.  Better Thomas a\nKempis than the man who is mad for wealth and the lusts of the flesh;\nbut far better than either is the sane worker for things of good\nrepute.  His goodness is a social goodness which makes life happier and\nfuller of activities and things worth while.\n\nThe traditional religion has not only been, frequently enough,\nanti-social, but it has also been morally inefficient.  Why?  Because\nit has made too much of tension and too little of intelligence.\nInstead of pointing out that morality paid because it was only the\napplication {181} of intelligence to human needs, it set a standard of\nmoral discipline before people and then sought to drive them to its\nattainment by sheer force of will and subjectively aroused emotion.\nThe modern ethical thinker is convinced that morality is but the\nharmonious adjustment of an individual to his social group; it is the\nsensible foresight which selects the active values which attract and\nexpress man's nature.\n\nThis rather blind tension of traditional religion appears quite clearly\nin the conception of sin.  The setting of this idea has been monarchic\nand terroristic.  It has exhaled an atmosphere of sharp, mystic\ncontrasts which were as unreal as they were vicious.  To set a goal too\nhigh is almost as bad psychologically as to set it too low.\nChristianity vaguely felt this flaw in its dramatic ethical scheme and\nwas led to bring the doctrine of God's saving grace to the front to\nbridge the fearful gulf caused by the opposition of God's perfection to\nman's imperfection.  But the man of to-day who is sincere with himself\nknows that this religious world-ethics is a meaningless fiction.  He\ncan understand why it arose in the olden days, with its supernaturalism\nand juridical ethics, yet he feels that this absolutism is a product of\nmonarchism and pre-evolutionary thinking.  Goodness is a human ideal\nwhose content is always undergoing change, while it hovers just beyond\nman's reach.  I must confess, then, that I have little sympathy with\nthe gross exaggerations associated with this word sin.  I know that I\noften fall short of my better moral judgment and, at such moments of\nmoral insight, I experience a keen regret and try to strengthen those\ntendencies and activities which will aid me to do better next time.\nBut I know too {182} much of personality on its biological,\npsychological and social sides, too much of its complexity and its\nfoundations to retain the old notion of the self as an entity which,\nhaving the ability to be godlike, chooses evil.  Paul's God was an\noriental monarch; to the modern, he is a cad.  Why, no sensible teacher\nasks the impossible of his pupils!  Yet this strange relation conceived\nto exist between an omnipotent deity and his frail creatures, when\nintensified by the horizon of another and eternal world, was bound to\ndevelop the tensest and most paralyzing of attitudes.  No novel has\nbeen able to unfold a plot which has such psychological possibilities.\nAnd the morbid and exalted religious imagination has done more than\njustice to them.  While I do not for a moment deny the strength and\nleverage this ensemble of ideas possesses when faith is present, I do\ncontend that the whole creation is unhealthy and blinding and involves\ninefficiency as regards the real and pressing problems of personal and\nsocial development.  The ecclesiastic seldom has a normal perspective.\nTake Cardinal Newman, for instance.  Can one deny that this subtle\npersonality, for all his gifts, brought distorting values into the\ncurrent of life?  Such a man is certain to misread movements and\nactivities and to magnify the subjective at the expense of the social.\nThe individual who identifies himself with social projects, able to\nelicit his energy and enthusiasm, is more apt to forget the pettier\ninterests of the moment in the broad sweep of creative endeavor than is\nthe person who morbidly catechizes his conscience.  A formal morality\nwhich looks inward and never outward is bound to be inefficient.\nTension is no fit substitute for intelligent insight.\n\n{183}\n\nMany theologians assume that ethics has a choice only between reliance\nupon some supernatural power for its sanctions, and a sort of harsh and\nhaughty stoicism, in which the individual stands alone and by sheer\nforce of will establishes and maintains ideals which are alien to his\nnature.  The fallacy in such an assumption is not hard to detect.  By\nhis training in the ascetic traditions of Christianity with its\nacquiescence in the doctrine of original sin, the theologian is\ninitiated into a distorted conception of human nature and of human\nrelations.  While man is a complex being with many instincts and\npossibilities to adjust and organize in an efficient and progressive\nway, it is slanderous to assert that these instincts are evil or that\nman, on the whole, does not relate them quite satisfactorily to a plan\nof life.  Human nature is a sweeter, saner thing than the ascetic\nadmits; man is capable of heroic idealisms and of far-reaching\nsympathies which express themselves in the mold of society.  As a\nmatter of fact, the haughty stoicism of which the religious writer\nspeaks with so much pity, as the only alternative to supernatural\nrelations and sanctions, is a product of times of social disruption\nwhen the high-strung individual is thrown back upon himself.  To-day,\npeople live and think in groups, with common hopes, standards and\nplans.  Their conscience is a social conscience which finds its\nsupporting echo in the deeds and sentiments of their companions and\nfellow workers.  It is the supernaturalist who is an egoist at heart.\nEven Mr. Wells is so dominated by this anti-social point of view that\nhe falsifies both psychology and fact in his tirade upon the sane\nworker for human values.  No one who knew the elements of modern\nethical thought {184} based, as it is, upon an evolutionary social\npsychology would subscribe to the following nonsense: \"The benevolent\natheist stands alone upon his own good will, without a reference,\nwithout a standard, trusting to his own impulse to goodness, relying\nupon his own moral strength.  A certain immodesty, a certain\nself-righteousness, hangs like a precipice above him....  He has no one\nto whom he can give himself.  He has no source of strength beyond his\nown amiable sentiments, his conscience speaks with an unsupported\nvoice, and no one watches while he sleeps.  He cannot pray; he can but\nejaculate.  He has no real and living link with other men of good\nwill.\"  Of course, one can write such things if one wishes to.  But the\nsocial reformer knows that his problems are human problems whose\nsolution rests upon sentiments of sympathy, enlightened and directed by\nintelligence.  They who seek for the advent of a better day for\nhumanity band together as naturally and loyally as ever did the\nbelievers in the second coming of Christ.\n\nThe remark is frequently made that the modern world is tending to\nreturn to the Greek view of life.  If by the Greek view of life is\nmeant the outlook characteristic of the Greeks of the classic\nperiod--the era of Plato, Pericles, and Sophocles,--there is much truth\nin the judgment.  Human values are again coming uppermost in men's\nminds.  This life is not a sojourn in a vale of tears, but the scene of\nthe attempts of socially-minded, conscious organisms to achieve a\ntemperate and fairly happy existence.  But the centuries intervening\nhave not been without their effect; man's moral horizon has been both\ndeepened and enlarged.  Since those halcyon days, man has eaten of the\ntree of good and {185} evil, he has fought with shadowy monsters and\nwandered for years in the wilderness of helplessness and pessimism, he\nhas worshiped at the shrine of strange gods and prostrated himself\nbefore the terrors of his own imagination.  Slowly he has come to stand\nerect and look about him and see the world and himself as they actually\nare.  Knowledge has become his most trusted instrument, and democratic\nsympathy with human life his most cherished guide.  With such a guide\nand with such an instrument, he will before long set about to mold his\nlife in accordance with those mellower ideals which have grown in his\nheart during his long pilgrimage.  At last, man is becoming an adult\nable to stand upon his feet and to look keenly around with a measuring\nglance at things as they are.  Will he not work for the sweet fruition\nof those human values which are dear to his very soul--home, children,\nkindly social intercourse, work which gives self-expression, art,\nknowledge, contentment, all suffused with the vigor of healthy bodies\nand the sleep of quiet nights?  Man will surely come to desire greatly,\nand achieve magnificently, and live courageously.\n\nNow that the ethical degradation of the industrial revolution has been\nstayed and society has turned its face from the clatter of\nmass-production for its own sake, now that ethical reflection has been\nunited with reason and science in a sane realism, now that sympathy is\nabroad in the land, now that democracy with its conception of human\nbrotherhood is astir throughout the world, ethics has secured a firm\nfoundation in the free aspirations of free men.  If noble character and\nrational conduct cannot maintain themselves in such a society, then the\ntheologian can rightly say that man is {186} by nature corrupt.  But\nthe present is a time of growing loyalties to the common good and of\nvigorous search for the efficient means to attain it in greater\nmeasure.  The great spiritual adventures of the future will surely be\nhuman and humane.\n\n\n\n\n{187}\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--THE CATHOLIC CHURCH\n\nEven a cursory glance at the institutional history of Christianity is\ninstructive.  Beginning as an essentially democratic brotherhood of\nfellow-believers in which wisdom and experience, rather than authority,\nguided affairs, the Christian community gradually adopted the political\nform of the society in which it found itself.  The very names of the\nchurch officials of whom we read in the later canonical epistles are\ntaken over from the municipal governments of the time.  The presbyters,\nor elders, were old men selected by common consent from the members of\nthe congregation as a sort of advisory council.  They were\ncommittee-men, ripe in experience and capable of dealing sensibly with\nthe various problems sure to arise from time to time in the social\ngroup.  From among these elders, overseers, or bishops, were chosen who\nhad administrative functions of an indefinite sort.  Besides these\nofficials, there were deacons, prophets and teachers, men who took a\nmore or less conspicuous part in the life of the brotherhood.\n\nAs time elapsed, the Christian communities took on a more formal\norganization, an evolution which was due to the stress of problems\nwhich could not be met without a more centralized structure.  New\nheresies were {188} constantly arising and leading the members into\nconfusion; moral disorders, like those against which Paul had to\nthunder, were continually appearing.  It was only too easy for members\nof unorganized groups to miss that sense of a common outlook which is\nso important and yet so difficult to maintain in an age of intellectual\nand moral turmoil.  This situation was grasped by leaders who had\ndecided views of their own as to the proper doctrines to be taught and\nthe proper mode of life to follow.  Under their guidance, a\ncentralization of authority was evolved.  The bishop became the head of\nthe community with power in matters of doctrine and morality.\nNaturally, the heads of the more important communities, Rome, Antioch,\nAlexandria and Constantinople, had a prestige which gave their opinions\ndifferential weight.  Before long, councils of bishops were called to\ndecide questions of doctrine.  The period of fixed creeds had arrived.\nOnce this direction was taken, it was no long step to the formation of\na church organization comparable in complexity to that of the Roman\nEmpire and as undemocratic in character.  Such a development was most\nnatural; and it would, indeed, have been surprising had it not\noccurred.  Institutions always possess the imprint of their age.  It is\nfoolish, because unhistorical, to expect ideals out of their time.\n\nThe primitive Christian association was more than a church in the\nmodern sense.  It was a loyal group of like-minded people.  It was a\nstate within the state, a social unit dominating the main part of the\nlives of its members, and not merely a center for worship.  It is this\naspect of the early religious associations which I wish to stress; for\nit is the question, whether this phase {189} of the church still exists\nto justify the church as an institution, into which I wish to enquire.\n\nIn the vast loneliness of the Roman Empire, men felt the need to draw\ntogether in order to escape the dreariness of life.  The teeming\ninterests and intense loyalties of the old city-state had disappeared\nand left men stranded in a cosmopolitan State, ordered from above, in\nwhich they had no vital participation; it was too gigantic and formal\nto touch them in a personal fashion and to kindle those enthusiasms\nwhich lift men beyond economic cares.  It was well to be a Roman\ncitizen, but such an honor did not suffice for the more homely needs of\neveryday existence.  In the days of Athenian greatness, the individual\nwas lost in the citizen; in the Roman Empire, the citizen was lost in\nthe individual.  Man is a social animal--to adapt Aristotle's famous\nexpression--and the inhabitants of the various countries sought to\ncreate associations of various sorts to fill this gap caused by the\ndestruction of the old political interests.  In other words, men tried\nto weave a new social tissue of a private type to answer their craving\nfor companionship and for the chance to do something worth doing.\nRemove the business, artistic, political, trades-union, literary and\nsocial interests in their present free and varied form from modern\nlife, and we can gain some idea of the unsatisfactoriness of human life\nunder the Empire for the lower and poorer classes.  Monotonous as\nvillage life is to-day, it is throbbing with life as compared with the\nvillage or tenement district of ancient days.  The farmer has his\nnewspaper, the farmer's wife the magazine, and the piano, and the trip\nto town.  Small wonder that these men and women of the Hellenistic and\nRoman worlds {190} formed clubs and associations in which to escape\nfrom a disheartening loneliness and feel themselves members one of\nanother.\n\nBut the Empire essayed to stamp out these brotherhoods, in order that\nit might be all in all and receive the loyalty and affection which\nthese private organizations evoked.  The ancient state was unable to\nconceive that division of interests into public and private which is so\nmarked a feature of modern civilization.  As Renan points out, the\nEmpire \"was trying, out of homage to an exaggerated idea of the State,\nto isolate the individual, to snap every moral tie between man and man,\nto defeat a legitimate desire of the poor, the desire to press together\nin a little corner of their own to keep one another warm.  The\nintolerable sadness inseparable from such a life seemed worse than\ndeath.\"  Associations, or clubs, in which a complete equality reigned\nsprang up on every side in spite of the laws against combination.\nHuman relations of the most kindly and intimate sort were established\nwhich sweetened life and made death less lonely.  Now the Christian\ncommunities were just such associations; while they added religious\nemotions and hopes to the attractions of companionship.  They were\nsocial units of a humble and spontaneous type within the formal\nstructure of the Empire.  They justified themselves in a human as well\nas in a superhuman way.  An adequate psychology of religion remains to\nbe written.  Religion has always had its markedly social side.\n\nUpon the foundation of this combined social and religious function, the\nsuperstructure of the Church was erected, much as on the political\nnature of man the Greek city-state arose.  Creed and hierarchy were\n{191} inevitable products whose appearance could have been predicted,\nbut they were expressive of a certain growing cumbersomeness and a\nslowing up of the thought and action of the mass of the people.\nHenceforth, one of their religious duties was to believe fanatically\nwhat bishops and councils promulgated and to obey the advice of their\nsuperiors in matters of conduct.  In this way, Christianity became a\nreligion of authority.  We must not over-idealize the early\nChristians--a reading of Paul's epistles would help to guard us against\nthat tendency--but the spirit of the primitive congregations was,\nbeyond much doubt, nobler than that which characterized the mobs of\nAlexandria and of Byzantium.  A perusal of _Hypatia_, for example, is\nvery apt to sober one's enthusiasm.  We must remember that the bars of\nadmission were lowered as Christianity became powerful and popular.\nSelection, which is one of the most attractive features of a new\nmovement, no longer acted.  It was at this period that Christianity\ndeveloped its _cult_ aspect.  It became a religion of the imagination,\nof the sensuous, as well as of the will and the intellect.  Ancient art\nand liturgy gave their contributions and Christianity moved from the\ncatacombs to the basilica and the cathedral.\n\nAs Church and state became reconciled, the early breach between public\nand private life was filled.  The religious interest and its duties\njoined themselves to those of secular life.  For the mass of the people\nwho did not surrender themselves to religion in the intensive way\nreserved for the clergy, Christianity simply forced a new alignment of\nsocial relations and values.  The ideal was a Church-directed\ncivilization in which the next world overshadowed this.  For ordinary\nlife, {192} however, a practical adjustment was soon reached.  Life was\nlived in a conventional enough way and the compromise was balanced by\nthe efficacy of sacraments administered by the servants of the\nauthoritative Church, the continuation of the incarnation upon the\nearth.\n\nIn the chaotic West, overrun by barbarians, society lost its ancient\nform and became stratified in accordance with a decentralized, military\nregime.  The strongly organized, international Church maintained itself\nand saw an opportunity to realize its ideal, a civilization, or order,\nguided by itself and obedient to religious values.  Should not the\nvice-regent of God rule upon the earth and make the divine law the law\nof the nations?  In the conflict between the Roman Church, as\nreorganized by Hildebrand, and the Holy Roman Empire, we have a\nstriking instance of that recurrent struggle between the supernatural\nand the secular so peculiar to the Christian world.  Had not the\nemperors possessed some religious sanction for their claims and\nauthority, they would have been completely overridden by the popes.  It\nwas the growth from beneath of national and human interests and of a\nmore varied and stimulating social life that ultimately defeated the\npolitical aims of the Church.  Humanism always flourishes when peace\nand contentment are abroad, and humanism is the deadliest enemy that\nsupernaturalism has to meet.  Thus the tradition of the Roman Empire\ntided secular authority over until the rise of vigorous nations with\ndistinct customs, languages, and loyalties ceased to make the imperial\nand theocratic aspirations of the Church practical.  But we must never\nforget that these aspirations of the Mediaeval Church were natural\noutgrowths of the {193} religious view of the world.  If man is but a\nsojourner here, undergoing his tests for the life to come, who can be a\nbetter guide in all things than the divine institution established by\nGod himself?  The center of gravity of man's life falls outside this\nworld.\n\nBut social tendencies and relations are always more complex and\nuncontrollable than theory or doctrine wishes to allow.  Human values\nhave a way of asserting themselves in all sorts of unexpected ways.\nThe very act of living forces man to feel and achieve, to strive for\nthis thing and for that, to enter into warm human relations which lead\nout into ambitions and desires.  So, in spite of the official, and\ngenerally accepted, denial of human values, these sprang up at the\nleast encouragement and flowered in custom and art.  Thus, even during\nthe Middle Ages, social activities had their innings and fair measure\nof attention.  Men loved, and sinned, and fought, and dreamed much as\nthey did in other days and do now.  The thought of another world only\ntempered their moments of reflection and deepened their periods of\ncontrition.  There is good reason to believe, moreover, that men\nalternated between extremes of mood more than we do to-day with our\nsettled horizon.  The mediaeval outlook did not favor that quiet\ntemperance which the Greeks achieved in their happiest days.\n\nWith the rise of the cities and the national states came the revival of\nlearning and a fresh interest in all phases of human life.  The\ncomplete control of human life by a supernaturalistic religion was then\nno longer even a theoretical possibility.  Life became a thing of\ninterest for its own sake, something frankly to be enjoyed.  Humanism\nhad once more appeared in the world.\n\n{194}\n\nBut the Church had an organized breadth which went far beyond the\npurely religious functions which Protestantism is inclined to associate\nwith the institution.  Within this socially flexible organization arose\nthe monastic orders whose ideals varied from age to age.  To establish\nindustries, to clear the land, to preach the nobility of work and to\nfoster commerce, to nurse the sick, to found schools and universities,\nto distribute charity, to offer hospitality to wayfarers, to nourish\nart and literature, all these activities grew out of the initiative of\nnoble men who found the atmosphere or associations of organized\nChristianity favorable to their endeavors.  It was under the shelter of\nreligion that the finer phases of morality manifested themselves.\nSecular life did not possess a stability or organs adequate to the\ntasks of social ethics.  Whatever new movement appeared naturally\ndrifted into contact with the Church, even though the Church was not\ncertain what to do with it.  Sometimes these vital movements, in which\nethical idealism of a rare type was displayed, almost threatened the\nexistence of the hierarchical body which was in control of the\norganization through which they had to work.  This was the situation\nwhich developed as a result of the spread of the ideals of the\nmendicant orders of the thirteenth century.  Such an occurrence makes\nus realize that the social life of the time was creative, and that this\ncreativeness could with difficulty be kept within the control of the\nformal Church; yet the organs which were necessary for the application\nof these ideas and enthusiasms were molded in accordance with\necclesiastical institutions, because no other model was at hand.\nSecular life was too narrow to give either financial support or\nsuggestions.  It {195} had so long been accustomed to assign the moral\nfield to religious institutions.\n\nIn spite of the undercurrent of criticism against the worldliness of\nthe clergy which discovers itself to the historian of the later Middle\nAges, the social movements connected with incorporated Christianity\nwere vital enough to justify the existence of the Church.  It acted as\nthe traditional center of philanthropy, and its immense wealth made\nthis feature a real force among the poor.  But the other associated\nfunctions were slowly separating themselves from their original\nconnection and striking roots in the secular life of the time.  In\nplace of the cathedral towns clustered around the cathedral and the\nbishop's palace, the commercial towns pushed to the front both in\nwealth and importance.  The wealthy merchant or banker vied in riches\nwith the churchman.  Art and literature passed from the hands of the\nChurch to the laity.  This process was very gradual, but steady and\npersistent.  By the time of the reformation, it was in full swing.\nBeneath the framework of feudalism and the Mediaeval Church, a new\nsociety had been forming, far more complex than the old and full of\npotentialities which we are only now beginning to measure.  Industry,\ncommerce, geographical discovery, national literature, guilds,\nmunicipal governments, courts, science, secular art, philosophy, all\nwere present either in bud or in full flower.  Out of the fertile and\nfearless life which came from the interplay of these tendencies and\nactivities, new ideas and values were born and soon found or created\nappropriate organs for their expression apart from the Church.  Try as\nit would, Mother Church could not cover them with her wings.  Many of\nthese activities were alien to {196} her genius and, as they waxed in\nstrength and confidence, stepped boldly out into the arena of secular\nlife.\n\nOne has only to take a broad survey of modern society to realize how\ncompletely secular life has found means to perform functions which were\nformerly carried by the Church.  The very control which the Church\nwished to exercise repelled them and drove them into the world with its\nfreedom and tolerance.  Free association, individual enterprise, the\ncreative fervor of genius, and, later, governmental policy have worked\nwonders in overcoming the meagerness of secular life.  Education is now\nalmost universal, and so the masses live lives which touch a myriad\ninterests never known to them in other days.  Art has broadened its\nscope and now touches with magic fingers all phases of human life,\nnature and man being alike raised to a higher spiritual level by her\nwork.  Science has reached out into all parts of nature and thrown a\ntransforming light upon all things.  Philosophy has left the old\nscholastic concepts and mated with science to explain the world in\nwhich we live.  Charity is giving way to a broader conception of social\njustice.  In short, the old division of life into two spheres, the\nearthly and the spiritual, no longer has its old significance.  The\nspiritual has made its home in man's daily life, in his reading, his\nart, his thinking and his doing.  _Wherever there are genuine values,\nthere is the spiritual_.  _Is not loyalty to these spiritual values of\nhuman life coming to be the sole meaning of religion_?  Is it within\nthe power of an institution, still dominated by beliefs hostile to this\nfrank humanism, to cherish and guide the unfolding of the spiritual\nlife of the present?  That is the query which I bring with me when I\ncontemplate the {197} Church.  Has not the free life of the present\noutgrown any centralized and institutionalized control?\n\nTo-day, ideas and enthusiasms find their organs in the teeming secular\nworld.  Moral idealism is at home upon the earth in fellowships and\nloyalties in which men discover much of their reason for being.  The\npulse of society beats time to the songs of its true poets, and throbs\nat the call to battle for some noble achievement, while the Church\ndreams of the past and the days of her greatness, or tenderly stoops to\ncomfort those who cling to her sanctions and her vision of a heavenly\nkingdom, not of this world.  She played her part, and she played it\ngreatly--that much we must avow, even while we point out her present\nlimitations--but the world has passed beyond her tutelage and runs\nlithesomely and courageously into fields where she cannot bring herself\nto follow.  Thus is it, and thus has it always been--institutions and\nideas have their period of usefulness when they serve as organizing\ncenters for social tendencies; but the time inevitably comes when they\nlose their creative power and are outgrown by the life which has made\nthem and is greater than they.  And yet there is hope.  Will the\ndethroned monarch recognize the inevitableness of the massive\nrevolution which is surging round her and give up her outgrown\npretensions, willingly consenting to play a lesser role in full harmony\nwith the spirit of the time?  Not yet will this voluntary abdication\ncome.  But, some time in the future, the new loyalties will surely seep\ninto the Church and prepare it for the great sacrifice in which it will\nfind its saving service.  Modernism can afford to wait patiently, for\ntime fights on its side.\n\n\n\n\n{198}\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--PROTESTANTISM\n\nThe rise of Protestantism was the consequence of many factors which\ntemporarily combined and worked in the same direction.  There are those\nwho maintain that it was an unhappy accident, which threw back the\nwheels of progress some hundreds of years.  But those who bewail the\ndivision of the Christian Church forget that division is a sign of\nincompatible tendencies within a body not flexible enough to contain\nthem.  Strife is irrational only when we cease to be realists.  The\nappearance of Protestantism in the sixteenth century is only one\ninstance among many of the inadequacy of any one institution to\ncomprehend the life of its time.  Were we to call the roll of the\nheresies of the past, the names which would appear upon the list would\nbe far more numerous than popular history records.  Just because\nChristians believed that they possessed a final truth they were\nintolerant and persecuting.  The natural desire of an institution to\nmaintain itself and its interests intact added its force to this\nunfortunate characteristic.  But the tragedy of the situation was, that\nthis final truth could not prove itself by an appeal to experience and\nreason.  It had, therefore, to resort to violence.  The logic of\nrevelation is the logic of the _auto da fe_.  The logic of science is\nthe logic of tested {199} fact.  Science can have hope of agreement;\ntheological religion has no right to such a hope.\n\nProtestantism had its ethical, political, economic and doctrinal sides.\nIt was not merely a religious movement.  Had it been so, it might more\nreadily have run its course as a reform movement within the\ninstitutional life of the time.  Had the Northern nations possessed\ngreater power in the councils of the Church, it is just possible that\nthe change would have been brought about without the occurrence of an\nopen rupture.  But the Church was too centralized and too rich to\nescape conflict with the growing nationalism.  For our present purpose,\nhowever, this larger social setting of Protestantism is not important.\nWhat we wish to study is the religious tendencies covered by this term.\nWhat advance did they contain?  What was the weakness of the movement?\n\nThe setting of Protestantism was entirely supernaturalistic.  So far as\nthe fundamental doctrinal assumptions are concerned, there is\npractically no difference between Catholic and Protestant.\nProtestantism represented a reform, and not a revolution.  Or, to put\nit more deeply, human nature is such that the real revolutions take\ncenturies of growth and come like the thief in the night.  The modern\nscientific view of the world is revolutionary in the philosophical and\ntrue sense of the term; while the sharp sectarian conflict is only a\nbattle over secondary things.  Since it has so commonly been assumed\nthat the Protestant reformation represented a decisive break with the\noutlook of the Middle Ages and somehow marked a milestone in man's\nintellectual progress, it may be worth while to consider whether such\nreally was the case.  A disinterested study {200} of the reformation\nmust, I feel sure, convince the student that the crisis in the Church\nwas concerned more with matters of theological doctrine and church\npolity than with the ideas underlying Christianity.  It brought no\nessential change in the inherited and firmly entrenched tale of the\npast.  The puritan poet, Milton, sings of \"man's first disobedience\" in\nmuch the way that St. Augustine would have done.  The weapons of the\ngreat advance had not yet been forged.  We are the ones who will be\ncalled upon to face the vision of the New Spiritual World and to be\nfaithful to its demands upon our loyalty and integrity.  \"The defection\nof the Protestants from the Roman Catholic Church,\" writes Professor\nRobinson, \"is not connected with any decisive intellectual revision.\nSuch ardent emphasis has been constantly placed upon the differences\nbetween Protestantism and Catholicism by representatives of both\nparties that the close intellectual resemblance of the two systems,\nindeed their identity in nine parts out of ten, has tended to escape\nus.  The early Protestants, of course, accepted, as did the Catholics,\nthe whole patristic outlook on the world; their historical perspective\nwas similar, their notions of the origin of man, of the Bible, with its\ntypes, prophecies and miracles, of heaven and hell, of demons and\nangels, are all identical....  Early Protestantism is, from an\nintellectual standpoint, essentially a phase of mediaeval history.\"\n\nBut when we look at Protestantism as a social and religious movement\nrather than an intellectual movement, we see that it stood for certain\nrelatively new emphases which did indicate a breaking loose from\nmediaevalism.  Many sincere men felt the need for a deeper, more\npersonal assurance of salvation than that {201} offered by the\ntraditional, substantial sacraments of the Church.  Religion seemed to\nthem a more personal affair than it had overtly come to be.  By means\nof an act of faith, the individual hoped to secure a new relation to\nGod in which his sins were forgiven and salvation attained.  Salvation\nthus became a more internal act than it had been, and particularly one\nin which the ecclesiastical institution played a far less important\npart.  The new tendency emphasized the individual and personal as\nagainst the institutional and formal.  Catholicism had inherited too\nmuch ritualistic and magical trapping to harmonize completely with the\nkeen ethical sense of the younger and simpler people who were growing\nto adulthood.\n\nA new movement is on the defensive and, when too completely estranged\nfrom the institutions of which it is a reform, almost inevitably tends\nto be narrow and intense.  Now Protestantism was essentially an\nemphasis on the soul's salvation by meeting certain requirements of a\ndoctrinal and ethical type, and so it tended to drop those functions\nand relations which the Mediaeval Church included within its scope.  It\nis this clear-cut intensification of one factor and the exclusion of\nothers which we must bear in mind when we compare the early Protestant\nsects with the Catholic Church of the Middle Ages.\n\nDeep religious fervor easily leads to narrowness, especially when the\nspiritual values regarded as essential are subjective and rather\nformal.  Because confessional Protestantism was as other-worldly as the\nMediaeval Church, it cut itself loose from aspects of life which might\notherwise have mellowed it and saved it from formalism and hardness.\nWe may laugh with {202} Swift at the freaks of Jack, at his dourness\nand savagery, his strained interpretation of the scriptures and his\nlack of social tact, but we must, if we would be just, always bear in\nmind the outlook which Jack had inherited.\n\nThe Protestant of to-day does not usually realize how different the\nProtestantism of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was from that\nwhich he sees around him.  Protestantism has mellowed and absorbed\nvalues and interests which it would once have repudiated as irrelevant\nto the tremendous drama of salvation.  Take mediaeval Catholicism, with\nits ideal of a Church-directed society, its doctrines of sin and\nredemption, its belief in another world overshadowing this one, its\nstrain of asceticism, and remove the sacramental power of the Church,\nand you have early Protestantism before you.  Instead of fleeing the\nworld and its temptations, the Christian was ordered to live in it like\na sentinel on his guard.  He was not to set his heart on creaturely\ncomforts nor love the things and interests of this life overmuch, but\nrather to trample them underfoot while gazing upwards.  No wonder that\nthe early Protestants were a stern people; they were a community of\nsecular monks.  They had the joy of union with God and assured\nredemption from sin, but this world was not their true home.  Whereas\nthe Mediaeval Church had tempered the asceticism of historical\nChristianity by the distinction between what was imposed upon clergy\nand what was demanded of the laity, Protestantism was unable to\ncontinue this distinction because all believers were priests.  All had\nto come up to the same high standard or risk damnation.  This\nexaltation has in large measure departed from Protestantism, and we who\n{203} have grown into a mellower idea of salvation are inclined to\njudge this set of ideals as narrow and even morbid.  We forget that\npuritanism was the expression of an ascetic religious view of the world.\n\nIt was in the sphere of church government that Protestantism made its\ngreat changes by attempting to return to the polity of the early\nassociational form of Christianity.  The more radical forms of\nProtestantism, especially, inaugurated a movement in the direction of\nwhat we now call democracy.  There can be little doubt, in fact, that\nthese waves of religious individualism assisted the growth of\ndemocratic and republican forms of government.  This influence was\nunplanned and relatively accidental because religious individualism was\nmore concerned with the right to worship according to the dictates of\nconscience than with political rights.  But man is a psychological\nwhole, and so a reform along one line is bound to affect other phases\nof life.\n\nAs we have already pointed out, the alterations introduced on the\ntheological side were by no means revolutionary from an intellectual\nstandpoint.  And yet the spirit and mood of religion was deeply\naltered.  The process of salvation was differently conceived, and this\nled to the thought of a more direct relation between man and God than\nhad been admitted in the older Church.  God was believed to have\nguaranteed redemption to those who had faith in Jesus Christ as the\nredeemer.  This tenet led to an emphasis on the bible and on personal\nexperience.  It was through a study of the bible that men were led to\nthis personal faith, and the bible was accordingly conceived as the\nrepresentative of God upon earth.  What wonder that it was {204}\nsubstituted for the Church and tradition as an infallible and\nunchanging authority!  The logic of the movement is clear.  It has been\npointed out by one scholar that Protestantism introduced the doctrine\nof infallibility before the Roman Catholic Church did.  Calvinism\nselected the Augustinian dogmas of election and original sin as its\nfoundation, and used them in such a way as to become a fighting church,\na congregation of the elect, fearless and self-reliant.\n\nBibliolatry soon flourished, and sects sprang up on every hand, ready\nto suffer persecution for their particular interpretation of passages.\nTheology became a series of fanatically held dogmas supported by\ncopious quotations.  And the intellectual atmosphere within which these\ndogmatic theories arose was of the most conventional and limited sort.\nBroadness of outlook upon life was the exception rather than the rule.\nThe general assumption of the Christian scheme of the world remained\nunchallenged, while the bitterest disputes broke out in regard to\npoints which seem to the educated man of to-day quite unimportant.\nSuch a course of events was to be expected, and could not have been\nprevented.  Perhaps it did more good than harm, because it encouraged\nindependence on the part of the masses.  Its only cure was not\nauthority but education.  And the world was not yet ready for universal\neducation.  At certain periods, a tremendous waste of mental and moral\nenergy is simply inevitable: men cannot help going around and around in\nthe same circle of ideas in the most pathetically earnest fashion.  The\nconditions of progress are not always ready.  Take the knowledge of the\nclergy.  It was confined to the classics, the patristics, to massive\ntomes of theology, to {205} the bible in its Hebrew and Greek original.\nIt was not from these fields that enlightenment was to come.  The truth\nis, that Protestantism was slowly modified and mellowed, almost in\nspite of itself, by the pervasive influence of the great world\ncivilization that grew up around it and to which it was more\nsusceptible than was the reorganized Catholic Church.  Let us look at\nthis point more closely.\n\nThe reformation was an effect as much as a cause.  The nations were\ncoming to their own in the midst of a more complex social life full of\nhuman interests and values.  The Confessional Churches which sprang up\nwere unable to establish themselves securely enough to dominate the\ncivil powers.  The consequence was, that secular civilization was\nreleased from the sway of religion and its supernaturalism.\nGovernment, science, art, industry, and literature flourished in a\nfreedom they had seldom before experienced.  The disorganization of\nreligious institutions enabled many tendencies, hitherto kept in the\nbackground of men's consciousness, to push to the front and reveal\ntheir power over the human soul.  Do we not know that many great\nmediaeval doctors had to fight against their love of literature and art?\nProtestantism may be said to have been an unintentional cause of the\nmodern world.\n\nProtestantism broke up into an array of sects and tendencies as it fell\nupon the prism of human temperament.  Radical sects appeared, like the\nIndependents, the Quakers, the Baptists, the Pietists, and the\nCongregationalists.  These were radical in a social way rather than in\nan intellectual way.  They were subjective variations of the inherited\nmotives.  Largely, they represented a revolt against authoritism, and\n{206} emphasized the inner light or a very mild appeal to reason.  Yet\nwe must call them sects, just because they had much the same spirit and\nassumptions, and exaggerated what must be regarded as slight\ndifferences.  Still their very number gave a milder direction to\nreligion and made the idea of toleration more natural.  There was\nsafety in numbers.  On the intellectual side, the Unitarian movement\ndeserves attention for its aid in the dethronement of the old dogmatic\nstructure.  Alongside of these more subjective and emotional offshoots\nof Protestantism arose philosophical idealism to add a touch of vague\npantheism and a flavor of kindly mysticism.  In short, the confessional\ntype of Protestantism mellowed under the influence of a more rational\nsocial organization with its gentler life.  Reason was gaining in\nconcreteness and power, and human values were gaining in\nattractiveness.  The Old Testament gradually gave way to the synoptic\ngospels of the New, while asceticism dropped away like a mantle.  I,\nmyself, well remember when religion was largely a matter of taboos on\nthe moral side.  \"Thou shalt not\" outbalanced by far the suggestion of\nconcrete lines of positive endeavor.  Such spiritualism was passive and\nsuspicious rather than active and creative.  During the last thirty\nyears, Protestantism has passed insensibly into a gentle religion of\nthe spirit, sentimentally inclined toward life and permeated with\npopular notions of science and philosophy.  The sermon of the Puritan\nconcerned itself with the two dispensations; the sermon of the modern\nminister is full of quotations from the poets and reveals the growing\ninfluence of the social sciences.  The negative note is hardly audible.\nThis {207} world and its spiritual problems occupies the focus of\nattention.\n\nModern Protestantism is not over certain of its creed.  In fact, so\nuncertain is it of the doctrines it wishes to champion that it much\nprefers to discuss human problems, and to expend its enthusiasm in the\nadvance of a gentle code of ethics attached to the teaching of Jesus of\nNazareth.  In a very real sense, this attitude is to its credit, for it\nis positive and genuinely spiritual.  Moreover, it bears witness to a\nconsciousness of the decay of the supernaturalistic perspective which\ndominated and misled the world for so many centuries.  The spirit and\nknowledge of the present age has undermined the traditional beliefs,\nand the average protestant is too well educated and too much in touch\nwith current movements to be unaware of this situation.  He is not\ncertain whither he is being led nor does he so very much care; he is\ncontent to drift with the tide of human development, assured that the\nworld is becoming better and broader in its purposes and possibilities.\nCreed and dogma are dropping into the background and will soon be\ndiscarded, while the spiritual values which grow out of, and express,\nhuman nature and life are steadily forging to the front.\n\nThe church as an institution is only one among many.  And it must\nfurther be remembered that the life of society reaches beyond\ninstitutions, much as the life of an organism is greater than the\nhabits and structure which it uses.  Religious institutions did not\ncreate the modern world with its gigantic advances in commerce, its\nacute applications of science, its subtle art, its daring adventures in\nliving, its bold philosophies, its high {208} level of education, its\nexperiments in new social forms.  They have had their share in the\nwork, no doubt; but they have been acted upon even more than they have\nacted.  Because of its lack of internal unity and its antagonism to\nauthority, Protestantism could offer no effective barrier to the growth\nof the new outlook.  Often suspicious, it yet fought in the open.  The\ntrial of strength went against it ultimately because its foundation was\ninadequate.  Myth cannot fight against science and hope to win.  The\nverdict of the hard-fought contest is becoming evident to both winner\nand loser.  Let us hope that the loser will take his defeat manfully\nand gradually adapt himself to the New World that is dawning.  The\nProtestant Churches may then become groups of voluntary associations\nfilled with high spiritual purpose and ministering to the growth of a\nfiner social and economic life.  The main necessity is to find a\nfunction that is real and vital in the judgment and conscience of the\ntime.\n\nIt is undeniable that the various churches will long play a beneficent\nrole in the social economy, but the question may well be asked whether\nthis role would not be more significant and sanely creative if the\nhampering traditions and beliefs of the past were shaken off.  For\nthese traditions are the shelter of interpretations and social habits\nwhich are ill-adapted to the needs of the present.  They slow down the\nenergy of institutions and cloud their vision.  They lead the sincerest\nof people to use tools which have lost edge.  For instance, is not\ncivic and moral education far more effective than melodramatic revivals\nwhich stir people's emotions and leave them without chart and compass\nbefore the problems of their every-day life?  The church must {209}\nlearn prevention; it must go to school to the social and mental\nsciences.  Only so will it conquer that dilettantism which accompanies\nthe absence of methodical intelligence.\n\nBut the churches have the right to respond that they are not the only\nsinners in this regard.  Institutions of all kinds display the same\ntendency to retardation, to conservatism, to waste of energy, the\nbeliefs and habits of the past clinging heavily about them as\nimpedimenta.  It is seldom that a new life wells up quickly enough\nwithin them to break this inertia.  Perhaps all that the younger\ngeneration has the right to ask is a spirit of tolerance and even\nrespect for all loyalties which attach themselves to things of good\nrepute, and a more catholic admission of all human values into the\nclass of spiritual things.  The scientist is working for things of the\nspirit, and so is the artist, and so is the social reformer, and so is\nthe educator, and so is the day-laborer who does his work for the sake\nof some dear one.\n\nThe sea of faith of which Matthew Arnold sang is indeed at its ebb; but\na new sea of faith is welling up in the human soul, faith in humanity,\nin this life here and now, a faith in common things and common people,\na faith in noble things and their gifted creators, a faith founded in\nsympathy and in mental integrity and rooted in the actualities of life.\nIt is a faith grounded on the high will to assimilate and carry further\nthe spiritual values which the human race has slowly achieved in its\ntravail of the centuries.  Not to relinquish but to surpass, not to\ndeny but to transform: thus will the new day be won.  Let the spiritual\nforces which have grown up around religion, industry, science,\nphilosophy, {210} citizenship and art fall to with a will, to bring\nsome fuller measure of the long-dreamed-of Kingdom upon this earth,\nwhich has been and forever will be man's sole home.\n\n\n\n\n{211}\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE HUMANIST'S RELIGION\n\nIn the preceding pages we have no doubt often hurt--but we have hurt to\nheal.  The good surgeon probes deeply in order that he may not have the\noperation to perform again.  Even a minute amount of diseased tissues\nleft behind can prevent the return of vigorous and creative health.\nThus what may seem to the anxious patient unnecessary cruelty may be\nthe greatest kindness.  A sentimental compromise is never welcomed by\nthe mature judgment of the brave man.  And in this day when so many\nhave willingly given their lives for the sake of a human ideal, is it\njust and right to flinch in the spiritual warfare which confronts our\ngeneration?  We are seeking nothing less than a renaissance in which\nmen's energies will be wisely and loyally directed to what is greatly\nhuman and humanly great.  In such a service we must will to be hard on\nourselves and on others.\n\nIn the past, religion has only too often been formal and negative and\nworld-fleeing.  It has said nay to life rather than yea.  Past religion\nrested upon man's sense of his own helplessness in a world which he did\nnot understand.  By the very instinct of self-preservation, he created\nsupernatural powers which were to be on his side in the grim and\nunequal struggle in which he was engaged.  But this subterfuge by which\nhe thought to conquer had its treacherous effects, for it turned man\n{212} from comprehending and mastering his world.  He became but a\npilgrim here, intent on heavenly joys and splendors, which threw this\nworld into darkness.  What these joys and splendors were he hardly\nknew: yet he hugged the thought of them to his heart and despised\nthings merely human.  And if, as often became the case, the world grew\nupon him, his conscience was torn and tormented.  He was a man divided\nagainst himself, unable to throw himself whole-heartedly into any\nenterprise.\n\nBut the humanist's religion is the religion of one who says yea to life\nhere and now, of one who is self-reliant and fearless, intelligent and\ncreative.  It is the religion of the will to power, of one who is hard\non himself and yet joyous in himself.  It is the religion of courage\nand purpose and transforming energy.  Its motto is, \"What hath not man\nwrought?\"  Its goal is the mastery of things that they may become\nservants and instrumentalities to man's spiritual comradeship.\nWhatever mixture of magic, fear, ritual and adoration religion may have\nbeen in man's early days, it is now, and henceforth must be, that which\nconcerns man's nobilities, his discovery of, and loyalty to, the\npervasive values of life.  The religious man will now be he who seeks\nout causes to be loyal to, social mistakes to correct, wounds to heal,\nachievements to further.  He will be constructive, fearless, loyal,\nsensitive to the good wherever found, a believer in mankind, a fighter\nfor things worth while.\n\nWhen old ideas become enfeebled, they clog the spiritual system.\nConventionality, routine and sentimentalism take the place of the fresh\nvigor which always accompanies profound conviction.  A gospel cannot be\n{213} a heritage enjoyed: it must be a portion earned.  And to-day,\nespecially, there is pressing need for a brave criticism of past\nstandards, succeeded by an act of intelligent will which presses\nfearlessly on to a reformulation and reaffirmation of values.  Because\nthe old religions did not have this power to exalt significant human\nideals, relevant to the changing crisis of the times, the nations\ndrifted into the materialism of commercialism and militarism.  And a\nreligion insistent upon a rational and wise interpretation of the ways\nof life will, alone, be able to rescue them.  Watchwords by themselves,\nif they remain vague generalities untranslatable into new directions of\neffort, will fail.  What is necessary is a new goal, or else a\npragmatic development of past dreams into programs which awaken loyalty\nand hope.  But the center of gravity and endeavor of such a religion\nwill lie within society.  It will be, to all intents and purposes, a\nhumanist's religion.  It will save men's souls by making them worth\nsaving.  For it, salvation will be no magical hocus-pocus external to\nthe reach and timbre of man's personality: it will be his loyal and\nintelligent union with those values and possibilities of life which\nhave come within his ken.  To convert will be to educate and redirect\nthe energies of the soul.  And society will need conversion as\npressingly as scattered individuals in slums and tenements.  Does it\nto-day stress the most important things?  The State has been the\nservant of things as they are, not of things as they might be.  A\nhumanist's religion can admit no cunning division into the things which\nare God's and the things which are Caesar's.  Human values are as\njealous as the Yahweh of Moses.  To sin against them is to die\nspiritually.\n\n{214}\n\nThe common opinion that critical work is ever merely negative is a\ngreat error.  It is the willing error of a dogmatism which feels itself\ninsecure.  It is the error of a spiritual plane which has settled into\nease and hates to be disturbed.  Sooner or later, criticism leads to\nsomething positive, to a new vision and a new goal.  All that is needed\nis the patience which is founded upon faith and is willing to try all\nthings in the firm belief that the truth will prevail.  Moreover,\ncriticism has a positive psychological effect in that it calls\nattention to the actual situation and directs attention to the living\nproblems.  It is that spur to the soul which prevents it from going to\nsleep.  Without it, problems are avoided rather than sought.  Who can\ndeny that this lethargy has been the disheartening temper of the\nChristian Church, now when every domain of life cries aloud for\nvigorous thought?  Surely religion has to do with more than the common\ndecencies of life, important as they are.  Its place is in the van of\nthe fighting; it has to do with last hopes and glimpsed visions, with\nwhat is to come as well as with what is.  Religion at its tensest has\nto do with ultimate loyalties.  Habit and tradition are helpless in\nsuch matters, which are of things hoped for--upon this earth.\n\nBut enough of the critical side.  We have said that the coming religion\nwill say yea to human life.  Yet it will not affirm it in a blind and\nsentimental way.  It will be realistic and striving.  All great\nreligions of the past have recognized the tragic aspects of human life,\nits brevity, its littlenesses, its fussy selfishness, its lack of\nvision, its suffering; but they have too often been led to despise\nhumanity by seeing it on the illimitable background of celestial\nomnipotences and perfections.  {215} Religion as loyalty to human\nvalues will lose no whit of this tragic sense, and yet the palsying\nbackground of supernaturalism will disappear.  Some measure of tragedy\nwill remain; but its morbidity will have been separated out and\ncourageously rejected.  Social groups will fall to with a will to live\nlargely and widely.  They will seek a tingling welfare woven of the\nthreefold values of truth, beauty and goodness.  The saint will not be\nthe groveling sinner, but the man of mellow wisdom.  He will be\nimmersed in the currents of life and yet master of himself.  He will be\nat once the servant of concrete and compassable ideals and their\npossessor and enjoyer.\n\nThe shadow of the Great War will lighten to the coming generation soon\nafter peace is declared.  Then will come the time for the taking of\nstock and the revaluation of human endeavor.  Man must ask himself more\nseriously than ever before what things are worth while, and thereupon\nbend his political and economic instrumentalities to their furtherance.\nAnd here the religion of human values must be the leader.  Does\ndemocracy yet accord with such a religion?  Or is it still too timid,\nnegative, thin and uninstructed?  America, for example, has a soul; but\nit is a soul which needs discipline, instruction, contemplation.  The\nreligion of human possibilities needs prophets who will grip men's\nsouls with their description of a society in which righteousness,\nwisdom and beauty will reign together.  It is hard to say what thought\nsuch a society calls up before us.  Yet does it not mean that, more\nthan now and increasingly, selfish luxury will be scorned, property\nsubordinated to welfare, economic fear lessened to the utmost,\nknowledge unenviously exalted, and art called {216} into service?\nLoyalty to such an ideal will surely constitute the heart of the\nhumanist's religion.\n\nThe ideals of a religion can never be easy.  The prophets were stern\ncritics and hard taskmasters; Jesus knew that his true followers would\nfind their way no primrose path; the Mediaeval saints were hard on\nthemselves and their disciples.  We can generalize this history for the\nfuture.\n\nAnd yet a larger measure of joy and human satisfaction will play around\nreligion in the future than has been the case in the past.  Because of\nits supernaturalisms and distortions, religious demands have often been\nmorbid and full of unnecessary friction.  Religion has sought to thwart\nand repress human nature rather than to guide and express.  But a\nreligion of human loyalty can be kindly as well as exigent,\nmirth-loving as well as stern.\n\nAs never before, spiritual values sing to us from life.  They sing to\nus of the patient love of the parent for the child, of the conquest of\nnature by trained intellect, of the quiet labor of the skilled workman,\nof the steady loyalties of every-day life, of the willing cooperation\nof citizens, of the sweetness of music, of plans for greater social\njustice, and of a world made free from war.  Spiritual values are\neverywhere around us inviting our service.  He who asks where they are\nis like a man who asks for water when a spring is bubbling beneath his\nfeet.  And yet we have been so blinded by the old ascetic\nsupernaturalisms that we are slow to realize that these simple human\nthings are nobly spiritual.  So long as there are things worth while,\nthere will be spiritual values.  Is not this positive enough?  Need he\nwho has an inalienable treasure fear robbery?\n\n{217}\n\nTo put the situation bluntly, religion must be separated from the\nother-worldly pull of the traditional theologies and be sanely grounded\nin the outlook of modern knowledge.  There is no need for a rabid\nanti-theism.  The truth is, rather, that mankind is outgrowing theism\nin a gentle and steady way until it ceases to have any clear meaning.\nThis is a hard saying and requires justification.  In part, I have\ngiven the justification in the preceding pages; in part, I have given\nit elsewhere.[1]  But the drift among thinking people is unmistakable.\nWith the imminent solution of the mind-body problem, the last bulwark\nof the old supernaturalism will have fallen.  Man will be forced to\nacknowledge that he is an earth-child whose drama has meaning only upon\nher bosom.  It is my firm conviction that the clear realization of this\nfact will startle men into insights and demands of far-reaching import.\nMay it not remove a dead-weight of inhibitions which has kept the human\nspirit under bonds to past attitudes and methods?  There will no longer\nbe a divided interest and an uncertain horizon.  To many it will come\nlike a plunge in cold water: but may not such a plunge do them good by\nwaking them from their dogmatic slumbers?\n\nThe interpretation of the physical world of which man is a part must be\nleft to the cooperative work of {218} science and philosophy.  These\nwill give to us tested and critical knowledge of the processes which go\non around us, of the drift of the stars in the world-spaces, of the\nspiral movements of nebular matter, of the evolution of the elements,\nof the integration of organic forms, of the development of historic\nlife.  The universe is: it is meaningless to ask whence it came, for it\nalways was, and time is but a term for the changes which go on within\nit.\n\nBut, having explored the universe by telescope and microscope, and\nhaving thus come to some understanding of his world, man must return\nagain to his own pressing problems and possibilities, to his need to\ninterpret his own good, to his desire to further and maintain those\ninterests and activities in which he finds self-expression.  His own\nlife, as a realm of affection and action, must rightly be for him the\nsignificant center of the universe.  These urgencies, interests,\npossibilities, satisfactions, loyalties are inalienably human and\nvalid.  He can no more ignore them than he can his hunger for food and\nhis thirst for water.  Nothing can rob him of the values which he has\ncreated, nor can any one take from him the burden of courageous\nendeavor.  He is the master of his own destiny and the prompter in his\nown drama.  In his tenser moments, the physical spaces around his\nplanet will but contain\n\n  \"The endless, silly merriment of stars.\"\n\n\nAs religion learns to relinquish theology and accept the modern view of\nthe world, the spirituality which it has fostered will mate with\nreason.  Reason by itself is not enough; feeling by itself is not\nenough.  What the world awaits is the sane and kindly ministry of a\n{219} concrete reason to the goods of human life.  Thinking and\nexperimentation must be instrumental to the progressive betterment of\nlife.  This idea is not new.  Many have grasped it before in whole or\nin part; but the setting has not always been simple enough.  Comte\nmeant just such a humanism in his religion of humanity, but he was\nunable to cut himself loose from his associations with organized\nChristianity.  There is no adequate motive for the retention of the\nritualism and worship of Comtism, nor is there any good reason for the\ndeification of humanity.  Humanity is not an entity, nor is it a sort\nof supreme personality which may be worshiped.  Religion will mean the\nvaluing of experiences and activities, the striving for their\nrealization, the loyalty to their call.  Taken in this way, religion\nwill agree with and commend the purpose expressed by Huxley: \"To\npromote the increase of natural knowledge and to forward the\napplication of scientific methods of investigation to all the problems\nof life to the best of my ability, in the conviction which has grown\nwith my growth, and strengthened with my strength, that there is no\nalleviation for the sufferings of mankind except veracity of thought\nand action, and the resolute facing of the world as it is, when the\ngarment of make-believe by which pious hands have hidden its uglier\nfeatures is stripped off.\"  This outlook has been called the marriage\nof naturalism with philanthropy; it is better to speak of it as the\nmarriage of naturalism with humanism.  It is the belief that a rational\nspirituality is possible, natural to man, and, above all things,\ndesirable.\n\nBut if men find their salvation in love for, and loyalty to, values of\nvarious kinds, the practical question {220} becomes that of the\nfurtherance and support of these values.  What are some of the social\nconditions of a noble life?  Surely education, opportunity and free\nassociation.  It is no longer granted to trust the coming of a\nsupernatural grace which will illuminate life.  Such subjective\nillumination is only too apt to reflect the temperament of the\nindividual and to lack that training and breadth of interest which only\neducation and opportunity for a varied experience can give.  Many of\nthe values which we prize most highly to-day need the soil of culture\nand of a complex civilization before they will flourish.  To distribute\nthem widely is the dearest hope of a democracy which looks beyond the\nmerely political aspects of social institutions.  But such a\ndistribution is a goal which has conditions which must be mastered by\nthe bending of a keen social intelligence into the service of a genuine\ndesire for the extension of well-used leisure.  I mean that the task of\nmodern democracy is the securing of economic well-being and a fair\ndegree of leisure for the mass of the citizens in order that they may\nhave the time, the energy, and the opportunity to develop themselves\nand to put themselves cooperatively into touch with the pleasant and\ncreative side of life.  But I have already touched upon these problems\nof social method and aim in another volume.[2]\n\nIt is time that I discussed a question which, I have no doubt, has been\nhovering in the background of many a reader's mind.  Is it justifiable\nto retain the term religion when its ancient setting has been so\ncompletely discarded?  I have myself asked this question many a {221}\ntime.  For many years, I felt that it would be better to give up the\nword entirely as indissolubly bound up with those ideas and beliefs\nwhich the modern trained mind is outgrowing.  But I could not hide from\nmyself the fact that the consciousness of the time was beginning to\nemploy it in a freer and more constructive way.  It had sensed the\nelement of devotion and loyalty which religion had, in spite of its\nmany shortcomings, nourished.  How common the phrase is that a man has\nmade a religion of some interest!  The socialist is said to make a\nreligion of socialism, the social reformer of his work of constructive\nphilanthropy, the artist of his art.  We mean that he has thrown\nhimself whole-heartedly into some one of these fields.  And,\npositively, this means that he has found that concrete and living\nsalvation which ideal effort always brings to a man.  He is filled with\nthe spirit of consuming loyalty to what he values.  He has left the\nmere conventionalities, the run of use-and-wont behind and has exalted\nhimself with a living purpose which illuminates and concentrates his\nbeing.  I think that this spirit and attitude is coming to be called\nreligious, no matter to what objects it attaches itself.  Have we not\nhere a mark of identity which justifies the retention of the age-old\nword?  Morality is too cold a word in the ears of most men.  Besides,\nmoral values are only a part of the immense throng of appreciations to\nwhich man responds.  There is need of a comprehensive term, able to\ntake in all those interests and activities which give life its variety\nand glory.  Is there a better term than religion?\n\nBut there must be no mistake about the new setting of the term; no\ncasuistic ambiguity must be encouraged.  We must be firm in our\nnegations of the old as {222} well as constructive in our affirmation\nof the new.  I have tried to show that the belief in superhuman spirits\narose in primitive times when man knew little about the world in which\nhe found himself.  Investigators in the history of religion trace the\nsteps from polydemonism to polytheism and thence to henotheism and\nmonotheism.  Along with this evolution, which reflected changes in\nsocial organization, went a corresponding moral transformation of these\ndivine beings.  Yet the setting of the outlook was largely the same as\nin earlier days.  Social relations were supposed to control the\nuniverse as a whole.  Nature recognized her master in God much as the\nsubjects of a king greeted him as their lord.  His was the might,\nmajesty, dominion and glory.  There is a pathetic incident related of\nCarlyle which has meaning in this connection.  Mr. Froude told Carlyle,\nnot long before the latter's death, that he could believe only in a God\nwho did something.  With a cry of pain, Carlyle answered, \"He does\nnothing.\"  How can we harmonize this cry with his earlier faith in an\nEverlasting Will and a Providential Government of the world?  It is\nimpossible to do so.  Romantic spiritualism must give way to a\nhumanistic naturalism which sees clearly the place of man in the world.\nMorality, science and art are man's creation and distinctive\npossession.  What he needs is a stable, law-abiding environment within\nwhich to work.  He has this, and has gained some mastery of it.  The\nfurther necessary step is mastery of himself and of those huge\ninstitutions which have grown up and now threaten to make him circle\nwithin their orbits.  Man has battles still to fight.\n\nThe religion of the future will increasingly be concerned with two\nthings, virtues and values.  The Greek {223} virtues have been made\ntenderer by the Christian virtues and more steadfast by that training\nof the will and character which we associate with puritanism.  The\nexperience of the ages has deepened and broadened man, made him less\nhasty in judgment, more aware of his limitations, more realistic, more\nefficient.  At the same time, it has added that touch of pathos which\nspiritualizes the beauty of life.  We believe, also, that it has\nnourished that sentiment of tenderness for the homely fate of the\naverage man that will some day find expression in a fuller democracy\nthan has as yet dawned upon the earth.\n\nBut, above all, religion must be catholic in its count of values.\nWherever there is loyal endeavor, it will acknowledge the presence of\nthe spiritual.  It will reverence the philosopher who has found\nsalvation in the solution of complex intellectual problems, the\nscientist who has given himself to the whole-hearted study of nature,\nthe missionary who has devoted himself to the spread of an elevating\nconception of life, the kindly physician who has sought to alleviate\nhuman suffering, the social reformer who has spent his life in\nagitating for a saner social polity, the artist who has had a vision of\nbeauty and has labored to express it in such a way that all men could\nshare it, the man and woman who have met the tasks of every day with\ncourage and charity.  And it will seek to bring these values to closer\nacquaintance with each other than has hitherto been the case.  The\nguidance of a kindly and clear-eyed reason will not be regarded with\nsuspicion, for this human faith will have nothing to fear, because\nhaving no tottering creed to sustain.  What a relief it will be to have\nthe narrow sectarianism, the cruel bigotry, the obscurantism of {224}\nsupernaturalism purged from religion!  These unlovely features of man's\nspiritual life had their rootage in the distrust of human nature and of\nhuman reason, in a certain slavishness of soul continuous with the\ndistant days of man's ignorance and fear.  They will lessen and pass\naway as knowledge increases, as liberty becomes concrete and\nsignificant, as a more spiritual courage grows among the mass of men.\nAnd, in my opinion, there is nothing more calculated to hasten the\ngrowth of this buoyancy and moral courage than a larger measure of\nsocial justice in the common affairs of life.\n\nAnd, in this mission of adjustment and service between the various\nvalues of life, reason will have a co-equal as a helper.  Surely, art\nwill come more and more to its own in the life which is opening up\nbefore us!  Man's soul will crave gracious surroundings, the harmony of\nwell-constructed dwellings, the restfulness of dawn and flowers, the\nelevation of noble buildings.  Ugliness and squalor will be repugnant\nto him, for he will know their spiritual cost.  But man will not only\nseek healthy and beautiful surroundings, he will also be desirous to\ninterpret all phases of his life to himself.  And in this effort at\ninterpretation he will succeed ever more fully in seeing the various\nsides of his life as parts of a whole.  Art will set itself the task of\ngiving significance and depth to nature, to industry, to the home, to\npublic life, to science.  And, as art begins to perform this mission of\ninterpretation, it will cease to be thought of as a mere decoration,\nthe plaything of the rich.  It will be conceived as the means for the\nexpression of those various loyalties which will ennoble and\nspiritualize life.  As the human race grows healthier {225} and happier\nit will employ to the full that gift of all gifts it has in its\npossession, the capacity to clothe things with gracious forms and give\nits deepest feelings a human voice.  Art will be the high-priest of the\nreligion of loyalty to the values of life.\n\nTo those accustomed to the old mythological setting of religion with\nits glance away from human life as a whole, this prophecy will but\nconfirm their conviction of the revolutionary character of the thesis\nwhich this book has sought to champion.  But I feel certain that, if\nthey will permit themselves a dispassionate study of the facts, they\nwill, sooner or later, be forced to acknowledge the inevitableness of\nthe conclusion.  If religion is to survive, it must be human and\nsocial.  It is they who insist upon a supernatural foundation and\nobject who are its enemies.  Man's life is spiritual in its own right.\nSo long as he shall dream of beauty and goodness and truth his life\nwill not lack religion.\n\n\n\n[1] Those who are interested in a constructive philosophical position\nwhich meets the results of modern science may be referred to my two\nbooks, _Critical Realism_ and _The Essentials of Philosophy_.  I have\nthere shown that the mind-body dualism has been due to a false way of\napproach.  Psychology gives knowledge about the functional capacities\nof the nervous system additional to that given by the physical science,\nand in no way conflicting with it, and consciousness is in the brain.\n\n[2] See especially _The Next Step in Democracy_, ch. 5.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n\n{227}\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAgency, impersonal, 117 f.; limits of personal, 121 f.\n\nAgnosticism, and theodicy, 154 f.\n\nAlbigenses, 162\n\nArminianism, 161\n\nAsceticism, 156; protestant, 202\n\nAttis, 23\n\nAttis mysteries, 24\n\n\nBalder, 21\n\nBiblical criticism, 66\n\nBibliolatry, 204\n\nBrain, discussion of, 136\n\nBuddhism, 138\n\n\nCalvinism, 164\n\nCathars, 162\n\nChristianity, origins of, 58 f.; historical approach to, 60 f.; setting\nof, 68 f.; democratic movements in, 73; in transition, 95 f.; naivete\nof doctrines, 101 f.\n\nChristian mythology, 28\n\nChurch, organization of, 92, 187\n\nCopernican theory, 100 f.\n\nCreation, stories of, 30 f.\n\nCriticism, higher, 128, 131 f.\n\n\nDemons, Jesus's belief in, 127\n\nDevil, a personal, 155\n\nDionysus, 18\n\nDogmatism, tendency to, 65\n\nDreams, influence of, 143\n\n\nEthics, and early religion, 170 f.; in the Middle Ages, 173 f.;\nheteronomous, 175 f.; modern, 177 f.; 184 f.\n\nEvil, for primitive man, 153; and Satan, 156; created by God, 158; as\nillusion, 164 f.; disappearance of problem of, 165\n\nEvolution, and myth, 41 f.; biological, 104 f.\n\n\nFaith cures, 132\n\n\nGnosticism, 87 f.\n\nGod, for Christianity, 115 f.; ideas of, 159 f.\n\nGreat War, 2, 11\n\n\nHades, 140\n\nHell, 177\n\nHumanism, 192\n\nHumanitarianism, 5\n\n\nImmortality, arguments for, 146 f.; and early peoples, 139 f.; and\nChristianity, 142; philosophical aspect of, 148 f.\n\nIncarnation, 90\n\nInfallibility, 204\n\nInsanity, 146 f.\n\n\nJames, Wm., 145\n\nJesus, 75, 79 f.; death of, 82; as Messiah, 85; become God, 91; and the\nHebrew prophets, 158 f.\n\nJob, 154.\n\n\nKant, Immanuel, 147 f.\n\nKempis, Thomas a, 180\n\nKoran, 62\n\n\nLang, Andrew, 17\n\nLaws, universal, 118\n\nLyell, scientific canon of, 132\n\n\nMagic, 44 f.\n\nMagicians, 50\n\nManicheism, 162\n\nMcGiffert, quoted, 7\n\nMill, John Stuart, 163\n\nMiracles, 123 f.; of Jesus, 127 f; evidence for, 130 f.; and their\nlogic, 133\n\nMithraism, 23, 69.\n\nMonastic orders, 194\n\nMonotheism, ethical, 91, 115; Christian, 111 f.; of Isaiah, 158 f.\n\nMorality, 173\n\nMythology, 14 f.\n\nMyths, and morality, 24 f.; surrendering of, 108\n\n\nName, influence of, 51 f.\n\nNaturalism, 2\n\nNewman, Cardinal, 187\n\n\nOriginal sin, 157\n\nOsiris, 23\n\n\nPaul, 70, 73\n\nPauline Christianity, 86 f.\n\nPhilo, 90\n\nPrometheus, 17\n\nProphets, Hebrew, 171 f.\n\nProtestantism, beginnings of, 93; aspects of, 199 f.; sects of, 205\n\nProvidence, 144 f.\n\n\nReformation, 205\n\nReinach, 17\n\nReligion, new perspective in, 6, 10; of the Hebrews, 27; and magic, 53\nf.; in early times, 170; social side of, 190\n\nRitual, 19 f.; and Christianity, 23\n\nRobinson, quoted, 200\n\nRoman Empire, 189, 192\n\n\nSacraments, 192\n\nSalvation, 8 f.; and immortality, 141 f., 201\n\nSatan, 155\n\nSavior, 157\n\nScience, 62 f.\n\nSecular life, growth of, 195 f.\n\nSheol, 18, 140 f.\n\nSkepticism, 110\n\nSocial democracy, 5\n\nSpiritual, the, 11, 196\n\nSpiritual courage, 2\n\nSpiritualism, 11\n\nSt. Augustine, 159, 162\n\nSt. Francis, 73.\n\nStrauss, 64\n\nSynoptic gospels, 77 f.\n\n\nTheology, and ethics, 164\n\nTotemism, 15 f.\n\nTradition, harm of, 10\n\nTyndall, 135\n\n\nUnitarian movement, 206\n\nUniverse, new view of, 3 f.\n\n\nWells, H. G., 162, 184 f.\n\n\nYahweh, 26 f.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  The following pages contain advertisements of a few\n  of the Macmillan books on kindred subjects.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bible at a Single View\n\nWith an Appendix on How to Read the Bible\n\nBY RICHARD G. MOULTON,\n\nEditor of _The Modern Reader's Bible_\n\n_Cloth, 12mo.  $1.00_\n\nDr. Moulton's purpose in this book is, as indicated in his title, to\npresent a concise view of the Bible, a view which shall make clear its\ngeneral character and content and prepare the reader for more detailed\nstudy afterward.  Dr. Moulton's training and research--he is the author\nof many books bearing on the Bible and the editor of _The Modern\nReader's Bible_--well fit him for the task which he has chosen.  This\npresentation of the broad outlines of the Bible cannot but lead to a\nmore general and clearer appreciation of the content and real spirit of\n\"the greatest book in the world.\"  The appendix offers a course in\nBible reading calculated to conserve time and energy and to bring\nbetter results than disorganized Bible reading.\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nThis Life and the Next\n\nTHE EFFECT ON THIS LIFE OF FAITH IN ANOTHER\n\nBY P. T. FORSYTH\n\n_Price, $1.00_\n\n\n\"Immortality needs to be mortalized and brought home to our daily life\nwithout losing its mystic spell.  So many have turned it from a\npractical task into a theoretical problem; from a Gospel to our will\ninto a riddle to our wits; from a matter of conscience and duty to a\nmatter of poetry and speculation, resting it not on the free grace of\nGod but on the dim presumption of man.\"\n\nThe reaction of a belief in immortality, its moral rebound, upon this\nlife--The egoism of Christ and the egoism of the anti-egoists--The\negoism of God, the blessing of the world--Immortality, a vocation\nrather than a problem--Immortality as a crushing crisis, a searching\njudgment on life's interior--Time's sacramental secret--The Kingdom of\nGod as the real ground of Christian belief in the soul's\nfuture--Immortality, not continued but redeemed life--Immortality as\nbehavior in a new dimension.\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nReligion, Its Prophets and False Prophets\n\nBY JAMES BISHOP THOMAS, PH. D.\n\nProfessor in the Theological Department of the\n  University of the South.\n\n_$1.50_\n\n\nThe object of this book, as its title suggests, is a study of the\nhistoric conflict between the two types of religion, which may be\ndesignated as the prophetic and the exploiting type.  It further seeks\nto ascertain the theological aspects and implications of the contest,\nto do justice to the theological permanence, veracity and breadth of\nvision of prophetism and to show how the theologies or hierarchies and\necclesiasticism were influenced or manipulated in the interests of the\nwill to exploit.  Again it may be said that the author seeks in this\nvolume to discover and state just what Christianity is.  In order to do\nthis he distinguishes between historic Christianity and the\nChristianity of its founder.  His conclusion is that \"The world's\ngreatest need as in the past so today, is to understand and follow the\nChristianity of Christ.\"\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nReligious Hand Books\n\n_Each Sixty Cents_\n\n\nNew Horizon of State and Church\n\nBy W. H. P. FAUNCE\n\n\"Broad, profound scholarship, close relationship with progressive\nsentiment all over the land, and unusual powers of keen analysis and\ngraphic statement are forceful elements in 'The New Horizon of State\nand Church.'\"--_Philadelphia North American_.\n\n\nThe Christian Man, the Church and the War\n\nBY ROBERT E. SPEER\n\nDr. Speer here discusses the essentials of a problem which has\nexercised Christian men since the beginning of the war.  He deals with\nit sanely and in a manner that will be considered distinctly helpful.\n\n\nThe Assurance of Immortality\n\nBY HARRY EMERSON FOSDICK\n\n\"Will be welcomed by those who need to be shown how much it means to\nthis world to believe that this life is but part of a vast\nforever.\"--_Boston Transcript_.\n\n\nThe Church and the Man\n\nBY DONALD HANKEY\n\n\"Filled with the wise sincerity of a religious conviction that cares\nlittle for creed and miracle, that finds the whole _vade mecum_ of life\nin the simple facts of Christ's active work among men.\"--_Boston\nTranscript_.\n\n\nAre You Human?\n\nBY WILLIAM DEWITT HYDE\n\n\"Like a stinging fresh breeze laden with the very salt of life and\nvigor....  Every man ought to get and digest this book.\"--_Pacific\nChurchman_.\n\n\nThe Best Man I Know\n\nBY WILLIAM DEWITT HYDE\n\n\"All the virtues and the graces that make for fine quality of life are\nincluded.  They are presented with a vigor that is like the sting of\nsalt winds, bracing and wholesome.\"--_Christian Register_.\n\n\nIt's All in the Day's Work\n\nBY HENRY CHURCHILL KING\n\n\"Good bracing counsel ... a book for all who wish to acquit themselves\nwell in the battle of life.\"--_The Dial_.\n\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York","title":"The Next Step in Religion: An Essay toward the Coming Renaissance","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":64688}