The question of this third division of our inquiry is this: To what changed points of view, and to what restatements of doctrine, and so to what better appreciation of Christian truth, does the social consciousness of our time lead? The question is raised here, as in the case of the conception of religion, not as one of exact historical connection, but rather as a question of sympathetic points of contact. It means simply: With what changes in theological statements would the social consciousness naturally find itself most sympathetic?

Certain general results are clear from the start, and might be anticipated from any one of several points of view.

I. THE CONCEPTION OF THEOLOGY IN PERSONAL TERMS

In the first place, the social consciousness means, we have found, emphasis on the fully personal—a fresh awakening to the significance of the person and of personal relations. Its whole activity is in the sphere of personal relations. Hence, as in the conception of religion, so here, so far as the social consciousness affects theology at all, it will tend everywhere to bring the personal into prominence, and it certainly will be found in harmony ultimately with the attempt to conceive theology in terms of personal relations. These are for the social consciousness the realest of realities; and if theology is to be real to the social consciousness, then it must make much of the personal. Theology, thus, it is worth while seeing, is not to be personal and social, but it will be social—it will do justice to the social consciousness—if it does justice to the fully personal; for, in the language of another, "man is social, just in so far as he is personal."[54]

The foreign and unreal seeming of many of the old forms of statement, it may well be noted in passing, has its probable cause just here. They were not shaped in the atmosphere of the social consciousness. They got at things in a way we should not now think of using. The method of approach was too merely metaphysical and individualistic and mystical, and the result seems to us to have but slight ethical or religious significance. The arguments that now move us most, in this entire realm of spiritual inquiry, are moral and social rather than metaphysical and mystical. It is interesting to see, for example, how such arguments for immortality as that of the simplicity of the soul's being—and most of those used by Plato—and how such arguments even for the existence of God as those of Samuel Clarke from time and space, have become for us merely matters of curious inquiry. We can hardly imagine men having given them real weight. A similar change seems to be creeping over the laborious attempts metaphysically to conceive the divinity of Christ. The question is shifting its position for both radical and conservative to a new ground—from the metaphysical and mystical to the moral and social; though some radicals who regard themselves as in the van of progress have not yet found it out, and so find fault with one for not continually defining himself in terms of the older metaphysical formulas and shibboleths. The considerations, in all these questions and in many others, which really weigh most with us now, are considerations which belong to the sphere of the personal spiritual life. Ultimately, no doubt, a metaphysics is involved here too; but it is a metaphysics whose final reality is spirit, not an unknown substance—Locke's "something, I know not what."

The unsatisfactoriness of even so honored a symbol as the Apostles' Creed, as a permanently adequate statement of Christian faith, must for similar reasons become increasingly clear in the atmosphere of the social consciousness. One wonders, as he goes carefully over it, that so many concrete statements could be made concerning the Christian religion, which yet are so little ethical. The creed seems almost to exclude the ethical. It has nothing to say, except by rather distant implication, of the character of God, of the character of Christ, or of the character of men. The life of Christ between his birth and his death are untouched. The considerations that really weigh most with us—as they did with the apostles—in making us Christians, certainly do not come here to prominent expression. This whole difference of atmosphere is the striking fact; and were it not that we instinctively interpret its phrases in accordance with our modern consciousness, we should feel the difference much more than we do.

What the previous discussion has called the truly mystical—the recognition of the whole man, of the entire personality—is coming in increasingly to correct both the falsely mystical and the falsely metaphysical. We are arguing now, in harmony with the social consciousness, from the standpoint of the broadly rational, not from that of the narrowly intellectual.

II. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD, AS THE DETERMINING PRINCIPLE
IN THEOLOGY

One might reach essentially the same general results from the influence of the social consciousness, by seeing that, so far as it deepens for us the meaning of the personal, it will deepen immediately our conception of the Fatherhood of God—the central and dominating doctrine in all theology—and so affect all theology. For, with a change in the conception of God, no doctrine can go wholly untouched. Every step into a deeper feeling for the personal—and the growth of the modern social consciousness is undoubtedly a long step in that direction—deepens necessarily religion and theology. Perhaps the possible results here can be illustrated in no way better than by recalling Patterson DuBois' putting of the needed change in the conception of the proper attitude of a father toward his child. We are not to say, he writes: "I will conquer that child, no matter what it may cost him," but we are to say, "I will help that child to conquer himself, no matter what it may cost me." Now that change in point of view is a well-nigh perfect illustration of the social consciousness in a given relation, and it cannot be doubted that it is a true expression of Christ's thought of the Fatherhood of God; but has it really dominated through and through our theological statements? Manifestly, what it means to us that God is Father depends on what we have come to see in fatherhood. And Principal Fairbairn, in the second part of his The Place of Christ in Modern Theology, has given us a good illustration of how much it means for theology to be in earnest in making the Fatherhood of God the determining doctrine in theology.

III. CHRIST'S OWN SOCIAL EMPHASES

Again, if the general influence of the social consciousness upon theological doctrine is to be recognized at all, it is evident that a Christian theology must take full account of Christ's own social emphases. By loyalty to these, it will expect best to meet the need of an enlightened social consciousness. It will strive thus—to use Professor Peabody's instructive summary of "the social principles of the teaching of Jesus"—to be true to "the view from above, the approach from within, and the movement toward a spiritual end; wisdom, personality, idealism; a social horizon, a social power, a social aim. The supreme truth that this is God's world gave to Jesus his spirit of social optimism; the assurance that man is God's instrument gave to him his method of social opportunism; the faith that in God's world God's people are to establish God's kingdom gave him his social idealism. He looks upon the struggling, chaotic, sinning world with the eye of an unclouded religious faith, and discerns in it the principle of personality fulfilling the will of God in social service."[55]

And every one of these three great social principles of Jesus has obvious theological applications, not yet fully made.

The social consciousness, indeed, well illustrates Fairbairn's admirable statement of how progress is to be expected in theology. "The longer the history [of Christ]," he says, "lives in the [Christian] consciousness and penetrates it, the more does the consciousness become able to interpret the history in its own terms and according to its own contents. The old pagan mind into which Christianity first came could not possibly be the best interpreter of Christianity, and the more the mind is cleansed of the pagan the more qualified it becomes to interpret the religion. It is, therefore, reasonable to expect that the later forms of faith should be the truer and purer."[56]

Now the social consciousness itself is a genuine manifestation of the spirit of Christ at work in the world, and the mind permeated with this social consciousness is consequently better able to turn back to the teaching of Jesus and give it proper interpretation.

IV. THE REFLECTION IN THEOLOGY OF THE CHANGES
IN THE CONCEPTION OF RELIGION

Once more, theology, as an expression of religion, will at once reflect any change in the conception of religion. The influence of the social consciousness upon religion, already traced, will, therefore, inevitably pass over into theology. This means nothing less than a changed point of view, in the consideration of each doctrine. For theology must then recognize clearly that it can build on no falsely mystical conception of communion with God; but, while keeping the elements in mysticism which are justified by the social consciousness, it will require of itself throughout a formulation of doctrine in terms that shall be thoroughly personal, thoroughly ethical, and indubitably loyal to the concretely historically Christian. Many traditional statements quite fail to meet so searching a test; but no lower standard can give a theology that should fully meet the demands of the social consciousness.

The general results of the influence of the social consciousness upon theological doctrine, then, may be said to include: The emphasis upon the fully personal, and so conceiving theology in terms of personal relation; the deepening of the conception of the Fatherhood of God, and making this the determining principle in theology; the application of the social principles of the teaching of Jesus to theology; the reflection in theology of the natural changes in the conception of religion wrought by the social consciousness. Now any one of these general results indicates the certain influence of the social consciousness upon theology, and any one might be followed out into helpful suggestions for the restatement of theological doctrines.

But we shall probably most clearly and definitely answer the question of our theme, if we ask specifically concerning the several elements of the social consciousness: How does a deepening sense of the like-mindedness of men, of the mutual influence of men, of the value and sacredness of the person, of personal obligation, and of love, tend to affect our theological point of view and mode of statement? And our inquiry will follow these separate questions in separate chapters, except that for the purposes of theological inference, the last three may be appropriately grouped together.

CHAPTER X
THE INFLUENCE OF THE DEEPENING SENSE OF THE
LIKE-MINDEDNESS OF MEN UPON THEOLOGY

In definitely considering the influence of the social consciousness upon theological doctrines, our first question becomes: How does the deepening sense of the like-mindedness of men affect theology?

Obviously, here, the change will be largely one of mood. We shall look at our themes with a different feeling, and so speak differently, modifying our methods of putting things in those slight ways that do not seem specially significant to one who judges in the mass, but mean very much to one who feels the finer implications of personal life. These finer changes no one can hope to follow out in detail. Certain of these finer changes will naturally find incidental expression in the course of the more formal treatment.

But our attention must be mainly given to the statement of some of the most important of the plainer results of the principle in theology.

I. NO PRIME FAVORITES WITH GOD

In the first place, this conviction of the like-mindedness of men means that there can be no prime favorites with God.

It can hardly help affecting the thought of election. Election will, indeed, be thought of as qualified by the character of the chosen; for even Paul's argument in Romans clearly recognizes this, and is, in fact, itself a distinct argument against a narrow doctrine of election, as others have recognized.[57] But, beyond this, the conviction of the like-mindedness of men will especially view election as a choice for service. The divine method of election must be in harmony with Christ's fundamental principle of his kingdom, and with the developing social consciousness: "Whosoever shall be first among you, shall be servant of all."[58] It is no accident that this thought of election as choice for preËminent service, which is indeed soundly biblical, has come into special prominence in these days of the social consciousness. The same change is passing over our view of the "elect," as of the "privileged" and "governing" classes. We shall not return to the older feeling of prime favorites of God, and the problem of evil will find herein a certain alleviation. We shall feel increasingly that each race and each individual have their calling and have their compensating advantages; and that, when it comes down to the final test of opportunity, the differences in opportunity between individuals are far less than they seem; for to each one is given the possibility of the largest service any man can render—the possibility of touching closely with the very spirit of his life a few other lives. "There are compensations," as James says, "and no outward changes of condition in life can keep the nightingale of its eternal meaning from singing in all sorts of different men's hearts."[59]

II. THE GREAT UNIVERSAL QUALITIES AND INTERESTS,
THE MOST VALUABLE

Moreover, since equality of need among men,[60] implies, as we have seen, a common capacity—even if in varying degrees—of entering into the most fundamental interests of life, this belief in the essential likeness of men is likely to carry with it that most wholesome conviction for theology, that the great universal qualities and interests are the most valuable. Not that which distinguishes us from one another, but that which we have in common is most valuable. As Howells tells the boys in his A Boy's Town, "the first thing you have to learn here below, is that in essentials you are just like every one else, and that you are different from others only in what is not so much worth while."[61] This consideration is no small help in facing that most difficult problem for any ideal view of the world—the problem of evil.

In God's world, we feel that the most common things ought to be the best. And this growing conviction of the social consciousness comes in to confirm our faith. The constant and simple insistence of Christ on receptivity as a fundamental quality in his kingdom is built, in fact, on an optimistic faith in the value of the common things.

It is interesting to notice the varied confirmations of the value of the common. How often we have to feel that the deepest discussions come out with only deeper insight into the great common truths; and, on the other hand, that in stilted philosophizing, what seems at first sight a great discovery, proves only a perversely obscure way of putting a common truth.

It is the very mission of genius—of the poet in the larger sense, we are coming to feel, to bring out the value of the common. His distinctive mark is that he has kept a fresh sense for the great common experiences of life. So Kipling prays:

So, the greatest in art, Hegel contends, has a universal appeal.

It is a wholesome and heartening conviction, I say, to bring into theology, that the really best things are common, accessible to all, actually shared in, to an extent beyond that which our superficial vision seems to show. For, after all, this conviction of the social consciousness is only bringing home to us, in a new and appreciable way, Christ's own optimism and his own faith in the love of the Father. It is only another illustration of Fairbairn's principle of the Christian consciousness becoming more Christian, and so better able to understand and interpret Christ.

And it leads us back by this route of the social consciousness, to emphasize in life, and in our theological thinking upon the conditions of entering the kingdom of God, Christ's own insistence upon the two universally human characteristics found in every child—susceptibility and trust, which, voluntarily cherished, become teachableness and belief in love. If God is Father indeed, and we are intended to come to our best in association with him, these qualities must be the most fundamental ones. And they imply no lack of virility, either, for the highest self-assertion, as Professor Everett pointed out in his criticism of Nietzsche, is in complete self-surrender to such a will as God's. "When Jesus said, 'He that loseth his life shall save it,' he said in effect—The self-surrender to which I call you is the truest self-assertion. We find thus in the teachings of Christianity a summons to strength far greater than that implied by the self-assertion which is most characteristic of the teachings of Nietzsche, because it is the assertion of a larger self."[62] Our outlook becomes well-nigh hopeless, when we make our tests of admission to the kingdom so much more exclusive than Christ himself made them.

III. ESSENTIAL LIKENESS UNDER VERY DIVERSE FORMS

It is particularly important for theology that this conviction of the like-mindedness of men has come from a growing power to discern essential likeness under very diverse forms; for this consideration bears not only on the problem of natural evil, but also on the problem of sin and of the progress of Christianity.

We have taken some curiously diverse paths to this understanding of diverse lives. Travels, history, biography, autobiographical fragments, anthropology, sociology, psychology, and—to no small degree—fiction, with its stories of out-of-the-way places and out-of-the-way peoples and of unfamiliar classes,—all have been thoroughfares for the social consciousness here.

We are slowly learning to see the likeness under the differences, and so to transcend the differences even between occidental and oriental. All this means much, not only for our practical missionary putting of the truth, but also for our final theological statements. They will inevitably grow simpler, larger, more universally human, and at the same time more deep and solid.

We are slowly learning, too, to discern a deep inner content of life under conditions that have no appeal for us, and to see like ideals and aspirations under very diverse forms of expression. Take, for example, these three or four sentences—a small part of that quoted by Professor James in his essay, On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings,—from Stevenson's Lantern-Bearers: "It is said that a poet has died young in the breast of the most stolid. It may be contended rather that a (somewhat minor) bard in almost every case survives, and is the spice of life to his possessor. Justice is not done to the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of man's imagination. His life from without may seem but a rude mound of mud; there will be some golden chamber at the heart of it in which he dwells delighted."[63] And, later, on the side of ideals, Stevenson is quoted once again: "If I could show you these men and women all the world over, in every stage of history, under every abuse of error, under every circumstance of failure, without hope, without help, without thanks, still obscurely fighting the lost fight of virtue, still clinging to some rag of honor, the poor jewel of their souls!"[64] And now, having quoted Howells and Stevenson as theological authorities, I shall be pardoned if, for a moment, I erect Kenneth Grahame's Golden Age into a "theological institute": "See," said my friend, bearing somewhat on my shoulder, "how this strange thing, this love of ours, lives and shines out in the unlikeliest of places! You have been in the fields in early morning? Barren acres, all! But only stoop—catch the light thwartwise—and all is a silver network of gossamer! So the fairy filaments of this strange thing underrun and link together the whole world. Yet it is not the old imperious god of the fatal bow—???? ????ate ??a?—not that—nor even the placid respectable st????—but something still unnamed, perhaps more mysterious, more divine! Only one must stoop to see it, old fellow, one must stoop!"[65] It means very much for the sanity of our outlook on life, and for any possible theodicy, that we can believe the heart of such a view as this for which Stevenson and Grahame are here contending. And what is all this attempt to get away from this "certain blindness in human beings," of which Professor James speaks, but a growing into one of the fixed habits of Jesus, what Phillips Brooks calls "his discovery of interest in people whom the world generally would have found most uninteresting?" "And this same habit," he adds, "passing over into his disciples, made the wide and democratic character of the new faith."[66]

IV. AS APPLIED TO THE QUESTION OF IMMORTALITY

It may probably be safely said that this steadily growing conviction of the social consciousness, of the essential likeness of all men, which is daily confirmed afresh, and the more confirmed the more careful the study, is not likely to take kindly to the idea—which comes into a part of Dr. McConnell's argument concerning immortality, in his interesting book, The Evolution of Immortality—that living creatures classed as men on physical grounds are not, therefore, to be so classed on psychical grounds.[67] The considerations and illustrations brought forward by Dr. McConnell, in connection with this proposition, I cannot think would seem at all conclusive to either the trained psychologist or sociologist. It is exactly the like-mindedness of men which the social consciousness affirms, and it has not come hastily to its conclusion. It will not quickly surrender that conclusion. There is an "evolution of immortality," and it has been age-long, but it is pre-human. The belief in immortality so far as it does not rest purely on the question of the moral quality of a given human life (where the hypothesis of "immortability" may properly enough come in) is grounded upon characteristics—like that of the possibility of absolutely indefinite progress[68]—which in sober scientific inquiry cannot safely be denied to any man, and must be denied to all creatures below man. In any case, the new theory of "immortability," so far as it is based upon the proposition here considered, has its battle to fight out with this established conviction of the social consciousness of the essential like-mindedness of all men.

There are various considerations, not all of them wholly creditable, which will lead many to turn a willing ear to this new prophesying; but, though it makes much of evolution, it seems to me to have the whole trend of the social evolution against it, and to give the lie to that patient sympathetic insight into the lives of other classes and peoples, which is one of the finest products of the ethical evolution of the race. If one is tempted to believe that a good large share of the human race are really brutes in human semblance,—and our selfishness and pride and impatience and unloving lack of insight and desire to dominate may naturally tempt in this direction,—let him read that chapter of Professor James to which reference has already been made, On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings, and its pendant, What Makes a Life Significant. It may help his theology. Let him recall the words of Phillips Brooks concerning this "strange hopelessness about the world, joined to a strong hope for themselves, which we see in many good religious people." "In their hearts they recognize indubitably that God is saving them, while the aspect of the world around them seems to show them that the world is going to perdition. This is a common enough condition of mind; but I think it may be surely said that it is not a good, nor can it be a permanent, condition. God has mercifully made us so that no man can constantly and purely believe in any great privilege for himself unless he believes in at least the possibility of the same privilege for other men."[69]

V. CONSEQUENT LARGER SYMPATHY WITH MEN, FAITH IN MEN,
AND HOPE FOR MEN

This whole conviction of the social consciousness, of the like-mindedness of men, leads naturally to increased sympathy with men, and this in turn to still better discernment of moral and spiritual realities. And this is of prime importance for the theologian; for sympathetic insight, it must never be forgotten, is the true route to spiritual verities. So far as our insight into actual human life becomes truer, so far our theology becomes clearer and more reasonable. This conviction leads also to increased belief in men, and consequently to increased belief in the effectiveness of the higher appeals. The temptation to disbelief in man was one of the underlying temptations of Christ as he looked forward to his work; but he turned resolutely from it, and refused to build his kingdom on any lower appeal that implied a lack of faith in men. Nothing seems to me more wonderful in Christ than his marvelous faith in man; for, though he has the deepest sense of the sin of men, there is not the slightest trace of cynicism in his thought or life.

This recognition of likeness under diversity, too, leads to increased hope for men, here and hereafter. In James' words: "It absolutely forbids us to be forward in pronouncing on the meaninglessness of forms of existence other than our own.... Neither the whole of truth nor the whole of good is revealed to any single observer.... No one has insight into all the ideals. No one should presume to judge them off-hand."[70]

This thought helps us to greater hope for men, because, indeed, it helps us to the discernment of genuine ideals under very different forms of life, of the universal sense of duty and some loyalty to it, though there is great diversity of judgment as to what is duty.[71] But, it is here to be noted, also, that the thought of the like-mindedness of men brings greater hope, because it helps to the discernment of likeness, even under difference in important terms used. We are coming to see that there is sometimes, at least, a really strong religious faith where men do not acknowledge the term. Thus, Bradley says: "All of us, I presume, more or less, are led beyond the region of ordinary facts. Some in one way, and some in others, we seem to touch and have communion with what is beyond the visible world. In various manners we find something higher, which supports and humbles, both chastens and transports us. And," as a philosopher he adds, "with certain persons, the intellectual effort to understand the universe is a principal way of thus experiencing the Deity."[72]

Even where the term Deity would be entirely abjured, we have seen with Paulsen,[73] that a real faith essentially religious in character may be clearly manifest. We are even coming to see that men may seem to themselves to be contending upon opposite sides of so fundamental a question as that of the personality of God, and yet be near together as to their own ultimate faith and attitude, and possibly even as to their real philosophical views of God; but the same term has come to have such different connotations for the men, from their different education and experience, that they simply cannot use it with the same meaning.

I have not the slightest desire to reduce the concrete, ethical, definitely personal religion of Jesus to the ambiguities of philosophical dreamers; the world is going to become more and more consciously and avowedly Christian. But I do not, on the other hand, as a Christian theologian, wish to shut my eyes to great essential likenesses in fundamental faiths and ideals and aspirations, because they are clothed in different garb. The life and teaching of Jesus have worked and are working in the consciousness of men far beyond the limits our feeble faith is inclined to prescribe. There is doubtless much "unconscious Christianity," much "unconscious following of Christ."[74] And we are only following Christ's own counsel, when we refuse to forbid the man who is working a good work in his name, though he follows not with us.[75] Certainly, if we accept the witness of a man's life against the witness of his lips when the witness of his lips is right, we ought to accept the witness of his life against the witness of his lips when the witness of his lips is wrong.

With reference to all the preceding inferences from the deepening sense of the like-mindedness of men, it is particularly worthy of note, that this conviction of the essential likeness of men has come into existence side by side with the growing conviction of the moral unripeness of many men, and in spite of that conviction. The careful study of different social classes is forcing upon both the scientific sociologist and the practical social worker, the sense of the ethical immaturity of men. But deeper than this recognition of moral unripeness, deeper than the vision of the sad defectiveness of moral and spiritual ideals and standards, deeper than the clear sense of the immense differences among men as to what is duty, deeper than the differences in even the most important terms used, lies this great conviction of likeness—that all men are moral and spiritual beings, made for relation to one another and to God; that they have ideals that have a wide outlook implicit in them, and have some loyalty to these ideals; that they do have a sense of obligation; that the moral and spiritual life is a reality, a great universal human fact.

VI. JUDGMENT ACCORDING TO LIGHT, AND THE MORAL REALITY
OF THE FUTURE LIFE

It is no accident, now, that accompanying this double social conviction, there has come into theology a new insistence upon the principle of judgment of a man according to his light, and consequently also, what Professor Clarke calls "a tendency toward the recognition of greater reality and freedom in the other life, and thus toward the possibility of moral change."[76] Our conception of the future life was certain to be modified by the social consciousness; and it may be doubted if any influence of the social consciousness upon theology can be more clearly traced historically than this. The motives that have been working in our minds here include, on the one hand, a wholesome sense of the imperfection of even the best human lives; a glad discernment, on the other hand, of the presence of genuine ideals in lives where we had thought there were none; the certainty that, as Dr. Clarke says, "for at least one-third of mankind the entire life of conscious and developed personality is lived in the other world;"[77] an experienced unwillingness to say, where we cannot see, the precise point at which the very diverse lives of men under very diverse conditions come to full moral maturity; and the conviction that a life that is to be moral at all must be moral everywhere and through all time, and that where even we can see a little, God can see much more. All these motives, now, make us refuse, with Christ, to answer the question, "Are there few that be saved?" And both with increasing hope, and with that increasing sense of the seriousness and significance of life which so characterizes the social consciousness, to urge: "Strive to enter in." The growing sense of the likeness of men does affect our thought of the future life. The best men, under the clearest light, have only begun; for the best, there is still much need of growth. Who has not begun at all? For whom is there no growth?

Let us make no mistake here. It is no light-hearted indifference to character, to which the genuine social consciousness leads. No age, indeed, ever saw so clearly as ours that the most essential conditions of happiness are in character, or was more certain that sin carries with it its own inevitable consequences. It is not a less, but a more, profound sense of the seriousness of the problem of moral character, that makes us hesitate to dogmatize concerning the future life.

To bring together, now, the conclusions of the chapter: The first element in the social consciousness—the deepening sense of the likeness of men—seems likely to affect theology, especially by modifying the thought of election through emphasis upon choice for service, and through the clear recognition that there are no prime favorites with God; by strengthening the conviction that the great common qualities and interests are the most valuable, and that genuine and largely common ideals may be found under very diverse forms and conditions; and thus, on the one hand, by opposing the denial of the psychical likeness of men, as applied to the problem of immortality, and, on the other hand, by bringing us to larger sympathy with men, to larger faith in men, and to larger hope for men; and, finally, by laying new emphasis upon judgment according to light, and upon the moral reality and freedom of the future life.

CHAPTER XI
THE INFLUENCE OF THE DEEPENING SENSE OF THE MUTUAL INFLUENCE OF MEN UPON THEOLOGY

From this first element of the social consciousness, we turn now to the second, and ask, How does the deepening sense of the mutual influence of men affect theology?

I. THE REAL UNITY OF THE RACE

1. First, then, taken with the sense of the likeness of men, it can hardly be doubted that sociology's strong feeling of the mutual influence of men deepens for theology the thought of the real, not the mechanical, unity of the race. The theologian believes, more than he did, in a race whose unity is preËminently moral, rather than physical or mystical. The truly scientific position for the theologian seems to be, to make no mysterious assumptions, where well-known causes are sufficient to account for the facts; and those causes which the social consciousness clearly sees to be at work seem, in all probability, adequate to account for the facts in discussion so far as those facts are finite at all.[78] The theologian knows, then, a true moral universe, with a unity which is that of the close personal, mutual relations of like-minded spiritual beings.

The natural goal of such a race, the only one in which they can truly find themselves, is the kingdom of God. This conception of Christ is first thoroughly at home with us, when we see that the true unity of the race is that of personal moral relation. So far as men turn from that goal, this same racial unity of the inevitable and most intimate personal relations converts them into something approaching Ritschl's conception of an opposing "kingdom of sin."

Are we prepared to be thoroughly loyal to just this conception of the unity of the race throughout our theological thinking; and so to give up cherished ideas of "common," "transmitted," "inherited," or "racial" sin or righteousness, of "mystical solidarity," and racial ideal representation, etc.? It probably may be said with truth that few, if any, theological systems have been thus loyal. Indeed, under what seems a mistaken application of the social consciousness, and particularly under the misleading influence of the analogy of the organism, men have believed themselves attaining a deeper theological view, when they have, in fact, turned away from the sober teaching of the social consciousness.

It may not be in vain for our theology to hear and receive with patience a sociologist's definition of the "social mind." Upon this point Professor Giddings says explicitly: "There is no reason to suppose that society is a great being which is conscious of itself through some mysterious process of thinking, separate and distinct from the thinking that goes on in the brains of individual men. At any rate, there is no possible way yet known to man of proving that there is any such supreme social consciousness." Nevertheless, he adds: "To the group of facts that may be described as the simultaneous like-mental-activity of two or more individuals in communication with one another, or as a concert of the emotions, thought, and will of two or more communicating individuals, we give the name, the social mind. This name, accordingly, should be regarded as meaning just this group of facts and nothing more. It does not mean that there is any other consciousness than that of individual minds. It does mean that individual minds act simultaneously in like ways and continually influence one another; and that certain mental products result from such combined mental action which could not result from the thinking of an individual who had no communication with fellow-beings."[79]

Just so far, it may well be supposed, and no farther may we go, in theology, in moral and spiritual inferences from the unity of the race. We are members one of another for good and for ill, one in the unity of the inevitable, mutual influence of like-minded persons.

II. DEEPENING THE SENSE OF SIN

And this conviction, in the second place, not only deepens our sense of the real unity of the race, it deepens also the sense of sin. And we can hardly separate here the influence of the third element of the social consciousness—the sense of the value and sacredness of the person. As against a rather wide-spread and often expressed contrary feeling, this deepening sense of sin may yet, it is believed, be truthfully maintained, so far as the social consciousness is really making itself felt. There are some disintegrating tendencies here, no doubt, like the tendency under some applications of evolution and evolutionary philosophy to turn all sin into a necessary stage in the evolution. But had not Drummond reason to say: "There is one theological word which has found its way lately into nearly all the newer and finer literature of our country. It is not only one of the words of the literary world at present, it is perhaps the word. Its reality, its certain influence, its universality, have at last been recognized, and in spite of its theological name have forced it into a place which nothing but its felt relation to the wider theology of human life could ever have earned for a religious word. That word, it need scarcely be said, is sin."[80]

Contrast this modern sense of sin with the almost total lack of it among even so gifted a people of the ancient world as the Greeks, and feel the significance of the phenomenon. But it is particularly to be noted that this sense of sin in literature is largely due to a keener social conscience. In fact, if the social consciousness is not a thoroughly fraudulent phenomenon, it could hardly be otherwise; for the social consciousness, in its very essence, is a sense of what is due a person; and sin is always ultimately against a person, failure to be what one ought to be in some personal relation, including finally all the relations of the kingdom of God. We simply cannot deepen the sense of the meaning and value of personal relations, and not deepen, at the same time, the sense of sin. The meaning of the Golden Rule, and so the sense of sin under it, deepens inevitably with every step into the meaning of the person. If the one great commandment is love, then the sin of which men need most of all to be convicted is lack of love.

The self-tormenting and fanciful sins of some of our devotional books very likely are less felt. But the very existence of the social consciousness seems to be proof that there never was so much good, honest, wholesome sense of real sin as to-day—such sin as Christ himself recognizes in his own judgment test. It may be that, in temporary absorption in the human relations, the relation of all this to the All-Father may seem forgotten; even so, we may well remember Christ's "Ye did it unto me." But, in fact, we must go much farther and say, The social consciousness can only be true to itself finally, as it goes on to see its acts in the light, most of all, of that single, personal relation which underlies all others. We have already seen that the social consciousness requires for its own justification its grounding in the manifest trend of the living will of God. With this felt identification of the will of God with love for men, men can still less shake off easily the conviction of sin.

Probably, most religious men argue a diminishing sense of sin, because they feel that less is made of those consequences of sin which have been usually connected with the future life. There may be real danger here from shallow thinking; but here, too, the social consciousness has only to be true to itself to be saved from any shallow estimate of the consequences of sin here or hereafter. As the sin itself is always, finally, in personal relations, so the most terrible results of sin, in this life and in all lives, are in personal relations. What it costs the man himself in cutting him off from the relations in which all largeness of life consists, what it costs those who love him, what it costs God,—this alone is the true measure of sin. So judged, sin itself is feared as never before. Surely, Principal Fairbairn is right in saying: "And so even within Christendom, sin is never so little feared as when hell most dominates the imagination; it needs to be looked at as it affects God, to be understood and feared."[81] But it is the inevitable result of the social consciousness to bring us to the deepest conviction of all these personal relations, and so to the deepest conviction of sin.

Another consideration deserves attention. We have a growing conviction that our social ideal is personally realized only in Christ, and we have given unequaled attention to that life and have such knowledge of it, in its detailed applications, as no preceding generation has ever had. This simply means that we have both such a sense of our moral calling, and are face to face with such a living standard, as must steadily deepen in us a genuine sense of real sin, in our falling so far short of the spirit of Christ. Theology needs, further, to make unmistakably clear, and to use the fact, that this mutual influence of men holds for good as well as for evil; that few greater lies have ever been told, than the insinuation that only evil is contagious, the good not. And this conviction of the contagion of the good, of mutual influence for good, concerns theology particularly in three ways, all of which may be regarded simply as illustrations or aspects of the one kingdom of God. We are members one of another (1) in attainment of character, (2) in personal relation to God, and (3) in confession of faith. And each of these forms of mutual influence will need careful attention.

In considering separately here attainment of character and relation to God, it is not meant for a moment to admit that separation of ethics and religion which has been already denied, but only to single out for distinct treatment the one most important and fundamental relation of life—relation to God. We are certainly never to forget that the indispensable condition of right relations to God, is that a man should have been won into willingness to share God's own righteous purpose concerning men.

III. MUTUAL INFLUENCE FOR GOOD IN THE ATTAINMENT OF CHARACTER

We know no deeper law in the building of character, than that righteous character comes through that association with the best in which there is mutual self-giving. The problem of character implies not only a bare recognition of a man's moral freedom, but a sacred respect at every point for his personality. If a man is ever to have character at all, it must be absolutely his own; he must be won freely into it. In this free winning to character, no association counts for its most that is not mutual. I become in character most certainly and rapidly like that man with whom I constantly am, to whose influence I most fully surrender, and who gives himself most completely to me.

We may analyze the phenomenon psychologically, as, indeed, we have already done in showing that a true personal relation to Christ necessarily carries with it a true ethical life. And that which held true for religion cannot be false for theology, we may be sure. But, in any case, we always come back finally to the fact, that character is truly and inevitably contagious in an association in which there is mutual surrender. Character is caught, not taught. The inner strength of another life to which we surrender is, as Phillips Brooks somewhere says, "directly transmissible." I suspect that the ultimate psychological principle at work here is that of the impulsiveness of consciousness. But, whether that be true or not, the witness to this contagion is wide-spread among students of men. "The greatest gift the hero leaves his race," one of our great novelists says, "is to have been a hero." In almost identical language, a great ethical and philosophical writer adds: "The noblest workers of our world bequeath us nothing so great as the image of themselves. Their task, be it ever so glorious, is historical and transient, the majesty of their spirit is essential and eternal."

But one might still think, here, only of an example. The other life, however, must be more to me than mere example. For the highest attainment in character I need the association of some highest one, who will give himself to me unreservedly. Redemption to real righteousness of life cannot be without cost to the redeemer. And it is a psychologist, facing the ultimate problem of will-strengthening, who urges in words that might seem almost to look to Christ: "The prophet has drunk more deeply than any one of the cup of bitterness; but his countenance is so unshaken, and he speaks such mighty words of cheer, that his will becomes our will, and our life is kindled at his own."[82] It is the one great certain road to character—as it is to appreciation of every value—to stay in the presence of the best, in self-surrender to it. No wonder Christ said, "I am the Way."

1. The Application to the Problem of Redemption.—It is hardly possible to ignore this one great known law of character-making, which the social consciousness so presses upon us, in any thinking that is for a moment worth while concerning our redemption by Christ. And whatever our point of view, this consideration ought to have weight with us. Nay, must we not make it necessarily the very center of all our thought here? For all the realities in this problem of redeeming a man from sin to righteousness are intensely personal, ethical, spiritual. Now, are we to reach a deeper view of redemption, by turning away from the deepest ethical fact to the unethical? Do we so ground our view the more securely? Is there something holier than the holy ethical will seen realized in Christ's life and death? For, if it is the will in his death by which we are sanctified,[83] there can be no sharp separation of the life and death. Must we not rather expect that the clearest light, on the holiest in God and our personal relation to him, will be thrown by the holiest we know in life, in our human personal relations?

Is not the precise method of redemption, then, to no small degree, cleared for us right here, in this conviction of the social consciousness of the contagion of the good in a self-surrendering association—the only solidarity of which we can be certain? Christ saves us, in the only certain way we know that any man is ever saved to better living, through direct contagion of character, through his immediate influence upon us. The power of the influence of a redeeming person must depend upon two facts: the richness of the self that is given, and the depth of the giving. The supremely redeeming power must be the giving of the richest self, unto the uttermost. God has not yet done his best for men, until he gives himself in the fullest manifestation which can be made through man to men, and gives to the uttermost, with no drawing back from any cost. Is it not because, after all, back of all theories and even in spite of theories, men have seen in the life and death of Christ just this eternal giving of God himself, that they have been caught up into some sharing of the same spirit, and so felt working directly and immediately upon them the supremest redeeming power the world knows? The cross of Christ has been God's not only saying, "I will help that child to conquer himself, whatever it costs me," but God doing it, and perpetually doing it. Not less than that must be the cost of a man's redemption.

Character is directly transmissible in an association in which there is mutual self-giving. It is most easily so transmissible, only at its highest, in its most perfect manifestation, in its completest self-giving at any cost.

The self-giving on the part of one trying to win another into character must precede the self-giving of the sinner; for the sinner's own willingness to yield himself to the influence of the character of the other must first of all be won. This initial winning of the coÖperative will of the other is the heart of the whole battle. And here the power relied on is not only the unconscious contagion and imitation of character that enlists a man's interest almost by surprise, but also the mightiest influence men know in breaking down the resisting will and winning men consciously and with final abandon—the influence of a patient, long-suffering, persistent, self-sacrificing love that cannot give the sinning one up.

Most certainly, then, redemption cannot be without cost to the redeemer of men—not only that cost to the hero of the superior showing of superior character in a superior task, but that other cost, indissolubly linked indeed with this, of reverently, patiently, to the bitter end, helping another to conquer himself—the inevitable suffering of all redemptive endeavor for those whom one loves. This involves (1) suffering in contact with sin, (2) suffering in the rejection by those sinning, and most of all, (3) suffering in the sin itself of those one loves because one loves them—suffering which is the more intense, the more one loves.

2. The Consequent Ethical and Spiritual Meaning of Substitution and Propitiation.—Can we go yet a step farther here? It may be fairly taken for granted that where the church has strongly and persistently stood for certain modes of putting a doctrine—though the precise putting may be unfortunate—that in all probability there is there some real and important truth after which the consciousness of the church is dimly feeling. Starting, now, from this same great law of the contagion of character and the inevitable influence of an association in which there is mutual self-giving, is it not possible to show that there is a strict ethical and spiritual sense that we can understand, in which Christ's suffering may be truly called vicarious, and himself a substitute for us, and a propitiation?

It is, of course, not for a moment forgotten that, in Dr. Clarke's language, "a God who will himself provide a propitiation has no need of one in the sense which the word has ordinarily borne. Some richer and nobler meaning must be present if the word is appropriate to the case."[84] But it is not likely that a purely ethical and spiritual view of the atonement, which sees the problem as a strictly personal one—and this seems to the writer the only true position—can ever succeed in the hearts of the great body of the membership of the churches, if it cannot show, at the same time, that it is able in some real way to take up into itself these thoughts of substitution and propitiation. The writer finds much of the old language about the atonement as offensive to his moral sense as any man well can. But that there is an absolutely universal human need for something like that to which the old language of substitution and propitiation looked, he cannot doubt. It seems to show itself in this, that no man with real moral sense, probably, cares to put himself at the end of his life, say, in the attitude of the Pharisee rather than in that of the Publican. If one sets aside all spectacular elements in the judgment, and even denies altogether any great single final assize for all men, still he cannot avoid the thought of some judgment upon his life. As Dr. Clarke says again: "We are not our own masters in going out of this world; we go we know not whither. Yet our going is not without its just and holy method. Our place and lot in the life that is beyond must be determined righteously, in accordance with the life that we have lived thus far, that the next stage in our existence may be what it ought to be."[85] However, now, that judgment of God may be expressed, no man can hope to face the test proposed by Christ in the twenty-fifth of Matthew, still less the test implied in Christ's own life, and feel that he has already attained. He knows himself to be at best only a faulty growing child, with some real spirit of obedience in his heart. And it is particularly to be noted, that exactly that man must stand most definitely for the reality of some genuinely ethical judgment, who has most insisted upon the necessarily ethical character of the religious life. Moreover, the normal experience of the deepening Christian life is an increasing sense of sin. Upon this point, too, the social consciousness is witness.

What, now, makes it possible for a man to expect, in any sense, a favorable judgment of God upon his life? If God makes any separation of men in the world to come, he certainly cannot divide them into perfect and imperfect men. Judged by any complete standard, all are imperfect. Or if, without separation, God in any sense, in the most inner way, passes judgment, how does approval fall upon any? And upon whom does it fall? Must not every man who wishes to be clear and honest with himself fairly face these questions?

And Christ's own thought of God as Father must be our key here. And the matter may well be counted worth a more careful analysis than it often gets. How does a father distinguish between what he calls an obedient and a disobedient child? Both are faulty. How in any fair sense may one be called obedient? To the earthly father, that child is called an obedient child, not who is deliberately setting his will against his father's with no intention to coÖperate with the father's purpose for him, but whose loyal intention is to do the father's will, really to coÖperate with the father in the father's own purpose for the child's life. When, now, this child is carried away by some gust of temptation and disobeys, and then returns in penitence to the father, evidently viewing the sin, so far as his experience allows, as the father views it, and heartily putting it away, the father, either with or without penalty, restores the child to full personal relation to himself; and that is the vital point. And, though he neither judges the past life as without failure, nor expects the future to be without failure, he approves the child, as in a true sense obedient. He is an approved child.

What is it that satisfies the father in such a case? Upon what does he rely in his hope for matured character in the child? What, in biblical language, "covers" for the father the actual disobediences of the past and the certain disobediences of the future, and enables him in a sense to ignore both in his approval of the child? Certainly, the present purpose of the child, the child's honest intention to coÖperate with the father in the father's purpose for him. Yes; but as certainly, it seems to the writer, not that alone. The father's hope for his child's steady growth in righteousness depends not only on the child's present intention, but much more upon the father's own intention never to give up in his attempt at any cost to help that child to conquer himself.[86] The father may be said here in a true sense to propitiate himself; and his own fixed purpose has become a partial substitute for the wavering purpose of the child.

And the child's full righteousness is seen, not merely in an attitude of immediate present obedience, but especially in his loyal acceptance of his filial relation—in his honest surrender to his father's influence. And the father can now say, Because my child accepts heartily his relation to me, and honestly throws himself open to it to let it be to him all it can and work its own work in him, I may approve him; for this relation to me which he so takes has only to go on, to work out its complete results in a matured character. In the hearty acceptance of this filial relation to me, there is contained the promise of the end.

Just this attitude exactly, and no other, it seems to the writer, God takes toward men in his revelation in Christ. Christ is God's own showing forth of himself. "God was in Christ reconciling the world unto himself."[87] "Propitiation," Beysclag truly says, "is blotting out, making amends for sin in God's eyes. Now what can cover the sin of the world in God's eyes? Only a personality and a deed which contain the power of actually delivering the world from its sin."[88]

We have seen, it may be hoped, just how God's self-revealing in Christ does have this actual power, and becomes, thus, a true propitiation in the highest moral sense, in the only sense in which God can wish a propitiation, and in the only sense in which we can ever need a propitiation. Our final hope for that true salvation, which is the sharing of the life of God and the involved likeness of character with God, is in God's own long-suffering, redeeming activity. Only as that may be remembered, in connection with our surrender to it, may we hope to stand approved before the judgment of God. We are not judged alone before the judgment of God. In a very real sense the judge himself stands with us. Not what God is able to believe about this man thought of as standing alone, but what he may believe about this man standing in a living, surrendering association with himself, is the ground of judgment. We may not separate here the work of God and the work of Christ, as the New Testament does not separate them. In constant reliance upon the constant redeeming activity of the Father here and hereafter, we children go hopefully on our way.

Put into the language of the blood covenant, where the blood has all its significance as life—the giving of life, the sharing of life, the closest and most indissoluble union of lives—this is to say, there is no atonement, no reconciliation, no remission of sins, no forgiveness—and these are all essentially identical terms—without shedding of blood, that is, without complete giving of life on both sides, Christ giving himself not only for us in seeking us out, but to us in complete reconciliation and renewal of life. It means that only God, the very life of God, sharing God's life, can really save one from his sins. God must pour his life into one, and he does, in Christ.

This seems to be the heart of the whole matter; but certain considerations may be still added, as indicating how far a purely ethical and spiritual view of the atonement may go, in meeting the human need expressed in these older terms of substitution and propitiation.

There must be a wrath of God against wilful sin, a complete disapproval of it, and all the more because God loves the sinner. God is a consuming fire for sin in us, because he loves us. That wrath cannot be propitiated, that disapproval cannot be satisfied, in any effective way, so long as the sin continues. The punishment of the sin in its inevitable consequences, will go on in the very fidelity of God. But for any real satisfaction of God, the sin itself must cease, and there must be assurance of righteousness to come. The sinner must come to share God's hatred of the sin and God's positive purpose of love. Hence the expiation of the sin, the propitiation of the wrath of God, the satisfaction of God—so far as these terms still have meaning, and so far as they express Christ's work—consist (1) in winning men to repentance, to sharing God's hatred of their sin, (2) in helping men to a real power against sin, and (3) in the assurance of perfecting righteousness which is contained in the relation to God honestly accepted by men. When, now, the unfilial spirit is thus changed into a completely filial spirit—through the fullest acceptance by the child of the father's purpose for him, and through the child's throwing himself completely open to the influence of the father—the personal relation is thereby inevitably changed, personal reconciliation is achieved. It is impossible to think it otherwise. And so the chief pain in the previous relation is done away both for God and man; though the punishment, in the consequences of sin in other respects, is not thereby set aside. But, further, so far now as the power of this new personal relation to God in Christ begins actively to counteract the consequences of sin in us, as it will assuredly do, God's work in Christ becomes a direct substitute for that punishment of us that would else inevitably follow. And yet the process is wholly ethical; for the results of righteousness can actually occur in us, only in so far as we come into harmony with Christ's purpose for us.

Even so far, we may believe, does the social consciousness, in its emphasis upon the mutual influence of persons go, in leading us into the secret of the attainment of character—into the heart of God's redemption of men.

IV. MUTUAL INFLUENCE FOR GOOD IN OUR PERSONAL RELATION
TO GOD

What, now, in the second place, does the mutual influence of men for good mean for theology in the individual relation to God? Here it may be said at once, that faith is as directly contagious as character.

1. In Coming into the Kingdom.—We are introduced through others into all spheres of value, including friendship even with God. In the atmosphere of those who already feel the value, our interest is aroused; we find it possible at least to take those initial steps of a dawning attention, which give the value opportunity to make its own impression upon us, and bring us to an appreciation, to a faith of our own. Only so is that most difficult of all tasks in the redemption of a man—that first stirring of a new appetite, a new desire, a new aspiration, a new ideal—accomplished.

We are members one of another here to an extent that deserves ever fresh emphasis. We cannot too often say to ourselves, Had it not been that there were those who actually entered into the meaning of the revelation of God in Christ—who, in John's language, "beheld his glory"—the record of that revelation never could have come down to us. Christianity must have perished at its birth. "Hence," in the vital language of Herrmann, "the picture of his inner life could be preserved in his church or 'fellowship' alone. But, further, this picture so preserved can be understood only when we meet with men on whom it has wrought its effect. We need communion with Christians in order that, from the picture of Jesus which his Brotherhood has preserved, there may shine forth that inner life which is the real heart of it. It is only when we see its effects, that our eyes are opened to its reality so that we may thereby experience the same effect. Thus we never apprehend the most important element in the historical appearance of Jesus until his people make us feel it. The testimony of the New Testament concerning Jesus is the work of his church, and its exposition is the work of the church, through the life which that church develops and gains for itself out of this treasure which it possesses."[89]

The Christian is no Melchizedek, then, without father or mother; he comes into life in a community of life, and usually, moreover, through the personal touch of some other individual life. It is the one primal law, of life through life.

2. In Fellowship within the Kingdom.—And not only in coming into the kingdom, but also within the religious fellowship of the kingdom, we are emphatically members one of another. In bringing us into that love which is God's own life, God evidently has no intention of allowing us to cut ourselves off from our brethren, to climb up to heaven by some little individual ladder of our own. That humility or open-mindedness, which constitutes the first beatitude and the initial step into the kingdom, and that self-sacrificing love, which constitutes the last beatitude and the crown of the Christian life, are both possible and cultivable only in personal relations to others. No man ever got them alone. And, for this very reason, in the discussion of the religious life, we found the New Testament guarding most carefully against all over-estimation of marvelous experiences as such. For these tended to make a man feel that he had such an individual ladder of his own to heaven, and had no need, consequently, of his brethren; and so led him into the very reverse of the fundamental Christian qualities—into unteachableness instead of humility and open-mindedness, and into censoriousness instead of love. That objective attitude which is essential in all character and work and happiness, cannot be unimportant in our specifically religious life.

Even in this most individual relation to God, then, men's outlook is varied and but partial. We need to share, and can share, one another's visions. The meaning of the many-sidedness of even a great human personality gets home to us only so—through the various impressions gained by different men. Much more can God be revealed to us, even approximately, only so. The great and surpassing value of the New Testament lies exactly herein, that it gives the varied impressions upon the first Christian generation of God's supreme revelation—the most important individual reflections of Christ. The New Testament comes to stand, thus, in no merely external and mechanically authoritative relation to the life and faith of the church, but in the most interior and vital relation. And Bible study gets a new significance for us, as we see it, as at one and the same time our chief way to our own vision of God's actual, concrete self-revelation, and our deliverance from our merely subjective dreaming. We come to share in some living way the vision of these others who have seen most directly and most largely.

3. In Intercessory Prayer.—One particular application to our religious life, of this conviction of the social consciousness of our mutual influence, seems worthy of mention—its bearing upon intercessory prayer. Few other things in religion, one may suspect, seem less real to modern men. Can we ground the matter a little more deeply for ourselves, and give it reality, by showing its close connection with this deep-rooted conviction of the social consciousness?

We have already seen,[90] if character and love are to be realities to us, if the world is to be a real training-ground for moral character, and not a mere play-world—a nursery continually set to rights from without, that we must all be most closely knit together; that our choices must have effects in the lives of others; that we must be bound up in one bundle of life. And we do affect one another's lives in a thousand ways. In manifold directions we condition the happiness and temptations of one another. The unspoken mood of another, an expression of countenance, a tone, an emphasis, may affect our whole day.

Now, if the spiritual world is real at all, it is to be counted upon. Apparently, there is such a thing, for example, as a spiritual atmosphere in an audience—not, it may well be supposed, a magical matter, but really determined by the tone of the minds composing the audience. The actual mood of the hearers and of the speaker makes a difference. Results, great and important, are so changed often quite unconsciously. It may well be that God is the medium in all this. The attitude of the auditors is like unconscious, silent praying to God—the praying of their life, of their spirit.

But, whether one cares to look at this special case in such a way or not, we are, in any event, in our spiritual lives in the deepest way members one of another. Our spiritual condition inevitably affects others. We cannot sow to the flesh and reap life anywhere, in ourselves or in others. This is particularly true, of course, of those to whom we are bound in the closest life relations. That this is absolutely true in normal personal relations, when we are in the presence of our friends, all of us fully believe. The question simply is, May this law of mutual influence hold of those bound up with our lives even when they are distant from us or estranged? In giving the privilege of intercessory prayer, it may well be believed, God simply allows us to be, even then, what we are always so fully under other circumstances—an influence upon them, a condition of the good and growth of others. He simply allows the regular law of the spiritual and moral world to hold without exception. We are still, though distant or estranged, members one of another. It would be a very human, defective, faulty God, who could not put us thus in touch with our loved ones everywhere. But this is possible through him, and therefore in prayer, and under strictly ethical and spiritual conditions, and not as a matter of mere whimsical and wilful will on our part, and it opens no door to magical superstition. Is not the recognition of the place and value of intercessory prayer, then, an only just extension of the prime conviction of the social consciousness?

V. MUTUAL INFLUENCE FOR GOOD IN CONFESSIONS OF FAITH

Theology has, once more, in the third place, to recognize the importance of mutual influence for good in confession of faith, in creeds. When, to-day, we seek the common grounds of belief for Christian thinkers, so far as the social consciousness really moves us, we approach the problem in a way somewhat different from that of previous generations. We do not now seek to elaborate a second, modern Westminster confession; nor do we seek a mere average of Christian ideas that in reality expresses no one's whole living thought. Still less is there sought the barest minimum of Christian belief. Rather, in harmony with the social consciousness, we seek a unity that is organic. Our age, therefore, must recognize that, in the confession of its faith as in all else, we are genuinely members one of another. The unity sought not only tolerates differences, but welcomes and justifies them, as themselves helps to a deeper unity. It believes in equality, but not in identity.

It is true that Christianity looks everywhere to life; and we may be sure that any statement of Christian doctrine that does not obviously bear on living is still inadequate and incorrect. It is true that we do well to emphasize the strictly religious and practical purpose of the Bible; that the Bible is interested in both nature and history so far and only so far as either reveals God and inspires to godly living. It is true that in all Christian thinking Christ is our ultimate appeal.

But, on the other hand, we must not confuse the issue. We cannot expect agreement in detailed intellectual statements even with fullest loyalty to Christ, and the most earnest desire after truth. To each his own message. Nor can we confine, nor is it desirable to confine, expressions of Christian faith to the merely practical side. We need to seek to understand the meaning of our Christian experience, not only for the sake of our intellectual peace, but also for the sake of deepening our Christian experience itself. Now, it is here contended that in our confessions of Christian faith we need one another, and that complete uniformity of belief and statement is both impossible and undesirable.

1. Complete Uniformity of Belief and Statement Impossible.—It is impossible, for, in the first place, it is difficult, in any case, to tell our real inner creed. Some of its most important articles are quite certain to be implicit and unconfessed, even to ourselves. The only important creed, in the case of the individual, is that which finds its expression in life. There are assumptions implied in deeds and spirit; and the spirit of a man throws more light on his real creed than his formal statements do. His doctrines may be radical, his spirit thoroughly constructive, or vice versa. If all thought tends to pass into act, as modern psychology insists, we have a right to urge that those articles of a man's creed which find expression in living, are for him the really important articles. The will has a creed, as well as the intellect, and the real creed is the creed of life rather than of lips; it is wrought out, rather than thought out. And this real, inner, living creed probably no man can state with accuracy even in his own case. And if he is ever able even approximately to do so, it will be at the end, rather than at the beginning, of his life's work and experience.

Moreover, complete uniformity of belief and statement is impossible, for, even exactly the same words cannot mean the same to different individuals, for they are interpreted out of a different experience; they cannot mean precisely the same thing, even to the same individual, at different times, for his interpreting experience, too, is a changing thing. We need sometimes to remind ourselves that there is never any literal transfer of thought from mind to mind, still less from statement to mind; all thinking of even the most passive kind has an element of creation in it, for terms must be interpreted, and the interpretation is inevitably limited by previous experience. Sabatier[91] is quite right, therefore, in asserting that credal statements must change their meaning just as words change. But it is to be noted that this principle means not only that unalterable doctrine, in this sense, is impossible between the generations; but also that identical doctrine is impossible in the same generation.

Out of the different experiences, too, grow the different points of view and the different emphases. And these different points of view, and the different distribution of emphasis, give the same creed very different meanings for different men. It is as impossible to avoid this, as it is to avoid change and individuality. It is true of a man's creed as of his environment, that the only effective portions are those to which he attends—those which he emphasizes, not those to which he gives a bare assent; and this varying attention and emphasis cannot be the same in different individuals. The only logical outcome of a thorough-going attempt to reach an identical creed is the church of one member.

2. Complete Uniformity of Belief and Statement Undesirable.—But complete uniformity of belief and statement is not only impossible; it is undesirable. For, in the first place, it is only by these differing but supplementary finite expressions that we can approximate to the infinite truth. Like Leibnitz's mirrors in the market-place, it is only by combining the points of view of all that a complete representation is possible. We need one another here, as elsewhere; we need the fellowship of the church, and of the whole church; the strictly individual view must be fragmentary. Our message needs the supplement of the messages of others; through each member God has something unique to say. They without us, we without them, are not to be made perfect. We need to share, in such measure as is possible, the experiences of others; but this is possible only through vital contact.

Moreover, we are not to forget how truth comes—not by surrender of convictions, not by the silence of each, but by each standing earnestly for the truth which is given to him, in a union of conviction and charity. For only he who has convictions can be tolerant, as only he who has fears can be courageous.

Once more, we cannot and must not simply repeat each other. Nothing is so fatal to spiritual life as dishonesty. To attempt an identical creed involves something of such untrue repetition of the experience of others. For, as Herrmann has said, doctrines are an expression of life already present, and are of value only so; they are not themselves a condition of life. If the doctrines we profess are not the honest expression of a real life in us, they are a hindrance, not a help. "Conscious untruth tends to drive from Christ."

For every one of these reasons, now, it is positively undesirable to forbid varying theories or to check the varied expressions of Christian faith, whether in accordance or not with certain standard formulas. A growing life requires a growing expression, which must be justified by its history, not dogmatically by reference to some supposed fixed standard of doctrine in the past. The very meaning and health of Christian fellowship demand that we should welcome and encourage the honest expression of the varied manifestations of the One Spirit, that we may be the more certain to get the whole truth, the whole life which God intends. We are members one of another, in doctrine as in life.

It becomes increasingly clear, thus, where the real Christian unity is, and where the common grounds of Christian belief must be sought. The real unity of Christians is in their common life, in the common experience, in the possession of the common personal self-revelation of God in Christ, in the inworking of the One Spirit. It is the meaning of this one central Christian experience, which we strive to express in our doctrinal statements. Our expressions must vary; the life, the personal relation to God, is one. The best analogy we have of the case lies in what the same great friend means to different persons. Our creeds are at best poor and partial expressions of the meaning for us of the divine friendship, of God's self-revelation to us. It is, then, precisely in our Christian experience and in that personal relation to God revealed in Christ which makes a man a Christian at all, that all the common grounds of Christian belief lie.

The solution of Christian unity here, that is, is not by increasing abstraction, but by frank concreteness; not by false simplicity, but by living fullness; not by relation to propositions, but by relation to facts; not by emphasis on natural religion, but by emphasis on historical religion; not by bringing nature into prominence, but human nature; not by relation to things, but by relation to persons, to the one great world fact, the one person, to Christ. "I am the Way." The Christian faith is faith in a person; the Christian confession of faith is confession of Christ. And if we are really in earnest with this word Christian, we already have our basis of unity in our personal relation to Christ, our common Lord. But that personal relation to God in Christ is always more than a credal statement can express, though we may never cease to attempt such expression; and for the sake of the larger realization, by ourselves and by the church, of the meaning of the personal relation to Christ, we must welcome every honest expression of his Christian life by another. Altogether, we shall at best but dimly shadow forth its full meaning.

And such a concrete relation to the personal Christ is a far better test of genuine Christian faith than any creed, whether more or less elaborate, since in the personal relation character inevitably comes out; and any test that allows even for the moment the ignoring of the ethical, cannot remain even intellectually adequate, for Christian doctrine looks always and certainly to life. Even if one is thinking only of the correct intellectual expression of the common Christian life—the maintenance of orthodoxy, so far as that is possible to us—it should be remembered that the most conservative of all influences is love of a person, and, by no means, subscription to a set of propositions. Would Christ so think? Would he so speak?—these are questions far more certain to keep Christian thinking true, than any intellectual test of man's devising.

We do not expect, therefore, we do not seek, any common grounds of belief for Christian thinkers, other than are involved in the simple fact that we are Christians at all, in the common recognition of the revelation of God in Christ—of the Lordship of Christ. We confess Christ. For, "no man can say, Jesus is Lord, but in the Holy Spirit." And "other foundation can no man lay, than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ."

Now, in this common confession, it is here especially maintained, we are, as everywhere, "members one of another" and need one another; and the unity we seek, therefore, is not the unity of identical credal statement—which can only make us isolated atoms not necessary to one another—but the deeper and larger organic unity of the richly varying manifestations of the common life in Christ. We may come, through the witness of another, to an appreciation of Christ which is really our own, but to which we should not have come if the other had not spoken. Men do mutually influence one another for good, in their confessions of Christian faith.

VI. THE CONSEQUENT IMPORTANCE OF THE DOCTRINE
OF THE CHURCH

In this recognition of the vital and essential importance of mutual influence in the attainment of character, in the individual relation to God, and in creed, theology is brought to a new sense of the significance of the doctrine of the church. On the one hand, it cannot derive its importance from having to do with an unalterably fixed and infallibly organized external authority; and, on the other hand, it can be no longer an unimportant addendum concerned only with methods of organization and government, and with ecclesiastical ordinances and procedure. So far as the social consciousness has influence upon theology at this point, theology must see that the doctrine of the church is the doctrine of that priceless, living, personal fellowship, in which alone Christian character, Christian faith, and Christian confession can arise and can continue. The doctrine of the church becomes thus the doctrine of the very life and growth of Christianity in the world. It is the doctrine of the real kingdom of God, Christ's own great central theme.

CHAPTER XII
THE INFLUENCE OF THE DEEPENING SENSE OF THE
VALUE AND SACREDNESS OF THE PERSON
UPON THEOLOGY

In the discussion of the influence of the social consciousness upon theological doctrine, we turn now to ask concerning the third element of the social consciousness, How does the deepening sense of the value and sacredness of the person affect theology?

And with this sense of the value and sacredness of the person, we may well include, so far as the influence upon theology is concerned, the remaining elements of the social consciousness—the deepening sense of obligation, and of love. For, as we have already seen, the sense of obligation and of love follow so inevitably from a deep sense of the value and sacredness of the person, that it would be a needless refinement, probably, to try to analyze out their separate influence upon theological thinking. We should find them all leading us to essentially the same great emphases. When, now, through the social consciousness, the personal has become the supreme value for us, and regard for it our eternal motive and goal, we cannot fail to demand that theology give a real personality to God and man—a consciousness marked, in Professor Howison's language, with "that recognition and reverence of the personal initiative of other minds which is at once the sign and the test of the true person."[92]

I. THE RECOGNITION OF THE PERSONAL IN MAN

In the first place, the social sense of the value and sacredness of the person will emphasize the full personality of man.

1. Man's Personal Separateness from God.—The sense of the value of the person cannot admit for a moment such a one-sided emphasis upon a universal cosmic evolution, or upon the immanence of God, as should make impossible a true personality in man. It seeks, in its view of both God and man, a really "personal idealism." It does not forget, but earnestly asserts, the dependence of all other spirits upon God; and, consequently, looks for no metaphysical separateness in this sense from God. But a genuine recognition of the personality of man does require that man be conceived as separate from God in just this sense: (1) that he has a clear self-consciousness of his own, and (2) that he has real moral initiative, which makes his volition truly his own. These two factors constitute all of separateness that need be demanded for man. Possessing these, he is "outside of God" in the only sense in which a "personal idealism" feels concerned to assert separateness. But for these factors it is concerned; for without them, it believes, no truly ideal view, no moral world, no religious life, are possible.

2. Emphasis Upon Man's Moral Initiative.—In particular, the application of the sense of the value and sacredness of the person in theology, means the emphatic recognition of the moral initiative of man—of the possession of a real will of his own. The whole social consciousness, especially in this third element of it, rests upon the assumption that man has worth, as a being capable of character as well as of happiness, and so deserves in some worthy sense to be called a child of God. If the social consciousness is, as we have seen, with any fairness to be called the recognition of the fully personal,[93] this reverence for the personal initiative of men cannot be lacking in it. Its influence upon theology at this point, therefore, is hardly to be doubted.

And theology itself is vitally concerned. For the whole possibility of the conceptions of government and providence requires this. These terms are words without meaning, having absolutely no place in theology or philosophy, if man has no moral initiative. Nor should it escape our notice, that we strike at the very root of all possible reverence for God, if we deny a real initiative to man. We have no possible philosophic explanation of either sin or error, consistent with any real reverence for God, if a true human will is denied.[94] In Professor Bowne's vigorous language: In a system of necessity "every thought, belief, conviction, whether truth or superstition, arises with equal necessity with every other.... On this plane of necessary effect the actual is all, and the ideal distinctions of true and false have as little meaning as they would have on the plane of mechanical forces.... The only escape from the overthrow of reason involved in the fact of error lies in the assumption of freedom." Moreover, if real human initiative is denied to men, we conceive God as having really less respect for persons in his dealing with them, than the most elementary ethics requires of men in their relations to one another. A one-sided doctrine of immanence, thus, degrades both man and God. It degrades man, in denying to him a true personality, and so making him simply a thing. It degrades God, in making him the real responsible cause of all sin and error, and in making him treat possible persons as things. The influence of the social consciousness, which leads us to measure the moral growth of a man and of a civilization by the deepening sense of reverence for the person, is fairly decisive at this point. It must see in God the most absolute guarding of man's personality, and especially of his moral initiative.

3. Man, a Child of God.—The Christian faith, that man is a child of God, is a faithful expression of the insistence of the social consciousness upon the recognition of the full personality of man. It expresses both man's entire dependence upon God for his being and maintenance, and at the same time his infinite value and sacredness as a spirit made in the image of God, capable of indefinite progress, and capable of personal relation to God. It voices thus Christianity's characteristic "humbly-proud" conception of man—humble in view of the eternal and infinite plans of God; proud, as "called to an imperishable work in the world." It is, indeed, but a concrete statement of that faith in love at the heart of things, and in the all-embracing plan of a faithful God, which we found required, if the social consciousness itself was to have any justification.[95]

II. THE RECOGNITION OF THE PERSONAL IN CHRIST

In the second place, under this impulse of the sense of the value and sacredness of the person, theology is likely to insist on the recognition of the personal in the conception of Christ.

1. Christ a Personal Revelation of God.—This recognition of the personal in Christ will mean, first, that we are to conceive Christ as a personal revelation of God, rather than as containing in himself a divine substance.[96] It cannot forget, that if God is a person, and men are persons, the adequate self-revelation of God to men can be made only in a truly personal life; and that men need above all, in their relation to God, some manifestation of his ethical will, and this can be shown only in the character of a person. A merely metaphysical conception of the divinity of Christ in terms of substance or essence, as these are commonly thought, must, therefore, wholly fail to satisfy. We must be able to recognize and bow before the personal will of the personal God revealed in Christ, if we are really to find God through him. A strong sense of the personal, then, such as the social consciousness evinces, must see in Christ, above all, a personal revelation of a person.

2. Emphasizing the Moral and Spiritual in Asserting the Supremacy of Christ.—This implies that the dominant sense of the value and sacredness of the person will certainly tend to bring into prominence the moral and spiritual in asserting the supremacy of Christ, rather than the metaphysical or the simply miraculous. So far as these latter come into its representation at all, they will follow rather than precede, and be accepted because of the moral and spiritual, or as simply working hypotheses enabling us to bring into a thought-unity what we have to recognize in the moral and spiritual realm. If one faces the matter fully and frankly, is it not plain that Christians of all shades of belief are increasingly finding the real reason for their faith in Christ in his moral and spiritual supremacy? Many may choose to express their faith in him, when once reached, in terms of the miraculous or metaphysical; but the miraculous and the metaphysical are not the primary reasons for their faith. It is the inner spirit of Christ himself which really masters us and calls out our confident faith and our eager submission. And it is only when we have already gotten this sense of the stupendousness of his personality, that the so-called miraculous in his life becomes to our thought natural and fitting, and we are driven to think him standing in some unique relation to God and so requiring to be conceived in unique metaphysical terms.

It is easy, no doubt, to indulge in a false polemic against the miraculous and metaphysical. One of the surest bits of autobiography we have from Christ, the narrative of the temptations, implies, as Sanday has acutely pointed out,[97] the clear consciousness on the part of Christ of the possession of what we call supernatural powers. It is a far less simple problem to rid the gospels of the miraculous element, than our age, with its greatly exaggerated estimate of the mathematico-mechanical view of the world, is likely to think. The so-called miraculous in connection with Christ is not to be impatiently and dogmatically set aside.[98] So, too, the demand of thought, that we form finally some metaphysical conception of the great personality which we meet in Christ cannot be denied as wholly illegitimate. All this is to be freely granted and asserted.

But it is of the greatest importance for Christian thought, that it still keep Christ's own absolute subordination of both the miraculous and metaphysical to the moral and the spiritual. The same narrative of the temptation, that so clearly implies supernatural powers in Christ, has its whole point in Christ's answering determination absolutely to subordinate these supernatural powers to moral and spiritual ends. His whole ministry evinces the greatest pains upon this point. And he evidently thinks a theory of his metaphysical relation to God (as ordinarily conceived) of so little vital importance that even such slight hints as we get of it in the New Testament apparently do not come from him at all. The present tendency, therefore, naturally demanded by the social consciousness, to emphasize the moral and spiritual in Christ in asserting his supremacy, is quite in harmony with Christ's own insistence. He will be followed for what he is in himself.

The real supremacy of Christ, his truest divinity, we may be sure, comes out for our time in those statements which we are able to make concerning his inner spirit. Here, and here only, the real power of his personality gets hold upon us. What are these grounds of the supremacy of Christ? How is it that we come to God through him?

3. The Moral and Spiritual Grounds of the Supremacy of Christ.[99]—(1) In the first place, Jesus Christ is the greatest in the greatest sphere, that of the moral and spiritual; and this, by common consent of all men. Both the depth and the consensus of conviction concerning Christ are profoundly significant. If our earth has ever seen one of whom it could be truly said, He is a moral and spiritual authority, preËminently the one great authority in this greatest sphere,—that person is Jesus Christ. Seeing the moral problem more broadly than any other ever saw it, tracing the motives of life more deeply than any other ever traced them, applying those principles of the life which he sees with a tact and delicacy and skill that no other ever approached, speaking with an authority in this moral and spiritual sphere to which no other can for a moment lay claim,—this man is easily the greatest in the greatest sphere.

It is, perhaps, to say only the same thing in a little different way, when one says with Fairbairn, that Christ is transcendent among founders of religion, "and to be transcendent here is to be transcendent everywhere, for religion is the supreme factor in the organizing and the regulating of our personal and collective life."[100] The present age is, more than any other, the age of the scientific study of religion. The last forty years, indeed, have seen such attention to the study of comparative religion as the world never saw before. What has been the outcome of that study? To make the relative position of Jesus among the founders of religion lower? I do not so understand it. No, the outcome is such that it is a manifestly inadequate statement to say, that he is transcendent among the founders of religion. The very most that we may hope to say about the founder of any other religion is, that in some single particular at a long distance he can be brought into comparison with Jesus. But let one think for a moment what it means for a man to be a founder of religion. We talk of leadership. Do we know what a founder of religion does? He makes the light, in which millions of men look upon all the events of their life, in which they see the past of the world's history, in which they look forward to the entire future. The very mood and atmosphere of men's lives are determined by these founders of religion; and among these preËminent leaders, Jesus, beyond all mistake, is transcendent.

Let the nature of his kingdom, too, be his witness. He calmly aims to found a kingdom that shall be spiritual, universal, eternal. One must face the fact that this man of Nazareth in Syrian Galilee, purposes in coolness of deliberation to found a kingdom that shall be absolutely spiritual, that shall make no appeal to any of the lower elements of man; one must see that this man, in those temptations through which he passed concerning the form of his work, deliberately set aside the kingdom by bread, the kingdom by marvel and ecstasy, and the kingdom by force, and purposed to found a kingdom solely upon moral and spiritual forces. And observe that he confidently expects this kingdom to be universal—appealing to men of all races and of all times, and to be eternal—still standing when all else shall have passed away. And upon his belief in this character of his kingdom he stakes his life, and calmly gives to himself as the goal of his life the establishment of just such a kingdom; and remains to the end confident of his success. The mere vitality of will in such a purpose is hard to take in, and alone may well give us pause.

And because he is the greatest in the greatest sphere, transcendent among founders of religion, the founder of a kingdom spiritual, universal, and eternal, he becomes for us a "personalized conscience," a spiritual, moral authority for us even beyond our own conscience—an authority that grows upon us with our growth, and submission to which is earth's highest moral test.

(2) And there must be added to this first proposition, that Jesus is the greatest in the greatest sphere, a second: He alone is the sinless and impenitent one. And it is to be noticed that it is this man who sees more clearly than any other the moral and spiritual, who knows, as no other does, what character is and what moral life means,—it is he, who claims to be the sinless one. No other ever intelligently made this claim; for no other was it ever intelligently made. The words of the great historian Ranke seem to us to be simple truth when he says: "More guiltless and more powerful, more exalted and more holy has naught ever been on earth than his conduct, his life, and his death. The human race knows nothing that could be brought even afar off into comparison with it." Only such an one could intelligently make for himself the claim of sinlessness. And for no other was this claim of sinlessness ever intelligently made. Men know each other too well to make it for others when moral consciousness has fully awakened. But he fights his battle in the wilderness, and there is no record of failure so far as he himself can see it, and none that disciple ever ascribed.

And this claim of sinlessness for Christ is to be urged, not so much because of any special statements by Christ as because of that remarkable fact to which Dr. Bushnell has called attention,—his impenitence. Jesus alone among all good men is a man of "impenitent piety;" and by this he is marked off absolutely from every other good man. What happens in the life of any other good man is this: that, as he goes forward, the sense of sin grows upon him, the ideal rises before him and he feels increasingly that his own life is inferior to it. Of Jesus this is not true. He shows no sign of consciousness of failure. There is no evidence that he feels that he has fallen short in any degree. He is absolutely without that universal characteristic of all other good men, absolutely without penitence. Contrast him for a moment with the man, who perhaps all would agree was the greatest of all his disciples, the man to whose devotion there seems to be no limit—the Apostle Paul; and notice, that years after his persecution of the church and of the cause of Jesus, with growing sense of what Jesus is, and of his own inexhaustible debt to him, there comes over him with increasing, not lessening, power the sense of his sin, and he writes to the Ephesians, "Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, was this grace given me that I might preach unto the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ;" and in one of the very last letters that comes down to us from him, says again, "Faithful is the saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief." What evidence have we that Christ ever felt in the slightest degree such penitence?

(3) But more than this is true. With the highest ideal, Jesus not only does not consciously fall short of it, but consciously rises up to it, and, as Herrmann says, "compels us to admit that he does rise to it." It were very much that a man with any ideal, however inferior, should be able to say to himself, I have not fallen short of this ideal; but that one, who sees more clearly than any other in the realm of the moral and spiritual, and who has an ideal of simply absolute love and of unbounded trust in God,—that he should show not only no consciousness of falling short, but should consciously rise to his ideal and compel us to admit that he rises to it: this is a fact unparalleled in the history of the world. It is far more than mere sinlessness; there is here a positiveness of moral achievement so great—a fact so tremendous—that we seem able but feebly to take it in.

(4) And even that is not all. Jesus has such a character that we can transfer it feature by feature to God, not only with no sense of blasphemy, not only with no sense of his coming short, but with complete satisfaction. I do not now ask at all as to any man's metaphysical theory about Jesus Christ; I only ask that it be noticed that those who question common theories altogether still get their ideal of God from Jesus Christ; and that this is the wonderful thing that has happened on our earth: that there has once lived a man—daily moving about among men, a concrete circumstantial account of whose life in many particulars we have—the features of whose character one can transfer absolutely to God and say, That is what I mean by God. One simply cannot add anything to the character of God himself in the highest moments of his imagination, that is not already revealed in Jesus Christ. I take it that the words of Fairbairn are literally true: he was "the first being who had realized for men the idea of the Divine." When, therefore, Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father and it sufficeth us," he could only reply as he might any day to us, "Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father."

(5) And one cannot stop here. Jesus is consciously able to redeem all men. With such sense of the meaning of sin and of moral conduct as no other ever had, understanding, therefore, the sin and need of men as no other ever did, and having such a vision of what it is perfectly to share the life of God as no other ever had, still, facing the masses of men, he could say to himself, "I am able to take these men and lift them into the very presence of God and present them spotless before the throne of his glory." Have we taken in what it means, that, in the consciousness of a man in form like ourselves, there could be, even for a moment, the actual belief that he was the one that was to take away the sin of the world, and had power to redeem men absolutely unto God? In another's words: "Jesus knows no more sacred task than to point men to his own person." He is himself God's greatest gift, himself "the way, the truth, the life,"—not only fighting his own battles, but consciously able to redeem all men.

(6) This simply implies, as Dr. Denison has suggested, that Jesus has such God-consciousness and such sense of mission as would simply topple any other brain that the world has ever known into insanity, but which simply keeps him sweet, normal, rational, living the most wholesome and simple and noble life the world has ever seen. How are we to explain that fact? On the one hand, the sense of being of even a little importance in the kingdom of God proves singularly intoxicating to men. How often, when one is strongly possessed by the idea that he is a special channel of manifestation for God, do moral sanity, influence, and character all suffer! On the other hand, there is no burden of suffering that men can bear so great as suffering in the sin of one loved—thus bearing the sin of another. But here is one who can believe that, when men come to him and simply see him as he is, they catch their best vision of God; here is one who bears consciously the sin of all men, and who can believe that he has absolute power to revolutionize the lives of other men and make them what they were meant originally to be, children of God; and yet, believing this, can, under that consciousness, keep sweet and normal, wholesome and simple, energetically ethical and thoroughly rational,—can keep sane. Indeed, he lives a life so sane, that, to pass even from some of our best religious books into the simple atmosphere of the story of his life often seems like passing from the super-heated, artificially lighted, heavily perfumed and exhausted atmosphere of the crowded drawing-room into the open fresh air of day under the heaven of God. In the very act of the most stupendous self-assertion, Jesus can still characterize himself as "meek and lowly of heart," and we feel no self-contradiction—so completely has he harmonized for even our unconscious feeling his transcendent self-consciousness and his humble simplicity of life. Has the world anywhere a phenomenon comparable to this?

(7) In consequence of all this, Jesus is in fact the only person in the history of the race who can call out absolute trust. As little children, we knew something of what it meant to have complete trust. There were a few years when it seemed to us that there was nothing in either power or character that was not true of our fathers and mothers. We soon lost such trust, even as children. Is there any way back to the childlike spirit? Let us ponder these golden words of Herrmann: "The childlike spirit can only arise within us when our experience is the same as a child's; in other words, when we meet with a personal life which compels us to trust it without reserve. Only the person of Jesus can arouse such trust in a man who has awakened to moral self-consciousness. If such a man surrenders himself to anything or any one else, he throws away not only his trust, but himself." There has been one life lived on earth, in whose hands one may put himself with absolute confidence and have no fear as to the result. Jesus, and Jesus alone, can call out absolute trust.

(8) Moreover, Jesus is the only life ever lived among men in whom God certainly finds us, and in whom we certainly find God. And, once again, I am not now asking whether one is able to come to any theory of the nature of Christ. That is a matter of comparative indifference. The great fact is this: That there has been lived among us men such a life that, if a man will simply put himself in the presence of it and stay there, he will have brought home to him with unmistakable conviction the fact that God is, and is touching him and that he is touching God; that, coupled with such a sense as he never had before of his sin, there will be also the sense of forgiveness and reconciliation with God, and so, such evidence of the contact of God with his life as he can find nowhere else. So Harnack believes: "When God and everything that is sacred threaten to disappear in the darkness, or our doom is pronounced; when the mighty forces of inexorable nature seem to overwhelm us, and the bounds of good and evil to dissolve; when, weak and weary, we despair of finding God at all in this dismal world,—it is then that the personality of Christ may save us."

(9) And all this means, finally, that Jesus is for us the ideal realized. Let not the commonplaceness of the words rob us of their meaning. The fact is far enough from the commonplace. Philosophy must always tell us that we have no right to expect anywhere a realized ideal, except in the absolute whole of things. Certainly, we never find in any of the inferior spheres a fully realized ideal. What does it mean, then, that in this highest of all spheres, the sphere of the moral and spiritual life, we have the ideal realized; that our very highest vision is a fact? What is there that one would add to, what, that one would take away from, the life of Christ, that it might be more completely than it is the ideal realized?

4. Christ's Double Uniqueness.—It seems hardly possible to do justice to the facts now passed in review, without recognizing, at least, that they point to a double uniqueness on the part of Christ in his relation to God, reflected in his own language concerning himself and in the spontaneous confessions of his disciples in all times. He alone, in the emphatic sense, is the Son. The contrasts between Christ and other men, which the simple facts of the life and consciousness of Christ have compelled us to make, naturally, then, demand recognition from thought. The recognition of the facts is the vital matter, but thought can hardly see them unmoved. How are we to think of Christ? With clear remembrance, now, that Christian teaching itself insists upon the kinship of God and men; that absolute barriers, therefore, cannot anywhere be set up; that a revelation unrelated to all else could be no revelation; and that Christ himself often pointed out the likeness between his own life and work and those of his disciples;—still we may not ignore actual differences, and must honestly strive to do justice to them in our own conception of Christ. One may not forget that there is much here that we can hardly hope ever to fathom; and that into this secret of Christ's relation to the Father theology has often tried to press with a precision of statement that was quite beyond its possible knowledge, and that damaged rather than helped the religious consciousness; but one may try to think in simple, straightforward fashion what the facts mean. Now these actual and momentous moral and spiritual differences already pointed out seem, at least, to assert, I say, a genuine double uniqueness in Christ. Christ's relation to God is absolutely unique, that is, in two senses: in the absolutely unique purpose of God concerning him; in the absolutely perfect response of Christ to that purpose. If one chooses to use the language, he may say, that the first uniqueness is metaphysical; the second, ethical.[101]

First, then, God has a purpose concerning Christ, that he has concerning no other, for he purposes to make in him his supreme self-manifestation. This sets him apart from all others. His transcendent sense of God and sense of mission only correspond to the absolute uniqueness of this eternal purpose of God concerning him. We are utterly unable to see that they could be borne by any being that we know as man. He is the manifested God—"the visible presentation of the invisible God." This cannot be said, in the same sense, of any other. Now, our only adequate statement of the inner reality—the essential meaning—of any being, can be given only in terms of the purpose which God calls that being to fulfil. To see, then, that God's purpose concerning Christ is absolutely unique, and that God's purpose is, to make in Christ the completest possible personal manifestation of himself, is to see that Christ's essential relation to the Father is absolutely his own, unshared by any other. And, it may be added, there is no reason why this purpose of God concerning Christ should not be regarded as an eternal purpose, eternally realized.

But Christ is as clearly unique in his simply perfect response to this purpose of God. Our facts seem to point directly to the conclusion, that in him there was no moral hindrance to the fullness of the revelation God would make through him. His life is perfectly transparent, allowing the full glory of the character of God to shine through it. The harmony of his will with God's will is complete. If it be said that this last uniqueness is, after all, only difference in degree from other men, it must be answered, first, that degree here is so vast as to be practically kind. This is the perfect of Christ set over against the varyingly imperfect of all other men. Moreover, to ask here for difference in kind in any other sense, is probably to make an unintelligent and impossible demand; for, in the nature of the case, the relations involved are spiritual and personal, and there cannot be, in strictness, in the fulfilment of such relations any real differences in kind.

5. The Increasing Sense of Our Kinship with Christ, and of His Reality.—Side by side with this recognition of the nature of Christ's uniqueness, there deserves to be set, as another outcome of the emphasis upon conceiving Christ as a personal revelation of God, the increasing sense of our kinship with Christ and of his reality. The connection here is by no means accidental, though it may seem almost paradoxical. We have plainly come in our day to our clearest recognition of the divinity of Christ through the sense of his transcendent character. But revelation in character requires the reality of his human life. The very route, therefore, by which we have most certainly reached our sense of Christ's divinity, leads also to an increasing sense of kinship with Christ, and so of his reality. So long as we seemed driven to conceive the divinity of Christ in terms that had no relation and no meaning for human life, just so long must he seem to us to be really moving in another world and to take on the unreality of that other world quite hidden from us. But now Christ's life has meaning; we can enter into it and feel that it is real. With all its transcendence, the life does not move now simply in the sphere of the mysterious. It is no unreal drama, no play-struggle,—utterly failing to meet our real moral and spiritual needs. Least of all, in this supreme work for man, can the revealing life be only a show. It feels real. It is real. And, with clear sense of the inevitable inadequacy of the analogy, we still rest confidently in the conviction that God's relation to Christ may be best conceived after the analogy of the relation of the Spirit of God to our spirits; and that, when we try to press beyond that, we are attempting to rise into that sphere of a supposed supra-personal, for which we have no possible organ of vision, and where, therefore, we are thinking not more, but less, truly.[102]

With this sense of the reality of the personal, spiritual life of Christ, there naturally comes home to us the appropriateness and practicability of his ideals. They are seen to belong to us more surely, and properly to make demands upon us. It is, probably, not too much to say that, under the influence of the social consciousness, there has been a definite, growing approach to Christ's way of thinking, and to his ideal of life. This means a consciousness increasingly Christian in tone, and, therefore, in turn, increasingly better able to interpret the teaching and life of Christ, and so to give promise of a more Christian theology. None of us, probably, are fully conscious of the more subtle inconsistencies of even our best theological thinking, when measured by a completely Christian spirit. At least, with the insistence upon Christ as a personal revealer of a personal God, it must become more true that the meaning of all terms for the work of Christ shall be more clearly reasonable, more consistently ethical, and more completely spiritual; and then the immediate rooting of Christian theology in the Christian religion can be seen and felt.

III. THE RECOGNITION OF THE PERSONAL IN GOD

The sense of the value and sacredness of the person must lead to the special recognition of the personal not only in man and in Christ, but also in God. We have already seen reasons for believing that the social consciousness is peculiarly bound strongly to emphasize the personality of God, as in the end absolutely essential to its own justification. The social consciousness represents an ethical movement that can live only in the atmosphere of the personal.

1. The Steady Carrying through of the Completely Personal in the Conception of God. Guarding the Conception.—This pressure of the social consciousness toward an imperative faith in the fully personal God is most valuable, as offsetting the tendency in many quarters toward a scientific or even idealistic pantheism or monism that is quite impersonal. "For," in the language of Professor Howison, "the very quality of personality is, that a person is a being who recognizes others as having a reality as unquestionable as his own, and who thus sees himself as a member of a moral republic, standing to other persons in an immutable relationship of reciprocal duties and rights, himself endowed with dignity, and acknowledging the dignity of all the rest."[103] As this is preËminently the spirit of the social consciousness, it is plain that we have in the social consciousness an increasingly powerful motive for guarding the full personality of God.

It needs particularly to be noted, that we know no definite "supra-personal." Pantheism or any impersonal monism is forced, therefore, when it leaves the personal conception of God, to take a lower line of development, not a higher. The result is, that it is obliged to deny the highest attributes to God, and then, as Browning is fond of arguing, man steps at once into the place of God. Men cannot permanently remain satisfied with a philosophical view, of which that is the logical outcome. Certainly, such a view can get no support from the social consciousness, with its deep conviction of the supreme value and sacredness of the person.

Moreover, it is not to be forgotten, in estimating the value of a cosmic monism, that what the cosmological really means, ethically and religiously, to a people, must always depend upon their social ideals. The natural in itself contains no command. For any effective vital interpretation, therefore, even of its impersonal Absolute, pantheism is constantly thrown back upon the personal. Only a clear, steady carrying through by theology of the completely personal in its conception of God can ultimately satisfy this sense of the value and sacredness of the person. Professor Nash does not speak too strongly when he says: "To fulfil her function the church must develop the doctrine of a Divine Personality. She has not always been true to it in the past. Too often, by her sacraments, by her theology, by her theory of inspiration, she has glorified the impersonal."[104]

Now, such an attempt, it is perhaps worth saying once more, is not to be thought of as a running away from a thorough-going metaphysical investigation. It rather takes the ground, indicated in the earlier discussion, of what may be called, in Professor Howison's language, personal idealism; and holds that spirit, person, is for us the ultimate metaphysical fact: the one reality to which we have immediate access; the reality from which all our metaphysical notions are originally derived; and, in consequence, the one reality which we can take as the key to the understanding of all else. And it believes that even essence and substance, the great words of the old metaphysics, can be really understood only as they are interpreted in personal terms. Ultimately, theology would hold, this would mean the interpretation of the essence of things in terms of the purpose of God concerning them—what he meant them to be.

In the attempt, then, clearly and steadily to carry through the conception of God as completely personal, theology may well guard carefully certain points. In the first place, theology does not mean to transfer to God human limitations; rather, it conceives him to be the only complete personality with perfect self-consciousness and full freedom, no part of whose being is in any degree foreign to himself. Nor, in the second place, does it mean to forget that the personal relations in which God stands to other persons are unique, and that, in three definite respects: that conviction of the love of God, as of no other, must underlie, as a great necessary assumption, all our thinking and all our living; that God is himself the source of the moral constitution of man, which must thus be regarded as an expression of the personal will of God, and the personal relation to God so have universal moral implications such as no other personal relation can have; and in that God is such in his universal love for all, that it is impossible to come into right personal relation to God, and not at the same time come into right relation to all moral beings.[105]

2. God is Always the Completely Personal God.—If, now, theology is to do justice to the demands of the social consciousness for a full recognition of the personal in God, it must see clearly that God is always the completely personal God. Certain conclusions, not always admitted, are believed to follow from this position.

(1) The Consequent Relation of God to "Eternal Truths."—In the first place, there can be no sphere of eternal truths, thought of as either created outright by the will of God, or as existing of themselves independently of God and only to be recognized by him.

The difficulty is not merely that at least one of these views would put God in the same dependent relation to truth as we finite beings, and thus practically put a God above God. Nor is the difficulty merely that it is impossible to think the real existence of such a sphere of eternal truth, since truths or laws can be said to exist only in one of two ways: either as the actual mode of action of reality, or as the perception and formulation in an observing mind of that mode of action. And these difficulties are both sufficiently serious.

But, from our present point of view, the great difficulty is, that trying to conceive God as either creating or coming to the recognition of truth, assumes, as Lotze points out, a fragmentary God, a God for whom truth is not yet. It assumes an action of the will of God apart from his reason, that is, a God not yet completely personal, not yet the full God of truth and character. A God for whom truth and duty are not yet, is certainly no true person. Most, if not all, of our metaphysical puzzles connected with the relation of God to what we call eternal truths, seem to me to grow out of this thought of an essentially fragmentary God.

We are driven, consequently, to a denial of both the Scotist and Thomist positions, as ordinarily conceived. It is true neither that the truth is true and the good is good because God wills it, nor yet that God wills the true because it is true and the good because it is good. Both views alike assume the possibility of a fragmentary God, a God for whom at some time truth and goodness were not yet. But God has always been the completely personal God of truth and love, never a bare will and never a bare intellect. Hence, neither as an independent object to be recognized, nor yet as the external product of his will, can we think of the realm of eternal truth and goodness. We must rather say, God alone is the eternal being and absolute source of all, always complete in the perfection of his personality; and, therefore, what we call the eternal truths are only the eternal modes of God's actual activity. This alone seems to the writer to give a thorough-going theistic view, free from self-contradiction.[106]

(2) Eternal Creation.—But, further, if God is to be thought as always the completely personal God, we are led, also, immediately to the doctrine of eternal creation.

If God has had always a completely personal life, his entire being must have been always in exercise. Can we really think of such a God as simply quiescent, and not as always active? Is not his activity involved in his complete personality? The thought of his possible quiescence arises probably out of an unconscious, but nevertheless unwarranted, transfer to God of our finite separation of will and act. But God is here, too, no fragmentary God; he has always been the completely personal God, always acting.

A second consideration carries us to the same conclusion. Theologians have felt that they have made a distinct step in advance in tracing creation to love in God, as, for example, Principal Fairbairn does. But this gives no real help as an explanation of creation as beginning in time; for one must at once ask, Was not the love of God eternal, and if this were the real reason leading to creation, must not, then, creation be eternal?

So far as I am able to see, there is nothing to lose and much to gain in clearness and satisfactoriness of thought in a frank acceptance of the doctrine of eternal creation. Not, of course, in the sense of an eternal dualism, in the sense of the thought of an eternity of matter set over against God, but in the clear sense of the eternal creative activity of God. And to such a doctrine of eternal creation, the social consciousness, in its emphasis on the completely personal, seems to me to lead. (3) The Unity and Unchangeableness of God.—And, once more, if God is always the completely personal God, we shall conceive his own unity not as monotonous self-identity, but only as consistency of meaning. We shall not, therefore, transfer to God, pluming ourselves meanwhile upon a highly philosophical view, the mechanical unchangeableness of a rock; but we shall be rather concerned with the consistency of his character and the unchangeableness of his loving will, which would be the very reasons for his changing, adapting attitude toward his changing children. From this point of view, too, the sphere of law and the sphere of the actual, will seem to us, necessarily, to root in the sphere of the ideal; the is and the must, to rest in the ought; though we may not hope to trace the connections in detail. In a God, then, who is a completely harmonious person, never acting in fragmentary fashion, whose will and whose reason and whose love are never at cross purposes—only in such a God can the world find its adequate and unifying source. The world itself has real unity only in so far as it is the expression of the consistency of meaning of the purpose of God concerning it. And this same thought of the consistency of the meaning of the purpose of God, I have elsewhere argued,[107] saves us from the necessity of a self-contradictory conception of the miraculous or supernatural, by its recognition of the dominant spiritual order. It also enables us to see, with Professor Nash, if the word personal is given sufficient breadth, that "the true supernatural is the personal, and wheresoever the personal is discovered, whether in the life of conscience or the life of reason, whether in Israel or Greece, there the supernatural is discovered. Upon this conception of the supernatural as the personal, apologetics must found the claims of Christianity. The divine and the human personality stand within 'Nature,' that is, within the total of being. But they both, the human as well as the divine, transcend the scope and reach of visible Nature."[108]

(4) The Limitations of the Conception of Immanence.—Indeed, it ought to be clearly recognized on all sides by those who believe in religion at all, that we cannot so exclusively emphasize the immanence of God, as many are now doing, and have a God at all, beyond the finite manifestations. When the matter is so conceived, there is no real personal God with whom there can be any personal communion. Religion, thus, in any ordinary sense of it, is by this process made simply impossible; Positivism is the only logical result, and Frederic Harrison becomes the one sole, clear-sighted prophet among us, a lone voice crying in the wilderness. Such an outcome is possible for any, because, and in so far as, they are not true to the social consciousness in its demand for the completely personal God, who, in Martineau's language, is a genuinely "free spirit."[109]

3. Deepening the Thought of the Fatherhood of God.—But the influence of the social consciousness in its deepening sense of the value and sacredness of the person, of obligation and of love, not only tends to insist upon the completely personal in the conception of God, but also tends to deepen our thought of the Fatherhood of God.

(1) History no Mere Natural Process.—No mere on-going of an unfeeling Absolute, whatever name be given it, will ever satisfy the social consciousness. The new sense of the sorrow and ethical meaning of the historical process demands, in the first place, that history shall not be regarded as a mere necessitated development, but a movement in which men effectively coÖperate, never more consciously and clearly than to-day; and secondly, it demands a God who cares, who loves, who guides. History cannot be a mere holocaust to God.

(2) God, the Great Servant.—Rather, as we saw in the fourth chapter, the social consciousness requires a God whose purpose shall completely support its own purpose, and so requires us, with Fairbairn, to put Fatherhood before Sovereignty, not Sovereignty before Fatherhood, and requires us definitely to conceive God after Christ, as self-giving ministering love. It is one of the anomalies of Christian history, that the church has been so slow to cast off a pagan conception of God, and to come to a truly Christian view. We can hardly take in Christ's own revelation of God without some sharing in his sympathy for men. Some experience of our own is needed to unlock the revelation. And, so, the steady deepening of the social consciousness, both as to the value of the person and as to the sense of obligation, has certainly helped us to see that if God is to be highest, he must be love, and thus the great servant, with transcendent obligations, entering really and sympathetically into all our life.

(3) No Divine Arbitrariness.—With such a conception of God, every trace of arbitrariness disappears. Calvinism, however strenuously insisted upon, means a far different thing for any man who really feels the pressure of the modern social consciousness, who has come to some real sense of the value and sacredness of the person, that is, who really sees God in Christ. The great truth of Calvinism, that God is the ultimate source of all, was perhaps never more secure than to-day; but that God, who is the absolute and ultimate source of all, is the fully personal God, whose will is never divorced from his reason and love, who knows no such abstraction as a bare and empty omnipotence without content or direction, but who is himself always living love. The bane of much so-called Calvinism is in this supposition of a fragmentary God, like a motion without direction or rate of speed. Arbitrary decrees are conceivable only from such a fragmentary God, not yet full and complete in his reality and personality. (4) The Passibility of God.—It would seem, also, that any vital defense of the Fatherhood of God, required by the social consciousness, involves further the frank admission of the passibility of God, whether it has the look of an ancient heresy or not. We must unhesitatingly admit that, without which God can be no real God to us. "Theology has no falser idea than that of the impassibility of God. If he is capable of sorrow, he is capable of suffering, and were he without the capacity for either he would be without any feeling of the evil of sin or the misery of man. The very truth that comes by Jesus Christ may be said to be summed up in the passibility of God."[110] With the growing sensitiveness of the social consciousness, the problem of suffering and of sin presses increasingly, and itself almost compels the assertion of the passibility of God. Nothing less can satisfy our hearts, nor indeed allow us to keep our reverence for God.

Certainly, with the increasingly clear vision, which the social consciousness is giving us, of sympathetic, unselfish, definitely self-sacrificing, loving leadership even among men, we shall not rest satisfied with less in God. We must have a suffering, seeking, loving God; because our Father, suffering in our sin, bearing as a burden the sin of each, and not satisfied while one child turns away; no mere on-looker, but in all our afflictions, himself afflicted. The cross of Christ, then, is only an honest showing of the actual facts of God's seeking, suffering love.

4. As to the Doctrine of a Social Trinity.—One inference for theology widely drawn from the social consciousness, it ought in fairness, perhaps, to be said, seems to me unjustified,—the doctrine of a so-called "Social Trinity." One must question the constant cool assumption made in these discussions of a social Trinity, that this view is the only alternative to what is called an "abstract simplicity." In any case, one would suppose, we must have in God all the richness and complexity of a complete personal life, freed from the limitations of finite personality. Something of the much that that involves we have been trying to point out. Here certainly is no "abstract simplicity."

Moreover, the conception of a social Trinity, so far as the writer can see, carries us inevitably to a tritheism of the most unmistakable kind. "Social" involves full personality. Nothing requires more complete personality than love, which the view affirms to exist between the persons of the immanent Trinity, between the distinctions in the very Godhead. The relations of Christ to God were, of course, distinctly and definitely personal; but it must not be forgotten that we are not permitted, on any careful theological view, to transfer these directly to the immanent relations of the Godhead.

The distinction drawn by Dr. W. N. Clarke,[111] between the doctrine of the biblical Trinity and the doctrine of the Triunity, I count of decided value; but after one has made the distinction, one may doubt the value of the contribution made by the doctrine of the Triunity. The really immanent relations of the Godhead are necessarily hidden from us, and are, also, so far as the writer can see, without ethical or religious significance for us, except in the way of possible injury through substituting some supposed altogether mysterious and incomprehensibly sacred, for the well-known and truly sacred shown in the ethical relations of common life. The doctrine of the Triunity seems to have been originally intended to enable the church to hold the divinity of Christ. If we now get at that and hold that from quite a different point of view, the older way becomes less essential. We must, indeed, keep the ancient treasure, but we need not keep it in the same ancient chest. None of us—not the most orthodox—really find the reasons for holding the divinity of Christ in the doctrine of the Triunity. It is interesting to observe how widely separated from the doctrine of the Triunity are the considerations which really move men to faith in the divinity of Christ. That doctrine is, at the very most, only our philosophical supplement intended to bring that, which on other grounds we have come to believe, into unity with our thought of God.

But, at least, we must so conceive the divinity of Christ, as not to get two or three Gods. And a "Social Trinity" does not seem to me to avoid that, except in terms. However, therefore, we are to solve our problem, we are not to take that way out.

What Dr. Clarke calls the biblical doctrine of the Trinity, on the other hand, seems to me to contain the very heart of Christianity, whatever philosophical theory we put beneath it; and it became, therefore, as expressed in the baptismal and benediction formulas, the great daily confession of the church, since it strongly expresses that of which we have been speaking,—the living love of God, a life of absolutely self-giving love, of eternal ministry.

The biblical Trinity is, in truth, what it has sometimes been called, the trinity of redemption; and, for me, directly emphasizes the great facts of redemption. Here there are three great facts: First, the Fatherhood of God, that God is in his very being Father, Love, self-manifesting as light, self-giving as life, self-communicating, pouring himself out into the life of his children, wishing to share his highest life with them, every one. Second, the concrete, unmistakable revelation of the Father in Christ, revealed in full ethical perfection, as an actual fact to be known and experienced; no longer an unknown, hidden, or only partially and imperfectly revealed God, but a real, living God of character, counting as a real, appreciable, but fully spiritual fact in the real world. And, third, the Father revealing himself by his Spirit in every individual heart that opens itself to him, in a constant, intimate, divine association, which yet is never obtrusive, but reverent of the man's personality, making possible to every man the ideal conditions of the richest life.

What metaphysical theory we put under that confession of our full Christian faith, does not seem to me to be of prime importance. Men may count it of great importance; but it can hardly be of first importance, since, at the very most, only the beginnings of such a theory can be found in the great New Testament confession of Christ.

5. PreËminent Reverence for Personality, Characterizing all God's Relations with Men.—But the very heart of the conviction, on the part of the social consciousness, of the value and sacredness of the person, is its reverence for personality; and this thought has much significance for theology, for, if this judgment of the social consciousness is justified, it must be regarded as preËminently characterizing God in all his relations with men.

(1) Reflected in Christ.—When, in the first place, we turn to Christ as the supreme revelation of God, we cannot fail to see that this reverence for the personal marks every step he takes. It begins, of course, in the priceless value which Christ gives to each person, as a child of the living, loving Father.

And it seems to determine his whole method with his generation and with his disciples. It is shown in the initial battle in the temptations, as to the form his work was to take, and as to the means to be employed. There was here, as we have seen, from the start an absolute subordination of all unspiritual and unethical methods in the building of the kingdom. There is to be no over-riding of the free personality anywhere. He faced successively the temptations to place his dependence on the mere meeting of men's material needs—the kingdom by bread; the temptation to place his dependence on that which appealed most strongly to the oriental mind—the use of wonder-working power—the kingdom by marvel or ecstasy; the temptation to place his dependence on force—the kingdom by force. But Christ sees clearly that God is no mere supplier of bread; that God is no mere wonder-worker, no mere giver of wonderful experiences; and that God is not a tyrant to conquer by force. Everywhere, therefore, he sets aside whatever may override the free personality. He would replace all the attractive and seemingly rapid methods of the kingdom by bread, the kingdom by marvel, and the kingdom by force, with the slow and tedious and costly but reverent method of the spiritual kingdom by spiritual means, the kingdom of God by God's way—of a trust freely won, a humility spontaneously arising, a love gladly given. He can take no pleasure in any kingdom but one of free persons.

In the same way, in his dealings with the inner circle of his disciples, there seems to have been the most scrupulous regard for their own needed initiative. He apparently makes no clear announcement of himself as Messiah even to the disciples until late in his public ministry, and, then, only after they have been brought, through weeks, if not months, of unusually close personal contact and impression of his spirit, into their own confession of him. He steadily abjures, that is, all dogmatism about himself, and leads them along by a purely spiritual method to a confession of him, that may be truly their own. There is no piling up of proof-texts from the Old Testament, to show that he is the Messiah. He seems never to have attempted any proof with his disciples. Indeed, he seems purposely to have chosen the rather ambiguous title, "the Son of Man," that men might be left free to come by moral choice to him.

The surpassingly significant fact, that Christ's chief work in the establishment of the kingdom of God, as seems to me beyond doubt, was his personal association with a few men; that, probably, a full third, perhaps more, of his very brief so-called public ministry was taken up with a period of definitely sought comparative retirement with the inner circle of the disciples—all this points to the same recognition of the fundamental importance in Christ's eyes of such a reverence for the person. The kingdom of God can be founded only by the full winning of free persons into his discipleship. The kingdom is first and last a kingdom of free persons, in Dr. Mulford's language, always a "Republic of God." Professor Peabody's emphasis on the essential importance of Christ's individualism, that "Jesus approaches life from within, through the inspiration of the individual,"[112] it need not be said, goes upon the same assumption of Christ's reverence for the person. In his really public ministry the same spirit appears; for Jesus seems to me here constantly to be standing with a kind of moral shudder between the spirit of contempt in the Pharisees and Sadducees, and the outraged personality of the common people, even of the publicans and sinners. He feels the contempt even for these least, as a blow in his own face.

That glimpse which the Revelation gives us of Christ standing and knocking at the heart's closed door, is a true picture forevermore not only of the attitude of Christ's earthly life, but of God's eternal relation to us. Men may over-ride and outrage us, and even think that they show the more love thereby; God, never. This principle, then, we may take as absolutely crucial, in our judgment of God's dealings with us.

(2) In Creation.—It is fundamental even in creation. The very fact of the creation of persons implies it. Such a creation can have no significance, if, in the language already quoted from Howison, God's "consciousness is void of that recognition and reverence of the personal initiative of other minds which is at once the sign and the test of the true person." And if love is, for a moment, to be thought of as the motive of creation, it required for any satisfaction of it, persons who could freely respond to that love.

The definite bestowal of the fateful gift of moral freedom, with the practical certainty of sin—the creation of beings who could choose against him—shows how deeply planted in the very being of God is this principle of reverence for the person.

Here, too, the impossibility of arbitrary divine decrees meets us. This would be treating a person as a thing, and God himself may not do that and remain God. If a man cannot see his way to a faith both in the divine foreknowledge and in the moral initiative of men, therefore, he must not hesitate to choose even the divine nescience of the free acts of men, rather than think of God as compelling men. Our whole moral universe tumbles about our ears, if he who is the source of all is not in earnest with persons. And yet there is much theological thinking, of which the common notions of a personal reign of Christ on the earth may be taken as an example, that practically looks to a kingdom by compulsion. A kingdom of free spirits cannot be merely decreed. (3) In Providence.—And this same principle of reverence for personality must be felt to be the guiding motive and key, as well, in the providence and government of God. God keeps his hands off. He must so act as to call out, not to suppress, individual initiative.

This is, perhaps, the deepest reason for a sphere of law, that there may be a realm in which a person can have his own free development, uninterfered with by any moral compulsion.

If, now, this sphere of law is to be any true training ground for character, as we saw in the third chapter, results must not be forthwith set aside, the mutual influence of men must hold all along the line.

Even in the case of great evils, God does not step in at once to set things right. Character is an exceedingly costly product. This is no play-world, either as to mutual influence or as to freedom. God guards most jealously the freedom and personality of men. He never forgets that character must be from within. He will not accept, as Christ would not, a faith compelled by "signs." Hence, too, we are left to ask, and much is left to depend on our asking. So, also, God does not remove all difficulties and give sight in place of faith. He seems even careless, often, of how things go; for he would not only appeal to the heroic in us, but he wishes to make it impossible for us to confuse prudence and virtue in ourselves or others, and so to give us the opportunity and the joy of a real moral victory, of knowing that we have made a genuinely unselfish surrender to the right.

In the light of this deep-lying principle of God's sacred reverence for the person, one learns to hush his former complaints, and with full heart to thank God that he lives in a world where righteousness and happiness do not always seem to fall together, and where, therefore, he can "serve God for naught." Oh, let us know, that it is not that God does not care, but that he cares so much—too much to sacrifice to present comfort the character of the child he loves—too much to shut him out from his highest opportunity.

(4) In Our Personal Religious Life.—And the same principle holds in our personal religious life. The unobtrusiveness of God's relation to us, of which we often complain, is rather to be taken as evidence of his sacred respect for our own moral initiative, and proof of his careful adaptation to our moral need. Wherever a strong personality is in relation to a weaker, the stronger must maintain a conscientious self-restraint, lest he dominate the personality of the other, to the other's moral injury and to the hindering of his individuality. It is possible for a boy to be injuriously "tied to his mother's apron-strings." Much more is it necessary that God's relation to us should not be obtrusive. God must guard our freedom and our individuality. He must even take pains to hide his hand, as a strong, influential, but wise friend would do. As we go higher, our life is and must be increasingly one of faith, the Father's relation less and less obtrusive.[113] The times of vision are given to make us patient in our progress toward the goal. And after the vision comes often what Rendel Harris calls "the dark night of faith, when every step has to be taken in absolute dependence upon God and assurance that the vision was truth and was no lie."[114] We need the invisible God for character. It is for this reason, no doubt, that God makes so rare use of overwhelming experiences in the religious life. He would be chosen with clear and rational self-consciousness, and so he rarely overpowers. And even in experiences which seem most overpowering, if the person is really awake to their true ethical and spiritual import, they will probably be found delicately adapted to call out the individual's own response. But for most of us such experiences prove a real temptation, because we allow the passively emotional to absorb our attention, and so lose the ethical and spiritual fruit. Where these marvelous experiences have been most marked, and have plainly given real help, they seem still, usually, to have been needed because of some false conception of God and the spiritual world that required a powerful corrective. Here they seem really to have been granted, as probably the transfiguration of Christ was to the disciples, as a concession to men's weakness, God consenting reluctantly to use for the time a lower line of appeal, because men are unable to rise to the higher appeal.

We have already seen the danger of the neo-platonic over-estimation of emotional experience, and of sudden and magical crises in religion; and this danger is especially seen in much that is said concerning the work of the Holy Spirit. It seems as if it were simply true, for many earnest and sincere Christians, that the superstitions, which they had conscientiously put aside elsewhere in religion, all came back in their thought of the work of the Spirit. Here their relation to God has ceased to be thought of as a personal or moral or truly spiritual one; and they are looking more or less definitely for bodily thrills, for marked and overwhelming emotional experiences, or for sudden transformations—hardly to be called transformations of character—in the passive half-magical removal of temptations altogether. That is, they are looking for moral and spiritual results from unmoral and unspiritual processes. The exact point is this: Doubtless we are not narrowly to limit what the personal influence of the personal Spirit of God may do in transforming human life—the possibilities probably far transcend what we think—but we are clearly to see that the relation is personal, that the influence is spiritual and under strictly ethical conditions, if we are to escape from simply pagan superstition. Let us see that, if God is a Personal Spirit and not an impersonal substance, then, as Herrmann says, he "communes with us through manifestations of his inner life, and when he consciously and purposely makes us feel what his mind is, then we feel himself."[115]

And, then, let us add, as has been already earlier said, that the deepening life in the Spirit becomes plainly a deepening personal friendship and communion with God, with laws—those of a growing friendship—that we may study and know and obey; and among these laws, none is of more central importance than this of the reverence for the person.

(5) In the Judgment.—And when we turn to God's relation to us in the judgment, we can be sure, I think, of a further application of this principle, contrary to common teaching and expectation. We have no reason to look forward to a time when the secrets of all, or of any, hearts shall be laid bare to all. In so doing, God would violate, it seems to me, the principle of his entire dealing with men, and give the lie to his own revelation in Christ and in history. For myself, Dr. Clarke's words carry immediate conviction: "No man needs to know the secrets of his neighbor, and be able to trace the justice of God through his neighbor's life, and no man who respects the sacredness of individuality will desire it. Neither revelation of his own secrets nor knowledge of another's seems a good thing to a self-respecting soul."[116]

Even the judgment itself proceeds, no doubt, in clear recognition of the free personality. We are "judged by the law of liberty." And we really choose our own destiny, as Phillips Brooks suggests in one of his most striking paragraphs. "By this law we shall be judged. How simple and sublime it makes the judgment day! We stand before the great white throne and wait our verdict. We watch the closed lips of the Eternal Judge, and our hearts stand still until those lips shall open and pronounce our fate, heaven or hell. The lips do not open. The Judge just lifts his hand and raises from each soul before him every law of constraint whose pressure has been its education. He lifts the laws of constraint, and their results are manifest. The real intrinsic nature of each soul leaps to the surface. Each soul's law of liberty becomes supreme. And each soul, without one word of commendation or approval, by its own inner tendency, seeks its own place.... The freeing of souls is the judging of souls. A liberated nature dictates its own destiny. Could there be a more solemn judgment seat? Is it not a fearful thing to be judged by the law of liberty?"[117]

And we may be most certain, that, in any judgment by God, there can be no thought of "human waste." The man must remain for God, to the end, a child of God, a person of sacredness and value, to be dealt with always as capable of character. And it is along just this line that, independently of exegetical grounds, it seems to me, we are led to a decisive rejection of the doctrine of annihilation. And I know no more convincing putting of the matter than this brief but comprehensive statement of Fairbairn: "If there is any truth in the Fatherhood, would not annihilation be even more a punishment of God than of man? The annihilated creature would indeed be gone forever—good and evil, shame and misery, penalty and pain, would for him all be ended with his being; but it would not be so with God—out of his memory the name of the man could never perish, and it would be, as it were, the eternal symbol of a soul he had made only to find that with it he could do nothing better than destroy it."[118]

(6) In the Future Life.—Doubtless our difficulties are not at an end even so; but, at least, our conception of God is saved from self-contradiction; and the Father is seen as suffering in the sin of the son, and perpetually desiring and seeking his return, never satisfied so long as any child of his still refuses his place in the Father's love. This deep-going principle of reverence for personality, with which we are dealing, is the finest flower of human ethical development, and seems completely to shut out the possibility of compulsion by God at any time in the future life. A person will never be treated as a thing. The soul that turns to God must be won voluntarily.

And if, then, the abstract possibility of endless resistance to God by men cannot be denied; so neither can the possibility—perhaps one might even say, the practical probability—be denied that God, in his infinite love and patience and wisdom, may finally win them all out of their resistance. And the eternal hope is at least open; but it is open, it should be noted, only upon the fulfilment by men of precisely those moral conditions which hold now in the earthly life, and which ought now to be obeyed. There will never be an easier way to God. It is shallow thinking that supposes that, if there be any possibility of turning to God in the future life, it is of small moment that one should now put himself where he ought to be. The full results of all our evil sowing, we must receive. The utmost that on any rational theory, then, can be held out to men, is the hope that, facing a greater heritage of evil than now they face, they might return to God under the same condition of absolute moral surrender, which now holds, and the fulfilment of which is now far more easily possible to them.

And it ought not to be overlooked that, even if the principle of reverence for personality be much less far-reaching than is here affirmed, the annihilation of a soul by God could seem justified only upon the assumption that God foresaw the entire future, and knew that the soul would never turn to righteousness and God. But if the doctrine of annihilation is to be justified on that ground, it is to be observed, that the same foreknowledge would have enabled God to know before creation all the finally incorrigible, if there were to be any such, and so he need not have called these into being at all. A goal, therefore, as great if not far greater, than that offered by the annihilation theory would be, thus, attainable simply upon the same assumption that must rationally be made by that theory, and, at the same time, the great objection to that theory—its violation of personality—would be avoided.

It seems probable that this very principle of reverence for personality contains the chief reason why more has not been revealed to us concerning the future life. Christianity is very far from satisfying our curiosity here. It gives little more than the absolutely needed assurance of the fact and worth of the life beyond. Details are either quite lacking, or given only in broadest symbols. This reticent silence of revelation seems needed if our individual initiative is not to be hindered, either by excess of motive on the one hand, or by the depression of an unappreciated ideal on the other hand.

On the one hand, that is, so far as we could understand a detailed revelation of the future life, to set it forth with the realism of the present life would be to interfere with that unobtrusive relation of God to us, which we have seen to be so necessary to our highest moral training. We need, in this time of our training, a certain obscurity of spiritual truth; we need to walk by faith, not by sight. To be able so obviously to weigh the eternal realities against the temporal, would hinder rather than help our growth in loyal, unselfish character.

On the other hand, if a complete and indubitable revelation of the future life were given us, no doubt there would be much that could make but small appeal to us, and might even prove positively depressing, because we have not yet the experience which would interpret to us its meaning and open to us its joy. Our earthly life may furnish us an analogy. The joy of a grown man is often preËminently in his work, but he would find it difficult to explain to a child the source of his joy. And if the child were told that there would come a time in a few years when his chief joy would be found in work, the prospect would probably not seem to him inviting. The wisest of us may be as little prepared to enter in detail into the meaning of the future life.

We may be content to know that the future life is, and is of value beyond that which we can now understand; and we may be assured that at least what we have already seen to be the ideal conditions of the richest life,[119] as now we understand life, will be fully met in the future life. We can hardly doubt, therefore, that the two great centers of the life beyond must be association and work; though we may not know the precise forms that these will take, nor how greatly both may deepen beyond our present conception. Steadily deepening personal relations, rooted in the one absolutely satisfying relation to God in Christ, there must be; and work, in which one may lose himself with joy, because it is God's work. This, at least, the future life will contain. We can hardly go farther with assurance.

But perhaps even this may suggest, that men may vary much in the proportionate emphasis laid upon these two great sources of life, and still alike come into a genuine and rewarding relation to God. That God has counted individuality among men to be of prime significance, the facts of creation hardly allow us to doubt. Possibly it is only another application of this same principle of reverence for the person, in the recognition of that individuality which has its great joy in work, which is to be found in what Professor George F. Genung suggestively calls "an apocalypse of Kipling." In Kipling's poem to Wolcott Balestier, Professor Genung sees "the discovery of a religion, or assignable and eternally rewardable relation to God, in those whose inner life is not introspective or self-expressive." Their spiritual life "serves God with the joy which comes of following and satisfying, in the sphere of his plans, the eager bent of a conquering will." "It is the religion of work and of daring." And "it is only in the open vision of an eternal world that their secular ardor, which was unconsciously serving God all along, begins to come to the perception of a transcendent master and to be transformed into an adoration, an obedience and loyalty, a 'will to serve or to be still as fitteth our Father's praise.'"

It is quite possible that through our very failure to enter into God's own deep reverence for the person, in the recognition of man's divinely given individuality, as well as through failure to recognize the essential like-mindedness of men, we have been shutting the door of hope, where God has not shut it, and have limited beyond warrant the divine mercy. Even in the life of heaven men cannot be all alike. "Who art thou that judgest the servant of another? to his own lord he standeth or falleth. Yea, he shall be made to stand; for the Lord hath power to make him stand."[120]

• Ideal view, requires the facts of the social consciousness, 29 ff, 32 ff.
• Imitation, to be avoided, 172 ff.
• Immanence of God, as metaphysical ground of facts of social consciousness, 40 ff;
  • Lotze on, 40, 41;
  • limitations in conception of, 217 ff.
• "Immortability," discussed, 124 ff.
• Immortality, J. S. Mill on, 50;
  • Sully on, 50;
  • doctrine of, as affected by sense of likeness of men, 124 ff;
  • references on, 125.
• Indian mysticism, 74.
• Israel, significance of its social struggle, 63;
  • ecstasy among its prophets, 64.

• James, William, on heredity, 37;
  • on metaphysics, 40;
  • on sense of reality, 72;
  • on nitrous-oxide-gas intoxication, 74;
  • on the world as a confusion, 78;
  • reference to, 79, 122, 124, 126;
  • on compensations, 117;
  • on varied ideals, 128;
  • on catching faith and courage, 147.
• Jesus, Brooks on his intellectual life, 81;
  • on his emotional life, 84;
  • relation to, necessarily ethical, 89, 94, 96;
  • satisfies our highest claims on life, 94;
  • his social emphases, 111 ff;
  • Brooks on his interest in the uninteresting, 124;
  • the great Christian confession, 46, 47.
• Peabody, F. G., referred to, 65;
  • on the social principles of Jesus, 111;
  • on Christ's individualism, 229.
• Person, value of, 16 ff, 50;
  • influence of sense of value of, on theology, 179 ff;
  • reverence for, characterizing all God's relation to men, 226 ff.
• Personal, the, recognition of, 179 ff;
  • recognition of, in man, 180 ff;
  • recognition of, in Christ, 184 ff;
  • recognition of, in God, 207 ff.
• "Personal idealism," 180, 181, 210.
• Personal relation, in religion, emphasized by social consciousness, 66 ff;
  • leads to the truly mystical, 70 ff.
• Philo, as representative of mysticism, 55.
• Philosophical Review, The, reference to, 40.
• Philosophy, as contributing to sense of mutual influence, 12.
• Plato, his position abandoned by mysticism, 56.
• Plotinus, as representative of mysticism, 55.
• Prophets, the, their standpoint abandoned by Philo, 55;
  • their sense of the significance of the social struggle in Israel, 63;
  • ecstasy in, 64.
• Propitiation, ethical meaning of, 150 ff, 156, 158 ff.
• Providence, reverence for person in, 232 ff.
• Psychology, as contributing to sense of mutual influence, 12.
• Purpose and causality, 42, 43.

• Race-connection, not prime cause of unity of men, 35 ff.
• Race, real unity of, 136 ff;
  • its solidarity, how conceived, 16, 35, 30, 137.
• Ranke, on Christ, 192.
• Rational, two senses of, 80.
• Reconstruction in Theology, references to, 16, 20, 23, 43, 67, 185, 187, 188, 203, 205, 212, 217, 218.
• Redemption, as viewed from point of view of mutual influence for good, 147 ff;
  • the cost of, 150;
  • substitution and propitiation in, 150 ff.
• Religion, and theology, 6, 113;
  • influence of the social consciousness upon, 53 ff, Transcriber's Note:
    Blackletter in title rendered in italic.
    Page 182, "GOd" changed to "God".
    Inconsistent hyphenation retained.
    Apparent printer's punctuation errors corrected.