thought, wearisomeness and unprofitableness ensue. Already the complaint is sometimes heard that the minister dwells too much on modern science. The writer once, after several weeks of traveling, attended service at an American chapel in a European city, hoping to gain some spiritual strengthening, and was obliged to listen to an account of the seven admissions of Haeckel as to the ignorance of science respecting the origin and nature of the universe. A stone was offered instead of bread. But of theology in the comprehensive sense the pulpit of to-day needs more rather than less. To defend the truths of Christianity against attack is but the preliminary work of theology, whether in the pulpit or the lecture room. Its higher function is to exhibit the reality, the inspiring and purifying power, the spirituality of the facts and truths of the Christian religion; in a word, to exhibit Christianity as motive for realizing the true ends of life. The method may be argumentative, illustrative, experimental, or didactic, so long as it finds the correspondence of Christian truth and ideal life. If the preacher persuades his listeners that Christ has power to satisfy a spiritual need, of sorrow, temptation, or regret, and thus makes real the fitness of God's highest revelation to the life of his children, the sermon is theological even more than when he wards off some plausible objection to a supernatural revelation. To defend belief in miracles, or to defend belief in the resurrection of Jesus, so that one's objections are answered, and he can again give his assent, is of less importance than to convince him of the power of the risen Christ sending forth the Spirit, ruling in the hearts of his followers and consummating a renewed humanity. In both cases the preacher is defending the central doctrine of Christianity, but by very different methods. A comparison was once instituted between two eminent preachers, to the effect that one began every sermon with the thought of God in his greatness, or holiness, or mercy, and always ended in some experience or need of man, but that the other began every sermon with man in some aspiration or condition of common life and always ended with the thought of God, in his love or perfection, as satisfying the need of man. One started with truth and found its correspondence with life; the other started with life and found its correspondence with truth. The first, announcing some attribute of God as his theme, might be considered a theological preacher. The other, beginning in human life, might be considered a practical preacher. But both brought theology into the pulpit, for theology is concerned with the reality and significance of God's personal relations to men. A preference is sometimes expressed for Biblical rather than topical preaching. It is remarked that Scotch preachers, a few of whom, for that reason, occupy prominent pulpits in this country, are saturated both in preaching and prayer with truth in its Biblical forms. It is thought that this type of preaching is more useful than the type which considers distinct topics, and which is semi-doctrinal. It is said that evangelists make much larger and better use of the Bible than ordinary preachers, falling back on its authority at every point, and claiming to be distinctively preachers of the "Word." But the process is that which we have described as theological. The truth in Biblical form is brought into correspondence with life. By illustration or appeal to experience some fact of life is established, and then an appropriate passage is quoted, and is lighted up with a new meaning by reason of the correspondence. A character of the Bible is made the subject of discourse in order to trace out analogies to present conditions. The mere citation of passages which bear on the text, and which could be readily looked up in a concordance, is not preaching at all. Biblical preaching is theological in one form, while topical and argumentative preaching is also theological, but in another form. It may be said, however, that in this view all preaching which produces any impression is doctrinal, and that the considerations which have been urged merely remove the reproach of an epithet. But a certain impression may be made by preaching which is not theological, that is, by preaching which either does not bring out the distinctive truths of Christianity, or does not bring them into a real relation with human needs. Some sermons do not get beyond the ethical considerations which are involved in the natural relations of men, a few phrases standing for what is religious, the thought being expended on what is moral. Such preaching may have some value, as a speech on temperance may have, but is not theological, since it does not develop the motive powers of Christianity. Some sermons awaken the emotions by touching the plaintive chords of human feeling, and by recalling painful experiences, but without bringing them into harmony with God's purpose for men in the gospel. On the other hand, sermons may reiterate in accustomed phrase the principal doctrines of Christianity without making impression of reality, and without interpretation or interpenetration of truth into life. This, in fact, is the most unedifying kind of preaching, for it is wholly unreal; but that which dwells on experience and appeals to emotion has some reality, for it suggests the unexpressed postulates of religious truth. He certainly is the true preacher who, with knowledge of life and sympathy with it, has clear, broad, and deep knowledge of Christianity in its great facts and truths, as he is the true physician who, with insight into disease, has a complete knowledge of appropriate remedies. The conclusion of the whole matter is that one needs to know what the message of the gospel is, and therefore needs to learn all that may be learned about it. He should be intelligent concerning its historical origin and development, concerning the person of the Redeemer and the nature of his redemption, concerning the records of his life and work, and concerning all those truths which constitute the Christian religion. It is not possible at haphazard to hit upon the helpful forces of the gospel. One must have intelligent convictions of the truth he proclaims if he would make that truth a power for the redemption of men and the renovation of society. He needs to know what constructions have been put upon Christianity by profound thinkers, what conflicts it has passed through, what are its permanent and what its transient elements, and what its adaptedness to the thought and life of his own time. He needs, in a word, a thorough theological training either in the schools or in his own investigation. The processes by which he gains conviction he need not, probably should not, reproduce in bringing the truth home to others. But what he has found by methods appropriate to his own intelligent conviction he may hope to make real to others. He who bears a message should know what the message is. To proclaim that message in its real significance, so that men shall comprehend and appropriate it, is to be in the best sense a theological preacher. MR. HERBERT SPENCER ON THE OBLIGATION OF JUSTICE. IN the March and April numbers of "The Nineteenth Century," Mr. Herbert Spencer publishes in advance five chapters of the part of his "Data of Ethics" which is to deal with its " Principles." Their aim is to show the evolution of the sentiment and the idea of Justice, and to obtain an ideal or ultimate conception of it. The theory is briefly this. Human justice develops out of sub-human or animal justice. The preservation of the species is a desideratum. This end can be secured only by conformity to certain laws of selfsustentation. These laws imply obligation. The species cannot be preserved unless the young are cared for. It cannot thrive unless its superior members have suitable advantages. The supreme principle is the wellbeing of the species. This requires individual sacrifice. The law of freedom comes into conflict with the law of restriction in association. Justice is the subjective appreciation of these objective requirements. In its highest conception it is the equilibrium, in a social state, of the principles of inequality and equality, of unrestricted individual activity and of the restraints imposed by organization. We make no attempt to reproduce what is of main interest in these chapters, the ingenious description of the method in which, as their author supposes, a desire to preserve the species gives rise to the complex phenomena and final conception of social justice. Our purpose is simply to call attention to a single point, that of the element of obligation. It so happened that Rev. J. Llewelyn Davies was moved by the same socialistic discussion of justice which incited Mr. Spencer's utterance, to read in January a paper afterwards published, in which he clearly recognized the authority of this ethical principle and advocated a theory of its nature. Both writers cited Plato's "Republic," Mr. Davies in support of his view, that justice is "the social order which the Divine Maker creates and develops," Mr. Spencer by way of illustration of a special conception. On the appearance of the latter's chapters Mr. Davies, who had previously charged that the evolutional philosophy of justice resolved it into that of Thrasymachus in the "Republic," namely, that justice is the interest of the stronger, found in them a distinct resemblance to this ancient view, and also maintained that Mr. Spencer had committed the curious mistake of attributing it to Plato and the Greeks generally, whereas it is only the contention of certain speakers in the dialogue who cannot be regarded as thus representative. He then proceeded to consider whether Mr. Spencer's addition to the older scheme of the postulate "that the development of the species is desired, or is to be desired," meets the demand of a truly ethical conception of justice, and said :— "Suppose any one considering this definition that to say a man ought to do this means that, if the interests of the species be kept in view, he will do it were to protest, For my part, I care for my own interest more than for the good of the species,' perhaps what a disciple of Mr. Spencer would be inclined to say would be, Let us not reason about him, but look at him and pass on. He might suggest that such a man, if he does not take care, is very likely to find he has to reckon with the species. But how is the man to be answered from an ethical point of view? He will say, 'You teach me that my original nature moves me to serve myself, and that the only reason for my serving society is that this is a way of serving myself; I will therefore serve society just so far as I can perceive it to be for my own advantage; but, as to sacrificing myself for the benefit of others, why (as Glaucon put it) should I be such a fool?' To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Spencer, though often challenged, has never fully explained how, with his philosophy, he can take advantage of the ordinary language and sentiment of mankind about duty. He abundantly explains, with his wonderful power of analysis and his trained habit of tracing everything to its beginnings, how the virtuous feelings have come into existence. So, in these chapters, he accounts for the 'sentiment of justice,' and traces its growth. He shows how men have learned to acquiesce readily and even with pleasure in the restraints put upon their own activities by the simultaneous activities of others, and have thus been led to admire justice. First, there was fear : "The dread of retaliation, the dread of social dislike, the dread of legal punishment, and the dread of divine vengeance, united in various proportions, form a body of feeling which checks the primitive tendency to pursue the objects of desire without regard to the interests of fellow-men.' "Then came the influence of sympathy. Habits of association train gregarious creatures to feel together the same emotions, to find pleasure in the pleasure of others, pain in their pain. The sentiment of justice arising from sympathy is ‘altruistic,' that arising from fear is 'pro-altruistic.' But, as the idea of justice is double, so will the sentiment be. It will be egoistic in claiming that our own gratifications be not needlessly interfered with; altruistic in desiring not to interfere with the gratifications of others. Who will not admit that there is a great deal of truth, if not the whole truth, in this account? But I have to repeat a criticism which I offered in my former paper. Mr. Spencer seems to me to imply what he professes not to recognize. To construct the idea and sentiment of justice, he implies a law having authority over the human mind and its conduct — namely, that the well-being of the species is to be desired, and an acknowledgment by the human mind of that law, a self-justifying response to it. Whilst he confines himself to tracing natural evolution, he has no right to use the terms of duty. What can be added to the dictum of Kant, and how can it be confuted? "If we fix our eyes simply upon the course of nature, the ought has no meaning whatever. It is as absurd to ask what nature ought to be as to ask what sort of properties a circle ought to have. The only question we can properly ask is, What comes to pass in nature? just as we can only ask, What actually are the properties of a circle?' "When Mr. Spencer inveighs with genuine moral vehemence against aggression and other forms of ill-doing, when he protests, for example, against 'that miserable laissez-faire which calmly looks on while men ruin themselves in trying to enforce by law their equitable claims'— he is borrowing our thunder, he is stealing fire from heaven." Mr. Davies expressed the hope that his criticism would "not be felt by Mr. Spencer, if he should think it worth while to look at it, to be inconsistent with profound and grateful respect," and added, "But I confess I should like to provoke him if I may say so - into some justification of the use of ethical terms by one who professes only to describe natural and necessary processes.' " 1 Mr. Spencer responded at once, and his letter appeared with one containing comments from Mr. Davies. We give both letters in full: FAIRFIELD, PEWSEY, WILTS, July 24, 1890. DEAR MR. DAVIES, — The copy of the "Guardian" has just reached me, and I have read your criticism with much interest. Would that criticisms in general were written in the same spirit! I will again look into Plato to see whether I have misapprehended as you allege. I took a great deal of trouble to make out the meaning - a task by no means easy, for the discussion is an utter muddle. Your remark that the general conception of justice set forth by me leaves us without practical applications is made in apparent forgetfulness of the fact that the five chapters published are, at the outset, stated to be preliminary chapters. The remainder of Division IV. of the "Principles of Ethics," on which I am now engaged, is devoted to the drawing of corollaries. In asserting the illegitimacy of any use of the words "duty," "ought,” “obligation," etc., you remind me of the criticisms of Mr. Lilly. By such community as exists between you, amid your differences, you are both led to the assumption that the idea of "duty" can have no other than a supernatural origin. This assumption implies that men's actions are determined only by recognition of ultimate consequences, and that if recognition of ultimate consequences does not lead them to do right, they can have no motive to do right. But the great mass of men's actions are directly prompted by their likings, without thought of remote results; and among actions thus prompted are, in many 1 The Guardian, July 16, 1890. For Mr. Davies's paper, "What is Justice?" see the same, March 5. The letters we quote are taken from the number for August 6. |